Chapter 13
Chapter 13
D ave followed Sully into her home and watched as she rubbed her neck. He closed the door behind them, locked it, then put a magical ward over it, just for the sake of it. Relief swelled through him as he saw the brief bloom of color, the intricate markings of his spell take hold of the door and its frame before disappearing from view. It had felt damn weird not being able to call on his powers when he was chasing the witch.
She turned to look at him. “Nightcap?”
“Hell, yeah.”
She turned on the light to the living room, and he narrowed his eyes. She must have seen his reaction, because she turned off the lights, then waved her hand casually. The candles that were placed around the room sputtered to life, and he smiled his appreciation. She crossed to the white timber cabinet, and his eyebrows rose when she pulled out a bottle of Irish whiskey and two glasses. She poured a measure of the amber liquid into each and handed him a glass. She took a seat in the armchair, and he subsided on the folded out sofa.
“What an awful day,” Sully muttered as she took a sip of her drink.
Dave nodded. It had been interesting, explaining to Sheriff Clinton about an intruder the victim believed had been her brother. But he’d chased that bastard, and it wasn’t Jacob. Wrong height, wrong weight, wrong hair color—just wrong, wrong and wrong. Jacob had been removed from his sister’s home to give her a chance to calm down, but with Jenny being a null, Dave had been unable to do any body or brain scans to figure out what the hell had happened.
“He blurred her memory,” Sully murmured, incredulous. “She’s a null, and he tricked her.” Her lips tightened. “And to make her think it was Jacob—that’s just plain low.”
“While I think Jacob Forsyth is more than capable of being a dick, you’re right, he wasn’t the man I chased out of Jenny’s kitchen.”
He took a sip of his whiskey, enjoying the mild burn as it slid down his throat. “I just wish I’d gotten the bastard.”
Sully tilted her head. “So, he just...disappeared?”
Dave nodded, and finished his drink. He didn’t like failing—hated it, but he just couldn’t figure out how the witch had done his vanishing act.
In null territory.
When he couldn’t so much as muster a powerpuff punch.
Sully rose and crossed to her library, waving a hand across the front of the bookcase. Dave watched as the camouflage spell glimmered at the movement to reveal the tomes of magical spells and history.
Sully dragged her finger gently across the spines, and for a moment he was distracted by the graceful movement.
“What are you looking for?” he asked, and rose from the sofa. He placed his empty glass on the end table and crossed to her. She pulled out a book and passed to him, then scanned again, pulling two more volumes from the shelf.
“Something isn’t adding up here,” she said, as she crossed to the liquor cabinet and snagged up the whiskey bottle. “This guy has used my name—I don’t understand that part, or why the Ancestors sent you after me. That’s number one,” she said, holding up the bottle. She poured another measure in his glass, and one in her own, then placed the bottle on the table.
“Number two, he’s able to use magic. Around nulls. That doesn’t compute. Nulls void any natural magic. Wolves can’t shift, vampires can’t fang out, witches can’t cast spells.”
Dave nodded as he sat down on the sofa again. “I know, that’s something that’s confusing the crap out of me, too,” he admitted.
She nodded, then started to flick through one of the books she held as she sank into her armchair. “So, how is he doing it? There has to be something in these books that can help us figure this out.”
He eyed her for a moment. He didn’t need to ask her why she was doing this. He’d seen her with her friend. She’d been worried. Jenny had been distraught, clutching on to Sully as she’d given her statement to the sheriff. He and Sully had spent hours with the nulls, and he had even walked the neighborhood again, with some of the deputies, in case they could find some trace of the man who’d managed to enter Jenny’s home through her front door, mess with her memory and almost kill her.
When Sully had been sitting with Jenny, he’d been trying to soothe Jacob. The one thing he and Sully had agreed on was not to mention the witch aspect. It didn’t make sense—yet. They couldn’t explain it, and Dave didn’t want the sheriff looking at them as potential suspects and distract the man from pursuing the relevant clues—or interfere with his own objective of finding the witch and sending the bastard to the Other Realm.
Jacob, though, had had a difficult time accepting that his sister believed he’d tried to kill her, and was looking for answers—and Sully had wanted to give them to him, and Dave knew how hard it was for her to bite her tongue.
“They’re PBs, obviously,” Sully muttered absently as she scanned the pages in front of her.
Dave’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”
She nodded, her honey-blond braid sliding across her shoulder. “Yeah. Jacob confirmed it. He told me the Adlers, Forsyths, Sinclairs, Drummonds, Maxwells and Tarringtons are the PB families in their community. A member from each family sits on the council.”
Dave blinked. “When did he tell you that?”
“When you helped Jenny up, and I had to tell her brother she wasn’t really losing her marbles,” Sully said calmly. She winced. “Those were Jacob’s words, not mine.”
Dave’s lips tightened. “So when Jacob told us about the PBs, he just happened to forget to mention he was one of them?” That was damn annoying.
Sully shrugged. “They’ll tell us stuff when they trust us. We just need to work harder to earn their trust.”
