Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“Well,” I said lightly. “That’s me safe then.”
“I am not joking, Hanna.”
“Oh, neither am I, let me assure you. But given what you’ve said about the man, is there anywhere safe we can discuss him without having to worry about him jumping out on us?”
He hesitated. “The beach.”
“The beach?” I repeated, caught by surprise.
Water in constant movement combined with swirling winds are a combination long used to protect against the resonance of a name, Atticus said. Did they not teach you anything at school?
“Who is this?” René asked, waving a hand at the scrawny creature sitting within clawing distance of his leg. “I didn’t think you had a familiar?”
“I don’t. I did, however, rescue his sorry ass a few months back from a fire that killed his witch, and he’s since decided to not only make a running commentary on my life choices, but also to step into the middle of conversations unasked.”
“So he’s a yōkai?” Surprise briefly lifted the shadows. “Interesting.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“Because it’s usually only the very ancient or the very powerful familiars who can maintain such a presence long-term.”
“The former is certainly on point but, aside from an awesome ability to clean messy bedrooms with his magic, I can’t really attest to the latter.”
I cannot sleep in the disaster zone you call a bedroom, and there has been no reason as yet to display the might that resides within me.
“He’s also imbued with modesty,” I said dryly. “Which beach do you want to go to?”
“Pandanus. There’s a long jetty there with seating at the far end. It’ll provide plenty of natural protection, though I will of course enhance it.”
And I will be interested in seeing his magic at work.
I glanced down at Atticus in surprise. You can’t sense it?
No, and that is unusual.
How unusual?
The only magical beings I generally cannot read are the dead reanimated or those without souls.
And he is obviously neither.
Unusual, as I said.
“Intriguing” was what he meant. I returned my attention to René. “Shall I meet you there?”
He nodded. “I need to slip by my apartment first and get a few things, just to ensure our safety, but it should only add twenty minutes or so.”
I didn’t believe that excuse for a second. “You own an apartment here? Or was that just a figure of speech?”
His smile finally broke free of the shadows haunting him. “According to the rags, I’m a millionaire playboy. What do you think?”
“An apartment in every capital and a girl in every town,” I replied with a grin.
“Not quite every town,” he said, smile widening. “Even I haven’t that sort of stamina.”
“That’s not what the gossip rags say.”
The stars returned, gleaming mischievously. “I guess the only way you’ll find out is to succumb to my charms and my bed.”
Mind above the crotch came Atticus’s comment.
Thankfully, he did not broadcast that widely. Are you sure you were some grand lord? You seem more like a freaking monk to me.
I am—was—an earl, and in my time, women did not make out with strangers.
Aside from the fact it hasn’t been “your time” for centuries, you’ve been the familiar for multiple witches.
All of whom were male and not so sexually... frustrated.
“I take it,” René said wryly, “that you are currently conversing with the cat that is definitely not your familiar.”
“His name is Atticus, and he’s an ass.”
René glanced down at Atticus and formally bowed. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Atticus.”
The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.
I rolled my eyes. “I should warn you, René, that he has this thing for men with power.”
René’s eyebrows rose. “He can sense mine?”
“No. Neither can I, for that matter. Why is that?”
“Shields within shields.” He glanced at his watch. “I will meet you at the pier in, say, an hour?”
I hesitated, my gaze briefly brushing his lips, then stepped back and forced a smile. “See you soon.”
He didn’t reply, but he did watch me as I walked to my car and climbed inside; his gaze was a weight that lingered deliciously long after I had left.
Thankfully, Atticus had decided not to accompany me but go directly to the meeting spot, so I didn’t have to put up with his running commentary on the state of my hormones.
Once I was close to Pandanus Beach, I stopped at a supermarket to get some nibblies to provide a plausible cover for us sitting there talking, then grabbed us both a decent coffee.
With the bag of food and the tray holding the two coffees in hand, I walked down to the end of the pier.
René wasn’t there, but Atticus had claimed one of two tables available at the end of the T-shaped pier and was giving anyone who tried to claim it off him the evil eye.
He had a very good line in evil eye, let me tell you.
You bought food.
It was said in an accusatory manner, and I smiled. “I did.”
I don’t suppose you thought of me, starving away to a mere snip of myself?
“I try to think of you as little as possible, but I did get you a tin of tuna and a tin of chicken, because we both know what a fusspot you can be.”
