Chapter 7
Chapter 7
T he voice sounded like it was echoing down a long tunnel. She blinked furiously, trying to see beyond the darkness that was now bleeding into her vision. Perspiration broke out on her upper lip and lower back, and she winced, bending low in her seat. She felt rather than saw Dave slide into the driver’s seat, and within seconds the car was in motion, driving out of the cemetery and headed wherever the hell they were going—she couldn’t see, and quite frankly didn’t care.
She groaned, her jaw clenching as she rode another wave of intense pain. As though from a distance she could hear the scream of wheels as Dave sped along the coast road.
They’d been on the road for only a few minutes—maybe. She was beginning to lose track of time, but she thought—hoped—they were far enough away from the crowd.
“Pull over,” she gasped. Oh, God, this was intense. The pain—she panted as she tried to ride the hot wash of agony.
“What? Are you sure?
“ Pull over .” Her voice emerged as something low and guttural and quite unnatural. The car jolted and bumped as he steered it onto the shoulder, slowing down.
She opened the door before he’d quite stopped.
“Sully!”
She tumbled out of the car, falling to her knees on the gravel. Her fingers clawed over, and she dug her nails into the earth, trying to ground herself.
“Sully—”
She held up her hand in warning. Don’t come near me . She couldn’t speak, couldn’t communicate other than that one abrupt, urgent movement. She crawled a foot, her stomach muscles wrenching, and she screamed at the excruciating heat that rose up from within, as though a ball of fire was exploding inside her—inside her gut, inside her brain. It was blinding light and suffocating darkness, it was fiercely hot and blisteringly cold, it was nothing and it was everything, all at once. She released the pathetic hold she had on her mental barrier, opened her mouth and retched up all that heartache, all that crushing sadness and consuming sorrow.
Over and over, the hot tide of negative energy roiled through her, and her stomach heaved, her throat burned and her eyes watered as she expelled Lucy’s and the other mourners’ grief in a hot black sludge that splashed on the ground and ran to rivulets, steaming as it soaked into the ground.
When she had no more to expel, when the last drops had left her body, she wiped a shaky hand across her chin. She straightened on her knees and started to sag.
Strong arms caught her, and this time she was too weak to fight that coalescence of power, that collision of energies. His scent, sage, juniper and neroli, his warmth, and then an overwhelming tide of tenderness, concern and just a hint of awe. It embraced her.
“Come on, sweetness. Let’s get you home.”
Dave pulled into Sully’s driveway and cut the engine. The sun was setting, streaking the sky with fiery pinks and tangerines as dusk crept in. He climbed out and walked around the back of Sully’s car—a sky blue station wagon throwback that should have visited a wrecking yard years ago, from the looks of it. The gears had been a little clunky, too. He’d have to look at them for her. He opened the passenger door, and Sully’s eyelids slowly rose.
She hadn’t quite passed out, but she was close. Whatever the hell she’d done had clearly drained her. He didn’t question the relief that she was still conscious, still breathing, after what he’d seen her do.
She grasped the upper frame of the door, as though getting ready to haul herself out. “Thanks for the ride—” her voice trailed off as he leaned in and scooped her up.
“Relax,” he told her. She needed sleep. She felt so limp in his arms, so...spent.
“No, I can—” her head bumped against his shoulder “—walk.”
He snorted. “Please. You can’t even keep your head straight.”
He cradled her as he strode up the steps and uttered a yield spell. The lock clicked and the door swung open. Dave walked into her house, glancing about. A hallway ran from the front door of the house and doglegged at what he assumed was the kitchen. There was a room on either side, neither of which looked like a suitable place to set her down.
“Bedroom?”
Her head lolled forward, and she waved her arm down the hall. “Back.”
He walked down and around the corner. The hallway had a small bathroom at the very end, a doorway that led to the kitchen on the right and a closed door on his left. He muttered a few words, and the door swung open as he approached.
Yeah, this looked exactly like what he’d imagine her bedroom would look like—if he’d wondered about it. There was a bay window that overlooked her garden, and sheer, gauzy white curtains that blew in the breeze coming in from the open sash windows. There was a window seat beneath the bay window that looked well cushioned, with pillows in what looked like delicate blue flowers that matched the other cushions with blue or green striped panels, and a navy knit blanket haphazardly draped on the end.