Dave frowned as he glanced down at the old and weathered book he held. “And in the meantime, more of them are in danger.” It didn’t escape his notice that Jacob Forsyth trusted Sully enough to divulge this information, after pretty much telling him to get lost the night before.
Sully played with her braid, and Dave found himself watching her more than reading from the book in his lap. She turned a page, and he forced himself to look down at the book he held. Yet in a moment, he found his gaze lifting to surreptitiously peek at her again. Her slightly crooked mouth was quirked, and a faint line had appeared between her eyebrows as she read through the spells and histories. For some, it took only a momentary scan. For others, she seemed to catch her lip, as though hopeful she’d found the answer, and then she’d press those sexy lips into a disappointed pout and turn the page.
She glanced up at him, distracted, and he glanced back down at his book.
“What about the Ancestors?”
He blinked at the question that seemed to come out of left field. “What?”
“The Ancestors,” she repeated, then rose from her seat. She disappeared into her kitchen, and he heard the tap run in the sink, and then she came back into the living room carrying a bowl of water.
“Can you ask them?”
He put the book off to the side, frowning as she set the bowl down on the floor between them. She slipped her flip-flops off to the side, then sat cross-legged on the floor.
“Ask them what?” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he tried to figure out where she was going with this.
She met his gaze. “The Ancestors directed you to me. They were wrong. Can you ask them for help?”
Dave shook his head briefly, confused as he tried to work through her suggestion until it made sense. He eyed the bowl.
“It’s the Ancestors, Sully. They’ve only ever given me the name, and I take it from there. There’s no conversation. It’s not like a phone call, where I can chat with them over it.”
“Have you ever tried?”
He frowned as he lowered himself to the floor, eyeing the bowl. “You want to scry the Ancestors?” He crossed his legs. He’d never heard of that being done, so he had no idea whether it would work or not—or whether it would just piss off the Ancestors.
Sully shrugged. “It can’t hurt to ask, right? This guy is doing stuff that we’ve never seen before. Surely they can give us a clue.”
He gave her a doubtful look, and she responded with an expression full of exasperation. “This guy managed to give you the slip—and I’ve seen you in action. I even went invisible, and you still caught me. Aren’t you interested to see how he managed to evade you?”
He shifted uncomfortably. Admitting to failure yet again was like running a cheese grater over his skin. Damn it, she had a point. He nodded, then settled himself comfortably. Sully did the same, and he closed his eyes, centering his awareness. Once he felt the peace, the warmth of relaxation, he slid his eyes open. He tried to extend his awareness, his senses, to encompass the witch in front of him, but her shields were in place yet again, blocking him off. His brow dipped briefly. It wasn’t unusual for witches to combine powers in something like this, but Sully was completely closed off to him. He’d have to do this on his own.
Sully met his gaze, then dipped her finger in the bowl and swirled her finger to create a gentle whirlpool. She murmured a chant in the Old Language, and he shoved aside his surprise at her knowledge and skill, focusing on the water in the bowl that was beginning to cloud over as steam rose from the surface.
Sully kept chanting, and once he could decipher the words, he joined her. The water thickened, and Sully nodded at him. Dave closed his eyes, and using the Old Language, summoned the Ancestors, and asked his question—who was this witch, and where could they find him?
He removed his sunglasses, then opened his eyes. He could feel a coolness sweep over him, the gentle but dizzying sensation as his perception of Sully’s living room, of Sully herself, slipped from view, and instead the steam enveloped him. At first it was gentle, its touch against his face whisper-soft, but the pressure increased, and the color faded from white to red. Murky shadows, dark and indistinct, danced around him, weaving and ducking, fading and reappearing. Flashes of light snapped and crackled around him, so bright it hurt his eyes, but he remained steadfast, eyes open, until the light dimmed into that X symbol he’d seen carved into flesh. Over and over, the symbol flashed around him, and then he saw a face emerge from the red mist. The features were fuzzy, and he squinted, but no matter how much he tried to focus, the features wouldn’t sharpen, but would twist and morph as it got closer, bigger, growing larger the nearer it drew.
“Dave,” Sully gasped, and Dave blinked.
The red mist dispersed with a soft hiss, and he had to blink again to snap Sully into focus. She was staring down at the bowl, her expression perturbed.
He glanced down. The clear water they’d started with was now thick and red, and the metallic scent was nearly overpowering.
Blood.
It was expanding in the bowl, creeping up to the lip. “There’s so much of it,” Sully whispered.
He reached for the bowl, sweeping it up as he rose to his feet and strode into the kitchen. He tipped the blood down the sink and ran the tap to get rid of the liquid that had splattered the sides of the basin.
Sully followed him, and he turned to face her. “Well?” she asked him, curious. “Did it work? What did you see?”
He frowned. “I’m not sure. Red cloud. That symbol, flashing over and over,” he told her, his fingers spreading out like mini fireworks. “Then there was this face, but I couldn’t see it, the features kept twisting and moving.” He gestured to the now clean bowl sitting in the sink. “Then the blood.”
