by Shona Husk
She shook her head, putting her cash and card away. Her hands were trembling just a little. “I’d started applying for teaching jobs a couple of towns over. I was planning on moving… I didn’t plan to run like this.” If he’d accepted the papers she’d have moved out and stayed with her parents until a job was confirmed, and then she would have left Liberty for good.
“No one plans to run. Be glad you were already making preparations to leave, otherwise it would’ve been harder. Ready?”
Not really, but she didn’t have a choice if she wanted to live. She had to follow and trust Noah, otherwise she might as well sit down and wait for Cory. And she would never do that. She glanced at Noah only half a pace in front of her. Her warrior.
Noah used his credit card to hold the room. The trouble with fancy hotels was they didn’t like people paying upfront in cash. After discovering that Cory had helpfully added funds to her account, Rachel had been quiet. She’d accepted his choice of hotel without question—it wasn’t really expensive, but it was nice.
She wasn’t what he was used to dealing with when it came to demons.
He’d expected tears or hysterics or a refusal to do what he asked. Instead, she was obeying without question, and he wasn’t sure if she’d decided she was going to die and was now determined to live it up in nice hotels, or if she was just trying to make the best out of a bad situation. Either way, it was unsettling. Then there was the look in her eyes. She would glance up from her phone and look at him. The only reason he knew that was because he could see her in the mirror directly in front of the desk, which he had set up his laptop. She was sitting on one of the double beds.
He was not thinking about what she’d look like sleeping in the bed, or how he’d be only a few feet away. No, he hadn’t thought that once—it was much closer to about thirty times. He met her gaze in the mirror. “What? I swear I’m not going to sprout warts or conjure a broomstick.”
“Nothing.” She lowered her gaze to the damn cell phone.
He winced and went back to reading the information Oskar had complied on Cory. There was quite a bit and none of it was overly pretty. Cory had been accused of beating up someone in high school—had gotten off after calling it self-defense, no doubt because no one wanted to damage his career prospects. Even on-field he’d had trouble with being rough, but he’d been a great player so teams wanted him. It seemed that Cory was a popular bully and no one wanted to say anything bad against him.
Even the popular could fall, he knew that. Cold settled in his gut and he glanced back at Rachel. He knew exactly what she was doing on her phone and why she kept giving him that weird look. The good money was on her looking him up on the internet and realizing he’d once been charged with murder one—it had been downgraded and then dropped. The media had said that the real killer was still on the loose and that he was the guy who’d tried to fight him off, but the damage had been done. And no one was going to believe him if he told the truth; leaving and moving to New York was pretty much the only option he’d had.
His uncle had called Mason and Mason had turned up as his religious council while he’d been spending a few nights in jail. There was a big difference to being a solitary witch and being part of a coven. He learned fast and realized that the coven would give him what he’d never had before—understanding.
The question was what was Rachel reading? The good bit where he got released, all charges dropped, or the bad bit where he was painted as some woman-hating, cannibalistic serial killer in the making?
“Must be something really interesting you’re reading.”
Her head snapped up, eyes wide as if he’d just peaked over her shoulder. “Er, no. Just research.”
“Researching what?” She could always ask, he’d tell her. It wasn’t a secret. Wouldn’t it be amusing if she freaked about the murder charge but not because he was a witch? Would she realize it was a demon that killed his girlfriend? Was she wondering if she’d end up the same way? He was. It was on his mind every time he looked at her. It’s why thinking about her in bed was bad. Her blood on his hands would gut him, even if her husband didn’t.
“Ice hotels. Did you know there is more than one?”
He turned around to face her. “What?”
“I’m making a list of things I want to do before I die.”
He blinked. He needed her to be fighting, not accepting. “I’m here to try and stop that from happening. You’re supposed to be helping me keep you alive, not planning your funeral.”
“I need something to do. I need goals and plans. Making the list gives me that.” She put down the phone. “I can’t sit here and wait to be told to run. And I can’t blindly run.”
“So you’re making a bucket list so you feel productive.” He could understand her need to do something useful, but that was just morbid. “You could pick some take out, that would be less depressing.”
“You don’t want to know what’s on my list?”
He could hear that trap opening and being set. Saw the teeth glinting in the sun, waiting for his foot to hit the trigger and set it off. And if he dodged it, there would be another one waiting. One he couldn’t see. Shit. He willingly stepped into the trap she’d set. “I guess I should know since you’re going to be with me constantly for the next few days.”
She swallowed. “It will be over that soon?”
He looked at the carpet—hotel standard, green-brown patterns. “Yeah.” He lifted his gaze and tried to feel positive. “What can I help you achieve?”
Her cheeks promptly turned pink and the trap clicked. He never even felt the bite. “Well, you’ve already helped me cross off the fancy hotel with the spa bath.” She made a point of picking up her phone as if studying the list. Bullshit, she knew what was on there and it involved him. “I’d rather not get take out. I want a giant steak, dessert and expensive liquor.”
“Uh-huh.” This is not what he was expecting when he’d taken the case. “You do realize I’m not a dating service.”