Her bed was queen-size, with an ornate white iron bedframe that surprisingly didn’t look overwhelmingly feminine. He flicked his fingers beneath her knees and the powder blue coverlet pulled back enough that he could lay her on the crisp white cotton sheets. She subsided against the pillows, and she struggled against the heavy weight of her eyelids.
“Thank you,” she whispered, as though she didn’t have the energy for her full voice.
He smiled as he drew the coverlet over her body. So polite. “My pleasure.”
She snuggled down, rolling over a little and sliding her hand beneath her cheek. She frowned, and he leaned closer.
“Sully, are you okay?” he asked softly, concerned by her expression. Was she in pain?
“Why are you my boyfriend?” she murmured drowsily. Her tone was breathy, but there was no mistaking the confusion.
“Uh...” Dave hesitated. Oops. He hadn’t expected that rumor to still have legs. “Well—” His eyebrows rose at the faint snore. “Sully?” he said gently. Her eyelids didn’t even flutter.
She gave another delicate snore. He tucked the coverlet in around her, knowing he’d dodged a conversational bullet, then leaned forward and kissed her forehead, a little surprised at the tenderness he felt. That was a first. “Sleep well, sweetness.”
He stood over her for a moment, his brows pulled down in a frown. What the hell had she done? She’d hugged that woman, and then couldn’t seem to walk or see straight. He reached out and lightly cupped her cheek. He couldn’t see, damn it. No past, no future and certainly no clue as to what had happened to her at the funeral. She was like a vault, closed off to his visions. He removed his hand, his fingers trailing across her smooth skin in a gentle caress. He curled his fingers into a fist. He liked touching her.
He stared at her thoughtfully. He couldn’t afford to like touching her. His hands—they’d hit. They’d hurt. They’d killed. Sully was—well, she was different. She was... His brow dipped in a slight frown. She was too interesting for his own good. She was sweet—when she wasn’t throwing forks at his head—she was gentle and caring. He’d seen how she’d embraced that woman at the funeral. Just walked right on up and opened her arms to the woman. She’d supported her when the woman looked on the verge of collapsing. She’d seemed so strong, so calm—until she’d turned and walked away. And then he’d seen her face when her mask had slipped. He’d seen the pain, seen how her face had drained of color, and how her legs had seemed to wobble. But she’d kept that hidden from her friends. She was open and genuine, and yet impressively well guarded and cautious. So strong for her friends, and conversely, so vulnerable away from them. And yet, he didn’t mistake this vulnerability for weakness. And that brought him back to where he’d started. She was too damn interesting for his own good.
He couldn’t afford to explore the mystery that was Sully Timmerman. Not with what he did—and what he’d done... He was a ghost. Once he’d figured out what was going on here, and resolved it to the satisfaction of the Ancestors, he’d be going back to Irondell—until the next trip, the next hit. He had no business getting interested in Sully.
Dave crossed over to the window seat and toed off his boots. He made a nest among the pillows, and drew the throw blanket at the end over his legs. He leaned his head back against the inset wall, and gazed at the woman sleeping so soundly in the bed. It took a while, but eventually he fell asleep, too, watching over her.
“You told them we dated ?”
Dave jolted awake, slightly disorientated. Coffee. Bacon. He hadn’t had dinner. God, that smelled amazing. He straightened the sunglasses that had slipped a little in his sleep. He looked around, blinking when he saw Sully standing next to him, arms akimbo, a frown on her face as she glared down at him. His gaze swept over her. Her hair was unbound, falling in loose waves around her head and shoulders, all shiny honey and totally appealing. She wore an off-the-shoulder peasant-style white top. He couldn’t see any bra straps. Was she wearing one? His gaze drifted down. That thought had him waking up fast, along with the realization that she was not in a happy mood. His gaze snapped back up to hers.
But she was obviously back to her usual spitfire setting, which was a good thing to see. A damn good thing to see, actually. His gaze started to drift south to her chest again, and he forced himself to blink, look away. Don’t perv, you perv.
“What?” he asked, then yawned, mentally scrambling to think past the bra situation and the bacon in the next room.