He sniffed, which was as close to a thank-you as I was likely to get. I put the coffee and the bags on the table and sat down on the bench seat with my back to the sea, just so I could have the pleasure of watching René arrive.
It was definitely a good decision, because the man moved with the restrained grace of a predator, though he was late enough that I’d not only consumed more than my fair share of the nibblies, but finished my coffee and started in on his.
“Sorry,” he said, slipping onto the bench seat opposite. “But I received a call from my friend—”
“No, you didn’t,” I cut in wryly. “You went to help said friend with the trace, because you didn’t want me there or knowing where she lived.”
His eyebrows rose. “Really?”
“Yes.” I took another sip of his coffee. “I have two brothers. I can taste a lie ten feet away.”
He laughed. “I cannot imagine either of them overtly lying. It does not seem to be in their nature.”
Suggesting it was in his? “Then you have not known them long enough.” I motioned to what remained of the food. “Help yourself. You did also have a coffee, but you took so long, I decided to drink it for you.”
“Seems fair.” He helped himself to a good chunk of cheese wrapped in prosciutto. “My friend had mixed success with the tracing.”
“Because the shard was too small?”
“Because the magic held a duality.”
Surprise rippled through me. While it wasn’t unusual for “white” witches to weave spells together in order to strengthen them, I’d been under the impression dark witches never did that sort of thing because it laid them open to attack from their counterpart. I was obviously wrong.
“Suggesting she was able to trace one thread of magic, but not the other?” I picked up a fat strawberry and bit into it. His gaze dropped to my mouth, and for several seconds he did nothing but watch me eat.
It was oddly erotic.
“Yes,” he said eventually, a slow smile stretching his lips. As if he knew my thought. Or, at the very least, was thinking the exact same thing.
“And can we speak the dreaded one’s name yet, or are we concentrating on the lesser of the magics you and your friend found?”
He flicked a hand, a casual movement that reminded me of the way you flicked a touch screen across, and one that defied the strength of the spell that washed through the air.
He’d yet again created a shield of some kind without bothering to spell and seemingly without effort, and yet its touch felt like lightning across my skin.
“I’ve never come across a witch capable of creating a shield without even bothering to spell,” I said, casually picking up another strawberry.
Atticus, I noticed, was studying René through narrowed eyes, a sure sign of deep concentration.
“It is a trick my father taught me.”
“Before or after he began his descent into darkness?”
He hesitated. “When he was on the cusp.”
“Meaning when he was in his ‘gray’ period?”
Wariness dimmed the stars in his eyes even further. “You could say that.”
“And does the fact that you’re able to perform that spell so easily mean you are also gray?”
He’s not gray, Atticus said, in an almost deferential manner, which was odd enough in itself.
Then what is he? A dark mage?
Or god help me, a blood mage? There were no scars on his arms, but then, few blood mages actually used their own blood in their spells.
I do not know.
But you felt his magic?
No more than you. He has, as he said, shields within shields.
Huh.
I will figure it out. Eventually.
Heaven help René, then, because he was about to gain a curious shadow.
“I am—” René paused, then half shrugged. “It is best to say I am a canvas on which color has yet to be painted.”
I raised an eyebrow. “While that’s certainly a lyrical description, every mage—and witch for that matter—has a certain energy to their magic, be it light, dark, or somewhere in between.”
“And yet, here I sit, a man currently free of such influences,” he said. “There is a vast world out there, Hanna, filled with things that are rarely viewed, let alone understood. No one can ever claim to see, let alone comprehend, it all, not even the Society.”
“You’re answering the question without actually answering it again.”
“I find it the best way to cope with unwanted questions coming from people I’ve only just met.”
“Even if you want to bed them?”
“Especially when I want to bed them. Now, can we get this conversation back on track?”
“If I’m being honest, I’d rather not, but I supposed we had better. So, who is this mysterious dark mage your father tried to kill?”
He helped himself to more prosciutto-wrapped cheese. “He’s a blood witch, and he went by the name of Orion.”
“After the god of hunting or the star system?”
“The former. As I warned earlier, he has a hunger for the pure of heart and preys on the innocent. He came into my father’s field of vision when he went after my twin’s daughter.”
“You have a twin?” I said in surprise. “Why has that fact never entered the gossip pages?”