“I’m paying you and I’m the one with the demon on my ass. I want steak. And a Broadway show.”
“No. We’re laying low.” And he really didn’t want an all-singing, all-dancing anything unless it involved killing a demon. He’d do the song and dance himself if he got through this with Rachel alive.
“Seruleans?”
“Now you’re just swearing at me in some fancy language.”
“They’re shoes by Sera Lewin…big fashion designer? Snake on the sole of all her shoes?”
Noah shook his head. “I’m not taking you shoe shopping. Which part of hiding from your demon-pumped husband don’t you get? I’m not bullet proof.”
“Is that what the scars are from?”
“No.” The silence crackled between them. “This is serious. I need to focus and I need you to be thinking about living, not dying.”
“I am thinking about living. I want to pack as much as I can into what time I have left. If I rack up a big bill and have to pay it later, yay. If not, I have done some things that I’ve always wanted to.”
And now he sounded like a dick for spoiling what little time she had left. He let out a slow breath. “Fine. Give me something easy that’s on your list.”
She gave him a look that he didn’t deserve, and for a moment he almost felt the tremble of heat in the one lonely spark that refused to ignite. “Take off your shirt and kiss me.”
“That’s on your list?” He didn’t know if he should be flattered or concerned that he’d made her list.
“Yes. It’s been a long time since Cory touched me. I am not going to die without being kissed.”
“Maybe you should wait. If this all goes well and he gets help, you guys will be fine.” He didn’t want to break up a marriage, unhappy or otherwise.
She raised her eyebrows. “You really think I’d go back to him? He tried to smother me. I don’t care what he’s mixed up in; somewhere inside he wants me dead. We were over long before I met you, or before I
filed for divorce. Just forget it. It was a dumb idea.” Rachel picked up her phone. “We could always talk about Louise.”
He closed his eyes. And there was the other trap. She had been looking him up. He turned around to face her. “Yes, I was charged with her murder, it was dropped. No more to tell.”
“Did you love her?”
“I was twenty-one, about to make it big. I didn’t care about anything except which team was going to pick me. She was fun.”
“How do you know you were even going to get selected?”
“I was a left-handed pitcher.” Everyone had expected him to be one of the early drafts with a signing bonus of six figures. He’d been about to have everything and it had been taken away in a few minutes. “Guess how fast they changed their mind? Even if I hadn’t broken my elbow, my career was over.” Talking about it was like picking at an old scab. He’d thought all of this was behind him, but instead of anger it was just bitterness that oozed out.
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t need your pity.” He turned back to the laptop and tried to work out why Rachel had married a tool like Cory.
She mouthed something nasty at him, which he caught in the mirror.
“You want to press bruises let’s talk about why you married Cory.”
Rachel blanched but held his gaze. “He was charming, protective and popular; he played high school football. Me, a nerd, dating him? It was like a dream. I brushed off his possessiveness as love and caring. We were happy until he got injured. Then all the bad bits of him became worse. You’re looking at the dumb girl sucked in by good looks. I won’t make the same mistake again.” Then she looked at her phone and pretended he didn’t exist.
Right then. Glad they got that sorted out. He was a dick and she was a bitch—at least she wasn’t thinking of dying anymore. “Book the damn restaurant and show tickets.”
She smiled. “Don’t forget the rest of my list.”
“I’m not taking you to an ice hotel.”
“I’ll go if I live. I have to get a passport first.”
“You don’t have a passport?” There went putting some actual miles between Rachel and Cory. That was his plan of last resort. He took that off the list. Stand and fight it was, and that had always worked out so well for him in the past.
“I’ve never needed one. You know what? I’m going to book those tickets from the bath.” She got up, grabbed a fluffy white robe and shut the door.
Noah clamped his teeth together and tried to concentrate, but all he could hear was the running of the water. He pictured her getting undressed. He was not made of stone. She was pretty and he was sure that she had more than a kiss on her list. He didn’t fight the hardening pressing against his jeans, but he didn’t embrace the desire in his blood, either.
He didn’t have time for steak and shows and sex. He needed to crack the demon problem first. With a snarl, he flipped the lid down. This was fucked. When he didn’t know what to do in real life, he returned to magic. Sawyer’s magic marker was in his pocket and he needed to make sure he understood the spell thoroughly, and, as much as he liked the simplicity of scattering flour, it would be better if he was able to put that in his mental bag of tricks. Neither of which was going to be easy, so it would make a great distraction from thinking about Rachel in the bath.
Two hours later he opened his eyes, aware his legs were cramped from sitting cross legged on the floor, but he’d made the magic marker work for him. Spells couldn’t be passed around like pens, and as much as he liked Sawyer’s idea, he still had to make it his own. This kind of thing wasn’t his strongest area so he’d spent the time getting the feel for Sawyer’s spell and working out how to handle it. Noah was better with explosions and fighting than delicate cunning like Sawyer.