“You told Cheryl we dated in high school. I’ve just got off the phone from Jenny.”
Dave blinked as he rose from the window seat. Ouch. Apparently the window seat wasn’t much better than the sand the night before.
“Jenny? Who’s Jenny?” He needed coffee to jump-start this conversation properly.
“My friend, Jenny, who had an interesting chat with Cheryl yesterday at Gary’s funeral.”
He closed one eye as he looked at her. “Cheryl is the waitress at the diner, right?”
Sully nodded, her eyes narrowing.
He blinked again, then nodded. “Oh, yeah. She’s nice. Got a thing for the sheriff, I see.”
Sully pursed her lips. “Everybody knows that except for the sheriff.” Then she went back to frowning. “You told them I was an old girlfriend.”
He stretched, then smiled as he started to walk to the door. “Don’t sell yourself short, you’re not that old.”
She thumped him in the arm. Ouch. Okay, so she wasn’t in the mood to be teased. Sully strode across the hall and into the kitchen, and made a beeline for the kettle that was beginning to whisper on the stove. She was barefoot, and he caught a glimpse of tanned calves and pink polish on her toenails. Her skirt flowed with each movement, but he was pretty sure she didn’t know how it skimmed her hips and butt in a way that couldn’t help but draw a guy’s attention. Damn, he had no idea domesticity could look so damn sexy in the morning.
He settled himself on a stool at her kitchen counter and watched as she moved through the kitchen. Her clothing might be loose, but it still draped over her limbs, and he could make out the shape of her thigh, the indent of her waist, the swell of her breast... And he shouldn’t be noticing that. Not with this woman. And right now she was upset with him.
“I told her that so I could find out where you were,” he told her truthfully. “Back when I thought you were murdering people.”
“The whole town is talking about it,” she hissed. She pulled out two mugs and started pouring the coffee.
He tilted his head. She sure was fired up about this. She was so Zen about him trying to kill her, but having her name connected with his seemed to really tick her off. “Shelving the fact I may have told a little fib to find you, what’s so bad about people thinking we used to date?” he asked conversationally. The more he thought about it, the more the concept interested him. Heck, when was the last time he’d dated a woman? Not a hookup, not a one-night stand, or a spontaneous, fun-minded bed-buddy, but a date , with planning, and a full meal, real conversation, aftershave...
She slammed the mug down next to him on the counter. “Because I would never date someone like you,” she snapped.
He blinked, surprised by the little flash of hurt at the words. He schooled his features into calm disinterest. “Someone...like me?” he asked conversationally. His gut tightened with tension as he waited for her response.
Her mouth tightened, then she nodded. “Yeah. Someone like you.” She grabbed a plate at the side of the stove and started serving up some scrambled eggs and bacon.
“What is that supposed to mean?” He abandoned all attempts at remaining casual as she thunked the plate down in front of him, followed by the cutlery she pulled from a jar at the end of the counter.
She turned back to serve up her own plate. “You’re physically dominating, and you’ll do or say whatever you need to in order to get what you want.”
She walked around the other side of the bench and sat on the stool next to him.
He stared down at his plate. Uh, wow . He slid some scrambled eggs on his fork and shoved it in his mouth, even though he’d lost his appetite.
It wasn’t like he could argue with her. He did use his body to dominate others, particularly when doing a job. And after what had happened on the beach, Sully would know that better than anybody. Problem was, he had to. No witch he ever faced wanted to cross the veil to the Other Realm. These people were criminals, murderers...psychopaths. If he didn’t dominate them, they’d kill him—and many others.
And yeah, he would say or do whatever he needed to if it meant dispatching a witch in order to protect the vulnerable.
He swallowed his scrambled eggs, and reached for his mug. “Fair call.” And he hated it.
She sighed. “It’s just—I don’t date, and now they think I do.”
Dave frowned. “You don’t date...ever?”
“Never.”
“Why not?” She was attractive, sweet-natured, smart, strong—she’d held her own against him. Mostly. She had the body of a siren. His gaze drifted over the creamy skin revealed by her top, and again wondered about her underwear—or, hopefully, lack of it. She was gorgeous. Why didn’t she date?
She shrugged. “It’s a lifestyle choice. I have my work to concentrate on.”
