by T. G. Ayer
Still, I grabbed onto the feedback and followed it directly to him, projecting into the room beside him. He couldn’t tell that I was there, and I felt a little like a voyeur being in the same space with him without his knowledge.
He sat at a carved stone table, resting against the curved backrest of a marble seat. He wore leather sandals and a Roman dress that fell to his knees, red and gold painted armor covering the white silk.
His legs were half crossed, right ankle on the left knee, his body angled in an almost-sprawl, while he talked to the woman who sat primly before him.
“You do know this is a waste of time?” Storm said, a thin smile on his face.
His blond curls brushed his shoulders and his impossibly blue eyes were dark and brooding. His tone was arrogant and demanding as if she owed him her attention.
The dark-haired woman clearly didn’t agree.
Her eyebrows lifted. “I don’t see how this could be a waste of anyone’s time. I’m very disappointed in you. And I think it’s time you are held accountable for your actions.”
He glared at her, dropping his foot and leaning forward to place his fists carefully on the table, the gold arm braces glinting in the sunlight filling the room.
“So what are you going to do this time?” his tone mocked her, “What can possibly be worse than being forced to live among those pitiful, pathetic creatures and pretend every day that you gave a fucking damn about them? You sent me to live among those pathetic mortals as some sort of insane penance. Don’t be shocked that I tried to make the best of things.”
The woman clicked her tongue then glided to her feet. “Now, now, son,” she said as she walked to the wide doorway that led to a flagstone balcony.
A soft breeze played with the ringlets of curls framing her face but she stared out at the view—fruit trees and villas and bright blue skies. The smell of the ocean drifted into the room.
She wore a long Roman-style gown, her hair piled high on the top of her head and her face revealing both her age and her beauty, enhanced by the sunlight streaming inside.
She glanced over her shoulder at Storm. “That kind of language is uncalled for.”
Storm laughed, the sound harsh and cruel, ripping jagged holes into my heart.
Wait. What?
Son?
Was this Storm’s mother? And if so who was she?
My head throbbed as I considered possibilities, yet nothing that I could have come up with would have held a candle to the truth.
Storm pushed to his feet and walked to her. “Mother, I think I’m old enough to speak however I wish. Besides, it’s your fault for sending me to live with those puny creatures.”
The woman spun on her heel and stabbed a pointed finger into his chest. “Ares,” she growled the name, the sound of it sending chills down my spine. “You brought this on yourself. Instead of contrition, you choose arrogance, instead of apologies, you sneer. Instead of building, you destroy.”
“And how is that my fault?”
My attention to their conversation had waned the moment the woman had mentioned the name Ares. So Storm was the god Ares, banished to the EarthWorld as a form of punishment.
And the woman was Hera. The goddess Hera.
Crap.
I was so stunned I’d momentarily forgotten that I was supposed to be pissed off at him. Hurt by everything he’d done to us.
But, as I watched the mother and son—gods actually—discuss what his punishment will be for this second infraction, I realized that we really had meant nothing to Storm.
Ares.
Whoever the hell he was.
He’d been serving a penance, forced to be with us. Every moment had been a lie, a pretense. How then can such a person—god or otherwise—be held accountable when they were not emotionally involved?
How did it even matter that he’d broken my heart? All of our hearts?
Would it make a difference now to demand a reason for what he’d done to us?
To me?
I stifled a gasp.
Could Storm have been the one behind my tokolosje?
Faced with the truth of who he was, I found myself considering the possibility.
Could he really have been the one to put that spell on me with the sole purpose being to end my life?
My heart rebelled against the thought, but my mind—watching the two gods discuss pathetic mortals—told me he was likely the spellcaster I’d been searching for.
And to think I’d suspected those closest to me, and I’d still never entertained that he could be the one.
I hovered there for a moment, a maelstrom of emotion filling me. Then, releasing a pained sigh, I returned to my body, deflated and frustrated.
Without a second thought I jumped to Natasha’s front porch and knocked on her open door. She appeared inside the house, a pale form at the end of the hall as she hurried to me.
Her expression confirmed that she wasn’t all that glad to see me.
Yeah, still mad at me.
I shrugged off the hurt and said, “I think I know who the spellcaster is.” The angry set to her lips relaxed, replaced in an instant with a frown.
“Who?” she asked as she led me into her study.
I was tempted to let her guess, but my fury at Storm was bigger than anything I could control.
“Ares.”
My hands shook and I had to curl my fingers into fists to stop the quaking.
“What?” she sat and I followed suit. Her brow furrowed in confusion and she tilted her head to study me, concern in her gaze.
She likely thought me nuts.
“The god Ares wanted to kill me.”
Natasha shook her head. “Are you suffering from heatstroke? Should I test you for signs?”
“No, I assure you I am not losing my senses.”
Natasha straightened, considering my accusation. “Okay, so why would Ares care about you? He’s supposed to be confined to one of the circles of hell as punishment, so how he’d even be able to cast the spell I wouldn’t know.”