He’d then spent time trying to work out what to do with his lighter and wondering how to fill it. Maybe he just needed a flashlight? But he didn’t have the time to make such a complicated construct, and he didn’t want to be taking untried spells into a confrontation with a demon. Besides, fire was more useful than a flashlight. The lack of fire pissed him off more than anything.
“Were you doing magic?” Her voice came from behind him. She was lying on the bed dressed only in a robe.
“Yeah.” He was thirsty and needed to shake out his limbs. He stood and wobbled as pins and needles tore through his legs. He managed to bite back on the cussing. She watched as he stamped his feet and he was very aware she was dressed only in the bathrobe. He refused to look at her bare legs and went into the bathroom.
There was a towel on the floor and the soft scent of soap and shampoo. He swallowed and looked at himself in the mirror. He would not kiss a paying client even if it was on her list. Even if the idea was more tempting than it should be.
He called out as he ran the tap. “Did you book tickets?” As soon as he took a drink he felt better and more grounded in reality. Using magic was like pulling aside a curtain and bathing in a power most people couldn’t see or feel. Eating and drinking brought that curtain down. People who constantly touched magic went mad. The human mind wasn’t meant to touch that power for too long, and smart users channeled through a god as an added layer of protection. The Morrigu hadn’t shown Her face this time; maybe She had nothing new to tell him.
“I have nothing to wear.”
He bit his tongue on his first response. “Nice jeans a shirt and your coat and you’ll be fine. It’s not like it’s Saturday night.”
“I thought you didn’t want to go out—lay low and all that.” There was a tone in her voice that he’d have to be deaf to miss.
He didn’t want to go out, but on the other hand, he wanted to see Cory up close, maybe say hi. Grab some hair or skin so they could track him and get on the front foot instead of running. He walked out of the bathroom. “We can go out but you have to listen to me, okay? If I start feeling demons, we are out of there.”
She nodded.
“I’m not a bastard, Rachel. And I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner.” But she kind of was. Was that anyway to spend what could be her last few days? Besides, the odds of Cory doing anything in public were slim. He wouldn’t want witnesses, but Noah was assuming the demon hadn’t taken over completely and the man could still be reasoned with.
“I know, but I can’t sit here.”
“So get some tickets and find a restaurant. I’m starving.” He tried to smile.
She beamed. “So you will help me with my list?”
And he’d stepped into another trap without even realizing. However, this time when he looked at her, it was harder to look away. There were no warning bells sounding, no danger alerts. Nothing felt wrong about agreeing, even though everything else around them was wrong. If he was the last person she was going to spend time with, he might as well do it properly. “Sure.”
Chapter 9
While he’d agreed to help, Noah hadn’t exactly lightened up. They’d walked down the block together not talking because there was nothing they could really say in public that wouldn’t get them a few odd stares or worse. With the sun breaking through the clouds, she didn’t want to discuss her death. So while she faked a smile and bravery, Noah appeared totally calm and in control. Was he faking it, too?
Her gaze slid to Noah. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her…or he’d try to stop it, anyway. She glanced away, not wanting to think about Cory ripping Noah’s arms and legs off. Paying him was one thing, watching him die trying to protect her was another.
“What is it?” He nudged her arm to get her attention.
“I was thinking.” She looked at him. A couple of years younger than her, smart, fit, witch—the word slid around her mind. He’d still have a life to live after her. Even though he hadn’t said much about Louise or the scars, from what she’d read they were connected, and she was willing to bet it wasn’t a random killer. She was thinking demon, but then she was thinking about demons a lot lately. She drew in a breath before speaking. “Don’t
die trying to help me.”
He glanced at her for a moment, then returned to looking for the restaurant. “Survivor’s guilt is a terrible thing.”
What was that supposed to mean? That he would die trying? That he’d shoulder the blame? She wanted to know what had happened five years ago and not what the newspapers chose to run. The truth. Would he tell her if she asked? They weren’t friends. They weren’t anything. She followed him into the restaurant and they sat opposite each other at a table that overlooked the street.
“I’m sorry about making the list.” Putting him on it had probably been a dumb idea that was best blamed on demon-induced insomnia.
He shrugged. “It’s fine. This is better than take out.”
A waiter poured water and handed out menus. She waited until he’d moved away. The restaurant was less than half full, but fairly quiet. Should she risk talking about the real stuff? Maybe without using the d-word.
“You don’t hang out with many of your clients, do you?”
He considered her for a moment. “No. By the time people realize what is going on and they call me, it’s either too late or I show up for the grand finale.” He shook his head. “It’s hard fighting, watching people fight and it having no effect.”
Rachel took a moment to translate what he was saying. “Aren’t there others like you?”
“With my specialty knowledge? No.” He leaned in a little. To other diners it would look as though they were having an intimate conversation. Maybe even lovers. How wrong they’d be. “While there are others like the Ravens, what I do is very borderline and some view me with deep suspicion.”
“Because of your past?”
He was silent for a moment. “I know you’re curious, but I really don’t want to talk about the worst night of my life. Everything else is fair game.”
Oh. He was right, she was curious, but she was also digging too deep, too fast. “Sorry.”
