41 Dáinn #2
“Your head isn’t the problem,” I taunt. “It’s your heart that’s gone and got himself in trouble. Your soul too. I hope you see in her what I see. She’s wild and beautiful, yes. Strong, willful. But she’s a tender flower, Jasper. Caring for her properly will take patience and expert skill.”
“You do realize you’re talking to a green witch,” he counters. “I know how to help things grow.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“She’s not a plant, Jasper. She’s a person. Some of your expertise may transfer, but not all. If your performance last night is any indication, you’ll need my help.”
“My performance?”
“She was sad and lonely, and you didn’t even offer to brush her hair.”
He groans in defeat. “Are you finished?”
My poor, broken witch. Terrified to want. Terrified to be wanted. I see the way his aura pulses as he rebuilds his walls, searching for any point of deflection. After a moment, he sighs. “You said you have information about Ludmilla you needed to share?”
Right. Back to business. “I do indeed. I spoke to Ezra Howe today.”
He instantly bristles, like an angry porcupine. “You spoke to Howe? What the fuck, Dáinn? What happened to keeping a low fucking profile?”
“Easy,” I soothe. “I used my powers of persuasion on him. He won’t remember a thing.”
“Well? What did you learn?”
Squaring my shoulders, I give him my full report. “Howe is looking for the bodies of the First Five up at Homewood. He plans to use some sort of human technology, a corpse-finding device.”
“A corpse-finding device?”
“Yes. I broke into his office today and found the order forms.” Tugging copies from my back pocket, I hand them over.
Jasper unfolds them and quickly reads. “Ground penetrating radar?”
I step in closer, peering over his shoulder at the paperwork.
“Yes, the one Howe has is broken. He requested a new set of batteries to fix his machine. Apparently, it’s a technology proprietary to the company.
I canceled his order, of course. Just to be safe, I used a separate account and ordered a thousand batteries to be delivered to a warehouse in Sacramento. ”
“A thousand batteries? Why?”
“It’s a small company. They’ll be so busy filling that order, they won’t be able to fill Howe’s when he finally catches on to the canceled order. I figured that will buy us enough time to make it through the blood moon rite without him procuring a new battery for his broken machine.”
“And how did you order a thousand batteries?”
I pluck the thin card from my other back pocket and hold it up. “I used your credit card.”
“Motherfucker.” Jasper snatches it from my hand. “What am I supposed to do with a thousand batteries for a corpse-finding machine, huh?”
“How is that relevant to our discussion?” He growls low as I go on.
“Anyway, as I was saying, Howe believes the bodies of your witchy relatives were buried along with their grimoires, and that’s what Ludmilla wants.
For there is nothing my mistress craves so much as magic that isn’t hers.
The lure of grimoires from witches powerful enough to ward an entire island against her would be a treasure worth any price.
Stopping Ludmilla means we must stop her from getting those grimoires. ”
After a moment, Jasper nods. “Yeah, I know.”
“You know what?”
“About the grimoires. I already know.”
I bluster. “I—don’t—how do you already know?”
“Birdie told me,” he replies with an indifferent shrug. “She talked to Howe today too.”
All the air leaves my rendered chest on a frustrated breath.
“Ah . . . I see. Well, it appears I am unneeded here.” Snatching the papers from him, I fold them and tuck them away.
There’s no way for my witch to know this, but there’s nothing I loathe more than redundancy, especially when I am the one made redundant.
He steps closer. “Hey, it’s okay—”
I slap his hand away. “You see, this is exactly why Birdie should never be parted from us again!”
He reels back. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“This kind of duplication of efforts could sink us, Jasper! Half my day was wasted getting that information for you. And we only have nine days left!”
He nods, contrition painting the edges of his aura a cool lemon yellow. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Look—maybe we just need some better communication? You know, check in with each other throughout the day. Do you know how to use a cell phone?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m a wraith, Jasper. Not an amoeba!”
“Yeah, well, for a minute there it kind of seemed like you didn’t know how to get your own shoes off,” he shouts over me. “So, excuse me for asking the blunt question—”
“I was savoring the moment! I haven’t taken shoes off my feet in more than two hundred years.
Because I haven’t had feet!” For one exquisite moment, I get to feel the all-too-human pleasure of dragging a hand through my hair in frustration.
The thrill of it is almost enough to temper my anger.
Almost. “Gods, you mortals are unbelievable. You take everything for granted! Having feet is a gift, Jasper. You get to take your shoes on and off every day. To you it’s nothing more than routine.
To me, it’s a godsdamn miracle. This is just one wraith’s opinion, but you should try infusing a little more whimsy into your clinically boring life! ”