He cut up some bacon and chewed it thoughtfully. He could relate to that. Kind of. There was no way he, as a Witch Hunter, could have a significant other. He’d known that from the start, and had accepted that. But he couldn’t deny it—every now and then he’d feel lonely, and would seek out company. Not as a date , though. But Sully—Sully wasn’t a Witch Hunter. She didn’t have to up and leave in the middle of the night, didn’t have to fight to the death every time she went to “work”, didn’t have to try to give the impression of being normal instead of being all torn up inside, hating what had to be done. He didn’t know why she didn’t date, why she wasn’t available for a relationship, why she wasn’t looking for company, or just plain fun...and yes, he was very curious, but was in no position to be allowed to care. Either way, though, his story at the diner had unintended consequences, which is the last thing he wanted for her.
“I’m sorry. I’ll clear it up with Cheryl when I see her.” He looked at her briefly. Her cheeks were still a little pale, and there was the faintest of shadows under her eyes. “How are you?”
She met his gaze as she sipped her coffee. She placed her mug on the counter. “Better, thank you.”
He turned to face her on the stool. “What happened?”
She averted her eyes. “Uh, not sure. Probably sunstroke.” She nodded. “Yeah. It was really hot.” She finished her breakfast quickly.
He frowned. “That’s the first time I’ve seen someone with sunstroke throw up black gunk.”
“Really? Oh, I’ve seen it happen,” she murmured as she rose from the bench. He watched her as she walked around to the sink, concentrating fiercely on navigating her way through her kitchen. Sully Timmerman sucked at lying.
“Sully.”
She halted at the sink, head down, then turned to face him. “Yes?”
“Is it because you’re an empath?” he asked softly. He’d heard of them, but had never encountered one, before. Empaths were considered the witch version of truth seekers, those individuals occasionally born across the shadow breeds with the uncanny ability to sense emotion, and to gauge honesty and subterfuge. They were highly sought after in some cases—fantastic to use in civil litigation or high-value deals. In other cases, they were considered a threat, particularly by those who were trying to keep secrets or maintain lies. He knew one, Vassi Galen, but she’d always kept her truth-seeking talents a secret. Maybe that’s what Sully did, to avoid the risk of folks wanting to shut down the walking lie detector. He held up a hand. “It’s okay, you don’t need—”
“Yes.” She nodded slowly. “Yes, it’s part of being an empath.” She shrugged, palms up. “When you do your stuff, you get a name branded across your body. When I do my stuff, I draw in other people’s pain, and it can sometimes make me...ill.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He couldn’t help his concern. She’d coughed up a bucket-load of steaming black goop, and practically passed out.
“Yeah. Once I get rid of it, I’m generally fine. Yesterday was hard to control, though. There was so much grief and heartbreak.”
“And you drew it all in?” Hell, no wonder it looked like she was barfing up toxic tar.
She shook her head. “No. Not all of it. Lucy lost the love of her life, as well as the woman who pretty much adopted her as her daughter. She will feel sorrow, and she’ll feel grief, and I can’t take that away from her, because that’s based in the love she has for those people, and I’d have to take away that, too. I took away some of the pain of it, that’s all.” Sully grimaced. “Only I can’t necessarily cherry-pick who I help in that kind of situation. Once I crack the wall, anything can come through.”
“Crack the wall?” His eyebrows rose as he looked down at her. “Is that what it’s like?”
She thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, I guess it is. When you open that gate, the emotions come in. In a situation like that, it’s like a...flood. With claws.” She shuddered, then waved her hand. “But that’s gone now.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you so much for driving me home.” She frowned. “Why were you there?”
Dave looked at her for a moment. “Actually, that’s a really good question,” he said slowly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you there.” Over the past few days he’d tried talking to the first victim’s neighbors, his work colleagues, people at the gym, but they were all pretty noncommittal, and for the first time he couldn’t just bespell these people to tell him what he wanted to know. Darn nulls.
“I knew Gary, and Lucy is a friend. Naturally I’d go to his funeral. What about you?”
Dave frowned. “You knew Gary Adler?”
Sully frowned back at him. “Yeah. How do you—?” Her eyes rounded. “Oh. Good. Grief. You saw Gary die.”