Chapter 12 #2
“There is only forward,” he said, his hand brushing my cheek. “And just because I’m not physically present doesn’t mean I’m not here. I will always be with you as long as you need me.”
“I need you,” I whispered so low I barely felt the words come out of me.
“Then I am at your side.” He touched my face again before his hand fell away.
Esmeralda’s body jerked, her eyes blinking rapidly, her lips twisting up in a snarl.
“Dammit, old man! You do that again, and I’ll conjure your ass into my crystal ball.
” Her chest puffed up, flaying an arm at the air.
“Trap you inside like a snow globe and shake you like a maraca.”
I snorted.
She blew out, her shoulders falling. “I wish that crystal ball was more than a prop for tourists. So cliché and contrived.” She took another drink from her flask.
“But I will smoke a roll of sage and sprinkle salt in my ass if it gets you off my back, druid.” She grunted at him, then snapped her fingers at me.
“Hurry up and figure this shit out so I can be left in peace. He can haunt you for eternity,” she grumbled, stomping back to the bench, bunny ears wiggling wildly.
She flopped down, wrapping her robe against her tighter, muttering under her breath.
I blew out, feeling heavy.
“Brex-ley.” I swear I heard a voice graze the back of my neck, so light it was almost nonexistent, a voice neither male nor female, but it strangely calmed me.
Shutting my eyes, I exhaled, lowering my shoulders and emptying my mind.
The squeals of metal from the Ferris wheel, the hollers from the carnies, and the roars of lions slowly faded into white noise.
Concentrating on my breathing, I opened up against the terror, the tightness in my belly wanting to close back down, sensing the embers under the sequestered fire, ready to inflame and forge.
My skin prickled as ghosts buzzed my skin, their voices growing louder in my head, sparking fear in me.
Instantly everything died away again, popping me back to reality.
“We’re gonna be here all night,” Esmeralda grumbled, rolling up another smoke. “What? I am being supportive. I’m still here, aren’t I?” She talked to the air beside her.
Settling back on my butt, I tried again. Slowly the sounds dissipated, and all I could sense was the thump of my heartbeat, the taste of the air still hinting with sugar and burnt caramel, the smell of straw from the horses.
Wind lashed through the dilapidated park; a fizz of lightning flickered above.
The spirits swooped in closer, the hundreds of voices muddled together, their energy slipping past me, trying to take my energy.
Sweat beaded my hairline, pushing deeper into walls I built up around the volcano burning inside me.
The power could be dimmed and hidden, but it could never completely go out.
This was me. My power. Not the nectar’s. The magic in my blood was raw and wild, but it was all mine.
It was mine to learn.
Mine to control.
I focused my energy, trying to strike lightning near the Ferris wheel.
Nothing happened.
“Dammit!” I grunted, leaning over my legs with exhaustion, feeling my link with my magic dwindle away.
“Was something supposed to happen?” Esmeralda took a hit, then stomped out her roll with the heel of her slipper.
“Yeah.” I rubbed my temple. We had been here for over three hours, and I felt completely fried. “I think I need a brea—”
Pop! The crack of a gun going off jerked my head to the sound. Birds and bats took off from the trees between us and where the carnival was, screeching into the dark night.
Clipped voices rose, sounding anything but friendly.
My gaze leaped to Esmeralda, her eyes wide.
The nectar. I had left it in my wagon.
Jumping up, I darted into the trees, voices getting louder. I kept to the shadows, sneaking up on camp, terror rolling my stomach into knots.
“Wait up, girl,” she whisper-shouted behind me, shuffling up to where I stopped behind a tree, peering out. A small bonfire in the middle of the broken-down camp flickered enough to light the area.
My chest squeezed as I took in the scene.
Many of the carnies stayed near their wagons, but a few of the men, including Hank, stood next to the Master of Mystique.
Jethro’s frame was stiff, his chin up as a handful of soldiers dressed in gray uniforms descended from their horses, a tall built one approaching Jethro. The guards’ backs were to me.
“La dracu.” Fuck. “Corrupt guards. Poli?ie murdar?r.” Dirty police. Esmeralda sneered in Romanian behind me. “They stop us for nothing and take anything they want for themselves. Food, money, jewelry . . . nemernici.” Bastards. “Every country. Different uniforms, but all the same.”
None of the guards moved. They stood stiffly by their horses like they were waiting for an order.
A tingle on the back of my neck slid down my spine.
The lead guard stopped in front of Jethro, his voice too low to hear from where I was. Jethro looked at something in the guard’s hands. He lifted his head, shaking it.
“Are you sure?” The officer’s voice barely made it to my ears. “We’ve heard reports otherwise.”
“Your reports are wrong.” Jethro’s jaw gritted. “There is no one here by that name.”
Another chip of dread tumbled down my vertebrae.