I folded my arms, more to press down on my aching heart than anything. “Because he was sent to our world as punishment. Life among the mortal pigs is a great enough punishment apparently.”
Natasha opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. “Wait . . . who are we talking about?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Think tall, blond, blue-eyed.”
“No,” she whispered, her eyes going wide.
“Yep,” I said biting down on the side of my cheek to stop myself from crying.
Why the fuck did I want to cry anyway?
The truth was Storm was nothing to me. Had never been.
And will never be.
Natasha got to her feet. “So, if Storm—or Ares—put the spell on you, then we’d need his blood together with yours, to track the Sangoma.”
I nodded. “Exactly what I was thinking.”
“Want to go back for a blood sample?”
“Not particularly.”
She rolled her eyes. “Want to get rid of your poltergeist?
I sighed. “Okay . . . fine.” I got to my feet, forcing my muscles to hold me. Exhaustion was suddenly taking hold of me. “What do I do?”
On Natasha’s instruction, I returned to Storm’s side with a hypodermic needle, projecting first to ensure the coast was clear.
He stood on the balcony, the breeze tossing his golden curls every which way. He inhaled deeply, seeming to absorb the entire scene into himself, like a man long bereft of something he deeply needed.
I gritted my teeth, materialized right behind him and plunged the needle into his jugular. He froze, his muscles tightening against the needle, but it didn’t stop me as I drew the blood while he was still too shocked to react.
He didn’t even have the time to turn around.
I returned straight to Natasha’s study, Storm’s cry of frustration and anger ringing in my ears.
Handing her the half-filled syringe, needle still dri
pping Storm’s blood, I said, “Are you sure he can’t follow me here?”
Natasha reached for the needle and nodded, barely listening as she rummaged on her bookshelf and found a silver bowl.
She brought the bowl to the table and set it down carefully, as if it were made of glass.
She depressed the plunger and dripped half the contents into the bowl. Then she came to me, reaching for the tiny dagger that she kept on a chain around her neck. She handed it to me.
I didn’t ask what she needed. This had been a blood spell after all.
I went to the bowl and paused, staring at the glistening red of Ares’ life blood. Raising the little blade, I pressed it hard against the skin on the heel of my hand, taking some satisfaction in the pain of the blade cutting into my flesh.
I took a breath and watched the blood well from the wound, then topped my hand over and squeezed a few more drops of blood onto Storm’s—Ares’—all the while wondering how gods bled as red as us puny pathetic mortals did.
Natasha patted my arm and handed me a towel. I returned to my seat, pressing the cloth to the wound on my palm to stem the bleeding.
She withdrew a map of the world from the shelf behind her and spread it open on her desk holding it flat with two white crystals, a fat black candle and a carving of the ugliest gargoyle I’d ever seen.
Natasha turned to the bowl and straightened as if steeling herself against any emotion while touching Storm’s blood.
She had to be hurting too.
Natasha dipped her finger into the blood, swishing it around until it mixed together. Then she drew out a dripping wet finger of blood and held it over the map.
The drop pooled at the tip of her finger, then grew larger and heavier until it fell.
But it defied the laws of gravity and descended to the map in a wide angle.
The drop hit the paper with a loud smack and both Natasha and I stared up at each other.
The droplet of blood completely covered the city of New Orleans.
Natasha let out a soft breath. “I suppose that makes some sort of weird sense.”
“Just because voodoo is practiced in NOLA doesn’t mean people there practice African Black Magic.”
Natasha shrugged. “I can’t possibly speculate about the current interest in this type of magic. It’s said to be an extinct magic, but you are living proof that it isn’t.”
I sighed and sat back, pressing harder against the cut in my palm.
“You know what this means right?” she asked, her eyes dark with worry.
“Yeah, yeah. It means I need to go to New Orleans to find me a Sangoma.”
Chapter 38
I woke surprisingly rested. When my head had hit the pillow a couple hours ago, I’d passed out almost instantly from sheer exhaustion.
I’d fallen onto my bed, fully clothed, exhausted both physically and mentally, my inability to work out a proper more regular routine still messing with my body clock.
It just didn’t happen in my day.
And the last few days were a testament to that fact. Now I had a trip to New Orleans to plan.
Turning onto my side, I plumped up the pillow under my head and took a deep breath. Staring at my nightstand, I studied the items. A set of ancient daggers I hardly ever used, a little silver alarm clock I never lived by, a gleaming gold badge and brand new state-of-the-art cellphone I’d soon to be controlled by.
As I watched, the cellphone shifted half an inch toward the edge of the nightstand. It shivered, then shot over the edge.
Shit.
The phone fell and I lunged forward, the red bracelet of warded beads chinking against each other as I grabbed it before it hit the wood floor and shattered into bits.
I was half on the bed, half off, my head upside down, hair hanging to the ground, cursing the seemingly powerless charm bracelet, one hand on the floor and one occupied by my new phone.
And then the cell phone rang.
Typical.
I answered it while still upside down, the blood rushing into my head.
Not good for nosebleeds.
