Chapter Ten
John
So what do we do now?” Marcus asks. We’re standing in the small patch of grass between the house and the barn, both wearing light, stretchy clothing, so there are few limits on our possible activities. On my own, I might get my longsword and go through some patterns. As it is, I shrug.
“What do you like to do?”
He blinks, not quite hiding a flash of heat.
“I’ve done a couple different martial arts, but wolf, you know? I don’t need to do much to stay in shape.”
And you’re in very good shape. I grit my teeth, disguising it as a smile that was more of a grimace. “We can start with some stretches and then do a couple fighting drills.”
“Sure. Before we do, though, I wonder if we should take a look around the property.”
His serious expression keeps me from asking why. “You think whoever triggered the wards might still be here?” Even as I say the words, I feel like an idiot. He’s right, and I should have thought of it first.
“Either that, or, I don’t know, left us a present of some kind.”
I exhale, relieved to have a task that doesn’t involve the same risk as any hand-to-hand contact would have. A wrestling drill could have resulted in him pinned underneath me, and then . . . “You’re right. Let’s scout around.”
The barn marks one edge of the backyard and at the other, there’s a small wrought-iron table and a pair of chairs, box hedges and bougainvillea cradling them in privacy.
Around the house, there are enough small trees, shrubs, and tall succulents to make me uncomfortable. Anybody could be hiding anywhere.
I follow Marcus down the drive, past a covered porch on the side of the house where a pair of wide couches invite everyone to sit on their striped pillow seats. There’s no one around and nothing unexpected. Pots of geraniums and shrub roses with late blooms don’t worry me. Anything like—
“Hey, what’s that?” Marcus asks.
We’re near the end of the drive, the house’s covered entrance to our back. Something shines in the gravel where the driveway meets the road. He picks up his pace, and I jog a couple steps so that I get to whatever it is before he does.
It’s the silver knife I used to fight off my attacker the night before.
“What the hell?” Marcus mutters. He drops to his knees and would have scooped the thing up if I hadn’t grabbed his arm to stop him.
“Wait.” I kneel next to him, most of my attention on the familiar object, a sliver of my mind aware of his presence, his heat, his wild, smoky scent. Lord, pull yourself together. “Good job noticing this, but we should probably have Rob take a look before anyone touches it.”
“Why?”
“Because God only knows what kind of spell could be embedded in it.”
He sits back on his haunches, brow drawn together. “Isn’t it, like, a knitting needle or something?”
“A what?”
“It’s a stick with a hook on the end.”
“You see a crochet hook?”
“Well, yeah. It’s not, like, all that threatening.”
“Good that you didn’t touch it.” I stare hard at the knife, struggling to make sense of things. Rather than explain that I see something different, I say, “My hobby is crochet, and de Lisle would know that.” Either way, the threat is aimed at me.
His eye gets wide, and he glances from me to the knife and back again. “As threats go, it doesn’t rate.”
“It shouldn’t be here at all.” I straighten. “Keep an eye on things while I go get Rob.”
The jog to the house gives me time to shake off my initial brush of fear. Still, Rob can tell something’s wrong as soon as he sees me in the foyer. “What’s going on?”
“We might know what triggered the wards.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fantastic. I just got a text from Jen. She was headed our way and realized someone was following her, so now she’s stopped at a coffee shop in the Topanga Canyon.”
Will clatters down the stairs. He’s wearing penny loafers, narrow jeans, and a white tee shirt with the sleeves rolled up above his biceps. Straight out of 1955, except for the black eyeliner. “Now what?”
“The usual,” Rob says, shaking his head.
I move to the door. “Come see this before we walk too far down the plank.”
They follow me to the end of the drive, where Marcus is sitting cross-legged near the crochet hook. Will and Rob flank me, and we all stare down at the thing. “What do you see?” I ask them.
“Drop one of your hooks?” Will asks, which is answer enough.
“Not mine,” I say soberly. Rob’s silence and the curious glance he gives Will hints that he also sees the knife.
“When you look at it long enough,” Marcus says, “you can see it’s sitting in a pool of blood.”
Rob squats down, leaning over the thing. “He’s right.”
“I can smell it,” Marcus whispers. I inhale and the blood scent startles me.
“That is the most pathetic death threat ever,” Will says, making Rob chuckle. Even I have to laugh.
Rob reaches out and holds his hand over the knife. “Warm,” he murmurs. “Hellfire, more than likely.”
“So what do we do with it?” Will asks.
“Freeze it,” I say shortly. The best way to counteract magical fire is with ice.
Rob stands abruptly. “Will, you’re coming with me to get Jen.
John, you and Marcus figure out how to get rid of this thing.
