Chapter 3 #3
There was no response, but I checked her bedroom and found her sprawled on top of her bed.
I grabbed a blanket, threw it over the top of her, then headed into my en suite.
After finding the safe, I boosted the magic around the shard to keep it active, then secured it, stripped off, and took a hot shower.
It didn’t do a whole lot to erase the tiredness, the achy muscles, or the thick sludge of siphoned energy that sat like a weight on my soul.
I should have dispersed it, but it was too late to do so now.
It would eventually dissipate, but its stain would remain; the more life energy I “ate”—be it light or dark—without funneling it straight back out into something else, the thicker that stain would become, until it blanketed my entire being.
What happened after that, I wasn’t entirely sure, because Owen had never really said anything more than it would be a bad, bad move to let it reach that state.
The sudden need to ring him hit, and I glanced at the time. It was close to four-thirty, so he was likely to be awake if not up as yet, given how early he usually went into the office.
I grabbed my phone, climbed into bed, and made the call.
It rang for several seconds before he said, “Darling girl, is there a problem?”
His voice was filled with a warm mix of sleepiness and concern, and I briefly wished I was lying beside him, tucked into his arms, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
But while I did love the man, I wasn’t in love with him, and never had been.
I wasn’t alone in that, though. Ours had been an arranged marriage, one born out of necessity rather than desire, and while it had developed into something more than mere friendship, an expiry point had been written into the contract.
We’d gone well beyond that date, but in the end had decided to divorce so that we could both find our forever partners.
I doubted mine existed, but he certainly deserved to find someone to grow old with.
“I think there might be.”
“Work or personal?”
I hesitated. “Mainly work.”
Sheets rustled as he moved. “Given the slight pause there, am I to take it that in the process of doing your job you bent the leash a little?”
“Afraid so.”
I explained what had happened, and he made a low sound deep in his throat.
“A deliberate unleashing, while generally unwise, should have no overall effect on the strength of the walls we have built. Only consuming sheer and utter evil could do that, and only then if you willingly drank from that well over a longer period of time.”
“I know, but I guess there’ll always be a little voice deep inside asking what will happen if we’re wrong?” A little voice that had always, and would always, ask that question, because of what I’d done so long ago.
“The mere fact that voice exists makes it even less likely your walls will fail.”
I wasn’t worried about them failing as much as I was of becoming addicted to the heady rush of “drinking” all that power. I swallowed heavily and tried not to think about it. That way lay only danger.
“Tell me, have you ever come across anyone who had no life readout? As in, a dead space in a sea of vibrancy?”
“Only once, when confronted by death reanimated, and even then the faint hum of its creator sung through its limbs.”
“A zombie?” I said, surprised. “When did this happen? And why did I never know?”
His laugh was warm and familiar and wrapped around me like a hug. “It was well before you came onto the scene, my dear. Remember, I am an old man.”
“You’re only a few years older than Michael, and he would never consider himself old.” My voice was dry. “Besides, you’re the fittest fifty-nine-year-old I’ve ever met.”
“Which is not saying much, given you probably haven’t met all that many.”
“You forget the household I grew up in. Besides, it doesn’t alter the validity of my statement.”
Another warm laugh. I briefly wished it were possible to pluck such sounds from the air and hold them close. Even though our divorce had been planned—and wanted—by both of us, I still missed his ever-reliable presence in my day-to-day life. Probably always would, no matter where life took us.
“I take it you came across such a person?” he asked.
“Well, he wasn’t dead, and certainly wasn’t reanimated flesh, as there was no stain of outside magic, foul or otherwise, on his person.”
“You got close enough to be sure of that?”
“He saved me from the demon that was hunting me, Owen.”
“I thought this mission involved nothing more strenuous than baby-sitting Tane’s seriously spoiled only child?” Concern rippled through his voice. “Are you okay?”
“A minor cut on my face and bruising down my spine, the latter coming from a confrontation with the two men who may or may not have been responsible for Francesca and Marnee’s murders.” I told him everything that had happened. “Any idea what a comp demon is?”
“None at all, but I can ask Henry to do a little digging, if you wish.”