Carter’s voice vibrated in my ear as I slipped from the bed and landed on three limbs onto the floor. “Agent Morgan?”
“Sir?” I responded.
“Morgan, I have a confirmation from the team that King Raulfir was extracted safely. I thought you’d want to know.”
I let out a sigh of relief knowing Silvanya would at last be at peace. Then I thought about Erik. “And Elise Garner?” I asked, keeping my voice down as I got to my feet and slid the daggers into my boots. I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Happy to report that she is in custody and will stand trial soon.”
I nodded to myself. “Would you be asking anyone to stand as witness?”
“I don’t believe so. The Ancients have their ways of ascertaining guilt without the need for anyone to endanger themselves by providing evidence against her.”
“So you believe she could still be a danger to her son and to me?”
He cleared his throat, but I heard an odd hesitation in his voice. “I don’t believe so, but I do think it pays to be careful.”
“Okay. And what about Erik Garner? He’s still with me.” I was concerned about where Erik would go from here. “Without his mother running the family business, would Erik be required to head up the businesses?”
“Not until the investigation is completed. All Garner’s assets and business activities have been frozen. But it shouldn’t take too long to complete the investigation. The boy will have the business under his control soon enough.” Carter’s voice was suspiciously toneless.
What was he not telling me?
I cleared my throat. “I’m not sure he wants anything to do with the diamond part of it. Not from what he mentioned to me.”
“Whatever his decision will be, we won’t be liquidating anything. Not until he takes control and advises his wishes.”
Sounded like Carter had things pretty much under control.
“Ok. And how long before Raulfir and Silvanya can go home?”
“King Raulfir will be debriefed soon and then released. We have no reason to hold him. I will have the team deliver him to your home as soon as we’re done.”
“And Silvanya’s debrief?”
Carter cleared his throat. “. . . won’t be necessary.”
He sounded cheered by the fact and I didn’t argue, certain that the princess would be only too happy to avoid interrogation of any kind.
I thanked Carter, glad he’d taken the time to get me up to speed. Ringing off, I got to my feet and headed to the bathroom to wash up.
The red, charm bracelet chinked on my wrist reminding me again the peace I’d hoped for had been somewhat received.
Somewhat. Just not enough.
The damned poltergeist had wanted to ruin my phone, and that he’d almost succeeded despite the wards pissed me off.
Chapter 39
Feeling a little better after brushing my hair, I pocketed my gun, phones and badge—so weird—and went search of Steph and our guests, who I found gathered in the living room eating popcorn and watching an old movie about a red-suited man with super speed.
I entered the study with a smile on my face bringing Silvanya to her feet in an instant.
“Do you have news?” she whispered, wringing her hands and she walked toward me.
I nodded. “Your father will be here soon and there won’t be a need to debrief you.”
The girl let out a cry of joy and threw her arms around me, almost squeezing the life out of me.
I hugged her and patted her on the back, meeting Steph’s approving eyes as she watched from the sofa. Erik had gotten to his feet, and was watching from beside the sofa, an odd look in his eye.
Silvanya leaned closer and whispered words in my ear that chilled my blood, words I did not want to believe.
It must have been the shock on my face that gave it away. Erik stiffened, staring at me, his eyes darkening as
he took a step toward a totally oblivious Steph.
Everything fell into slow motion as I watched Erik reach inside his jacket and withdraw two guns. Steph’s eyes went wide as he moved to aim his right-hand gun at her.
Silvanya stepped to my side, aware now that something in the air had changed.
Erik’s second weapon came up slowly, pointing straight at Silvanya, but even as I considered jumping her to safety I knew Steph would remain in danger.
Choices I could not make.
Erik’s guns were rising, almost aimed and I could see every crease in his skin as his fingers curled around each of the triggers.
My limbs moved, muscle memory from years of training kicking in. Low at the knees, my fingers curled around each of my daggers.
Metal sang as the blades were slid from their sheaths.
My fingers gripped hilts tight and I wasn’t even aware of having made a decision.
Only when the blade left my open palm did I register what I’d done.
A gunshot went off as the dagger slammed into Erik’s chest, slicing between the ribs over his heart. Red bloomed around the blade where it had embedded itself into Erik’s flesh, so deep that only an inch of it remained between his body and the hilt.
My heart stilled at the shock on his face.
His body began to vibrate as he attempted to phase away, but he was too late.
The blade had hit its mark.
The light fled from his eyes even as he glared at me, hatred clear in his eyes.
How had I been so wrong about him?
Erik fell, knees slamming into the ground. He teetered there for a few moments before falling onto his side and crashing into the coffee table, smashing it into pieces.
Both guns clattered to the floor beside his lifeless body as Steph sprang away from the sofa to come to me.
Her words were calm as she shushed me, whispering that I’d had no choice.
Her fingers pulled the second dagger from my grip, slowly uncurling each stiffened finger, rubbing my frozen hands between hers, cupping my cheeks.
Sounds buzzed, unrecognizable in my ear until the front door opened and suddenly I could hear with crystal clarity.