Do it fast and stick together. At the very least, de Lisle knows John is staying here, so stay inside the wards.
Oh, and Will, we’ll both need to wear a glamour so we’re not recognized. ”
“Got it,” Will says, and they jog up the path to the house, feet crunching on the stone path. When I look back at Marcus, he’s on his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Googling how to freeze hellfire.”
I nod, as if that somehow makes sense. “Of course.” Even by our standards, this is weird.
He swipes at the phone’s screen. “The closest I can come is demon fire, and to counteract that, we need someone who can work with void magic.”
His sincerity makes me smile despite myself. “I was thinking we’d ask Nasir to bring us a lead box and something inert to pick the thing up. There must be some kind of deep freeze in the Securitas offices where they could store it.”
He blinks and stuffs his phone in his pocket, the color rising in his cheeks. “Sure. I should have known you’d have a plan.”
We stand there for a moment, stuck in our discomfort. I can’t get rid of my stupid grin, and he looks increasingly awkward.
“Why were you so angry at me yesterday?” he asks, turning my grin into a grimace.
There are many ways I could respond. I choose honesty. “Because of this.”
“A haunted crochet hook?”
“Because I want you to go back to your life.” Where it’s safe. You’re too goddamn beautiful for this. “This situation is going to get more dangerous, and I don’t want to put you at risk.”
His expression flattens, his eye wide. Surprise? Suppressed anger? I don’t know. He’s hard to read. “I can handle myself,” he says.
“I believe you.” I just wish you didn’t have to.
We’re at an impasse until he says, “So how do we get in touch with Nasir?”
I run a hand through my hair, grateful he’s changed the subject. “I’ll have Rob text him before he and Will leave to get the witch.” The air is warming, and I can pick out individual scents: sage, thyme, hints of lemon.
“What do we do with the hook thing until we get a lead box or whatever?”
“Guard it. Come on.” I jerk my thumb toward the house. We meet Rob and Will on the front porch—except they don’t look like Rob and Will. If not for the years shining through their eyes, they could be any two blond surfers, and after Rob sends Nasir a message, they leave.
“Guess I need to be nicer to elves,” Marcus says absently, staring at nothing.
“Why?”
“Because it takes some heavy mojo to pull off that kind of physical change.”
“Likely it’s a combination of Will’s gift and Rob’s power.”
“Sure.” The word sounds like a sigh. “So what’s next?”
“Now we simply wait.”
“Awesome.” His flat tone convinces neither of us.
“Come on.” I point to the porch. “We’ll sit here and make sure nothing else pops through the wards.”
Marcus squares his shoulders, inhales, and follows me across the yard.
A set of three broad stone steps lead from the yard to the porch, with two heavy oak chairs to the left of the door, a small table between them.
Marcus takes a seat on the lowest step, his back against the base of one of the four pillars that hold up the overhanging roof.
I sit on the top step, elbows resting on my knees.
“We could be doing whatever you all consider training,” Marcus says, his smile more natural, as if he’s shaken off whatever disturbed him a minute ago.
“We could . . .” I swallow a flash of desire, which gets harder when he starts laughing.
“Nah. Tell me about Rob instead.”
That request is only slightly less dangerous. Rob and I have such a long history that it can be hard to remember what’s true and what’s legend.
And what should be left in the past.
Taking a deep breath, I prop myself on my hands and stretch my legs, catching my heel on the lowest step. “Rob is . . .well, he’s both human and a sort of deity”—true, and safe enough—“and sometimes it’s hard to tell which is which.”
He glances at me, his one-eyed gaze curious. “What do you mean?”
“You know the phrase ‘he plays his cards close to his vest’?”
He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans, pulling them tight across his thighs, a part of his anatomy I’m doing my best to ignore. “Yeah?” he says.
“Rob keeps his cards very close, and we all try to keep in mind that he’s generally playing with more than one hand.”
“Sounds like you don’t trust him.”
“Oh, I trust him with my life. I just don’t always believe the things he says.”
“That’s probably wise,” he murmurs.
We’re interrupted when a late-model Jeep pulls up, scuffed and scarred enough to have been in an actual war, and Nasir climbs out.
Skin tanned by centuries in the sun, he is broad and strong, with black hair and a thick, full beard.
I try not to notice the way Marcus eyes him, though I’m not sure if it’s because he expects him to shift into his dragon form or if it’s because Nasir is dramatically handsome.
I can’t remember if we ever mentioned Nasir’s true nature, which makes it more likely it’s the dragon shifter’s looks.
Which gives me an unexpected jab of jealousy.
“The wards aren’t strong enough,” Nasir says tersely. “Now show me this thing that could be worse than death itself.”