She shuddered, and rubbed her hands over her arms. “There was so much of it,” she whispered. “What do you think they meant?”
He shrugged. “No idea. I’ve never tried to contact them before, so...” He winced. “I don’t understand their code.”
Sully gestured to his chest. “So the Ancestors can freakin’ spell stuff out, but use cryptic picture codes for the important stuff. Nice going,” she muttered, glaring up at the ceiling, as though talking with them directly.
“That symbol is obviously important,” he murmured, and headed back to the books in the living room, then halted. He turned to her.
“You use your safeguards, even when you’re at home?” Why was she so guarded? She certainly had the right—every witch could decline a sharing of powers, it was their prerogative, but it had still been a surprise. He’d felt a companionship with her, a camaraderie, a shared intimacy as they worked together to figure out what the hell was going on. Admittedly, the magical block had made him realize he’d taken that for granted, and now was uncertain just how much they could or would share.
Her expression was surprised for a moment, then understanding crossed her features. “Yes. I guess it’s just reflex.” She scratched her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think to try to link for the scry.” She indicated the bowl. “It’s been so long, I just instinctively do it by myself.”
He turned to face her fully. “How long has it been, Sully?” Witches were funny creatures. Mostly, they gathered in covens, but there were plenty of outliers, and one could certainly reserve their right not to link. Sully, though, seemed too sociable, too connected with the well-being of others to be so isolated. He’d seen her with Jenny, the amount of times she’d reached out to touch her friend, and the frustration on her face when whatever she’d wanted to do to help her was blocked. He’d seen her comfort her friend, hold her, reassure her... She genuinely cared for others, and that kind of witch seemed conducive to sharing, to linking and bonding. It was almost as though she was fighting her own instinctive nature.
Sully shrugged as she stepped toward the living room. “Four, maybe five years.”
He reached out and clasped her arm, halting her. His ears popped, and the hairs rose on his arms and the back of his neck as their magical fields collided once again, awakening and enhancing his senses. He blinked, then swallowed, trying to ignore the physical sensations bombarding his body. He wanted to understand—no, needed to understand why a witch, why Sully, would bury herself in a place where she couldn’t use her powers.
“Why?” he asked hoarsely.
She hesitated, and he wasn’t sure if she realized her slow shift toward him. “I needed to,” she said to him. “I needed...space.”
It was that line. I need space. It’s not you, it’s me ...he’d heard it a dozen times, and used it himself at least a dozen more. Realization, swift and unavoidable, hit him. “Who was he?” he asked. He slid his hand down her arm and loosely grasped her hand. It was meant to be comforting. Friendly. But her smooth skin beneath his touch was distracting.
She lifted her shoulders in a casual, dismissive gesture. “He was nobody important.”
“He must have been, for you to hide yourself here for four, five years,” he pointed out. He slid his thumb back and forth over the back of her hand, enjoying the feel of her silken skin.
She frowned up at him, her blue eyes darkening. “I’m not hiding, Dave.” She gave a slight shake of her head in denial. Her gaze drifted to his chest, then down to where their hands joined.
His eyebrows rose, and he shifted toward her. “Oh, really? From what I can tell, you’re the only witch in this area—”
“You can’t know that for sure. This is null territory,” she interrupted. “You could have a whole coven here, and they wouldn’t be able to practice or reveal their talents. We wouldn’t even know.”
“Is that why you’re here? To conceal your talents?”
“I—” her gaze dropped to his lips, and then she met his gaze again. “I’m not concealing my talents,” she said in a near whisper. Her breath hitched, then released in the sexiest sigh, the sound curling down deep inside him, flooding him with a molten desire that had him hardening in his jeans.
How could she make that sound so damn suggestive? So hot? He tried to focus on the conversation, but felt he was losing that battle fast. “Are you sure?” He stepped closer, and brought her hand up to rest against his chest.
She swallowed, and he smiled when he heard the audible gulp. He slid his other hand beneath her braid, cupping the back of her neck. He could see her nipples tighten against the cotton of her camisole, knew he wasn’t the only one affected by this attraction, this fascination between them.
“Show me,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss the side of her jaw. He inhaled, and her scent, roses, vanilla and sunshine, hit him like a drug.
She rested her hand on his waist for a moment, her eyes dark with confusion. “Show you what?”
“Show me you, Sully,” he whispered, his lips trailing down her neck. She angled her head to the side, exposing more of her neck.
“What—what you see is what you get,” she murmured, then moaned when his lips found that delicious indent between her neck and collarbone.
His hand slid from where it cupped her head down her back, and he halted when he found her belt with the concealed sheaths, and the blades they contained. His lips curved against her skin. “Oh, I think there is more to you than meets the eye,” he murmured, then raked his teeth gently against her shoulder.
She trembled, a slight quivering that set off an answering throb deep inside him, hardening his cock. She slid her arms up over his chest to twine around his neck, her nails raking through his short hair. Her fingers clenched in his hair, pulling his head back up.
“I’ll show you me if you show me you,” she whispered, then stood on tiptoe to kiss him.