Henry Overton was the current head of the National Witch Library and Resource Center and a longtime friend of Owen’s. “That would be great.”
“As to the other matter—the man with no life energy—I have no suggestions other than to be wary. Given there are few witches in this world who have the capacity to hide their magical output, let alone the very essence of life to such a degree, it’s possible he could be something other than human.”
“He felt human.”
“Many demons do.”
“But their energy is different. Besides, why would he save me from a demon if he was one himself?”
“A question no one but the man himself can answer.” He hesitated. “Until we get more information on the situation, caution would be wise. I doubt it is a coincidence that your path crossed his tonight, of all nights.”
Concern stirred through me, and I frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“The omens speak of change.”
“You’ve been casting the bones again?”
Though he was a Kang, and an extremely powerful one at that, he’d also inherited shaman skills from his grandmother, who’d been a Sarr witch of some renown back in her day.
When she’d died, he’d been bequeathed the specially curated animal bones she’d used to predict futures and, while he didn’t often use them, the results when he did were scarily accurate.
“One should never ignore the urge to cast when it strikes,” he said softly. “Unfortunately, they remain unclear as to whether the changes are for the better or not. Just... be wary if he does reappear.”
“I will. I promise.” I hesitated, then decided I’d worried us both enough for the night. “How’s Joe doing?”
Joseph mostly lived with Owen these days, as his place was closer to the witch university, but he did come over to stay with me on the weekends I was home and he wasn’t busy with his friends.
“According to him, uni is okay, his subjects are okay, and he’s doing okay.”
I laughed. One thing our son was not was verbose. “That’s okay then. If you happen to see him before you leave for work, tell him I love him and that I’ll call later this evening.”
“Will do. Oh, and Atticus has turned up here, too.”
I rolled my eyes. Atticus was a black cat I’d saved some five months ago from a fire that, I’d later learned, had killed his witch.
It was rare for a familiar to survive the death of his or her witch, and it had led him to believe that my fortuitous rescue was a sign from fate herself.
He’d subsequently adopted me, totally ignoring my objections and all the processes that surrounded witches finding familiars.
In fact, I’d been assessed for familiar compatibility when I was younger—all witches were, whether they were royal blood or not—and had been deemed unsuitable by both the spirit world and my tutors.
No one had ever said why, but I’d always figured it had something to do with the inner darkness, even if no one had been aware of its presence at that point in my life.
“Of course he has,” I said dryly. “It’s not like I didn’t hire someone to cater to his every whim while I’m gone.”
“He claims his mental needs are not being met.”
I snorted. While the bonding ceremony generally meant a familiar could only talk to his witch, Atticus, as an “unfettered familiar,” could talk to anyone. And often did, whether you wanted conversation or not.
“Turning up at your place isn’t going to help that situation, given Joe’s either at uni or out with friends.”
“He also claims a fascination with my work.”
“I suspect it’s more a fascination with you rather than your work.
” Atticus did, after all, have a penchant for powerful men.
From the little he’d said about his past incarnations, he’d been the familiar of some very notable male witches, which made his decision to “adopt” me against all protocols all the more curious.
Not that he’d ever deigned to answer any of my questions on that particular matter.
The conversation moved on, and we talked for another ten minutes or so, the conversation flowing easily between us. When we finally hung up, the tension within had slipped away, and sleep came easily.
The phone buzzing woke me what felt like too few hours later. I groaned, ran my hand across the bedside table until I found it, and forced an eye open. It was Lowell. I reluctantly hit the answer button. “What?”
There was a slight pause. “Did I wake you?”
“Yeah.” I squinted at the phone screen for a second. “It’s barely nine. I’ve had all of four hours sleep.”
“Ah. Sorry.”
I doubted he actually was, but I appreciated the effort. “What’s up?”
“Tane Ashworth has just flown in. You’ve a meeting with him at ten.”
“Ah, fuck.”
It slipped out before I could stop it, and Lowell chuckled. “Indeed. He’s staying at his apartment at the Saratoga Woolstore in Teneriffe. He wants a full update.”
“Which you can give him over the phone. It’s absolutely unnecessary for me to meet him.”
“Except he’s insisting it be in person, and that you be the one to do it.”