by Shona Husk
“Sweetie, I was just telling Lara how we were here on holiday and I had to stop in and get some shoes to remember the trip by.”
Noah gave a tight smile. Great, Rachel was throwing around lies like confetti while he was surrounded by spikey shoes that would make excellent weapons. Some of those heels were long enough to smash through an eye and into the brain…enough to kill, or just enrage a man possessed by a demon? Would Rachel let him get brain on her shoes if it came to that?
Judging by the way she was fondling the shoes, probably not. It would be easier to apologize after the fact. As much as he’d told Rachel he wouldn’t kill, he would if he had to. It just wouldn’t be his first option. He had to give Cory a chance to, as his uncle would say, repent.
He glanced at Rachel, now sitting down trying on shoes. She was admiring her feet as they contorted into a shape not conducive to running from demons, but he was sure she knew that. She’d said she wanted a pair, not that she was going to wear them. He hoped she wasn’t going to wear them; if she wanted shoes to wear, there were a few flats she could choose from.
The string on his wrist was getting a little warmer. He gazed out the window, pretending to be bored, not alert. He needed to calibrate the heat so he knew when to run like the devil was on his heels. If they were caught in the shop, it would be bad. He hadn’t had a chance to try out his fire yet. He knew the feel of anger fuel, hot and fast. What did the joy of living feel like as fire? While he knew the spell would work, he wasn’t sure how to control the modified version. That was something he was going to have to try out. There was no way he’d stage a confrontation without knowing how his weapons worked—there’d be no invisible, magical knives this time, either. He wasn’t risking that again.
“So what do you think?”
“That we should get a move on.” He turned to face her.
Rachel held a different shoe in each hand. “Which pair?”
He really didn’t care. His wrist was getting warmer—was it five-hundred-yards warm or less-than-one-hundred-yards warm? “Where are you going to wear them?” There was no way she’d be outrunning Cory in either pair as both had impossibly high, spiky heals. He had been hoping she’d pick a pair of flats.
She leaned in close and whispered, “Which pair would you like by your ears?”
That’s when she was planning on wearing them. The demon string wasn’t the only part that was getting warm. He glanced at the black ankle boot that looked like something the Morrigu would wear and then the red, swirly creation. “The red ones.” Definitely the red ones.
“I knew you’d say that.” She grinned and walked back to the sales assistant who boxed them up, real careful.
Hurry up. The string wasn’t getting any colder. Rachel paid, still talking to the woman, before finally picking up her bag and asking if he was ready.
He smiled at her and kept up the happy couple act, looping his arm through hers and guiding her out the door as fast as he could. He took a moment to scan the sidewalk on both sides of the road. “Cory is close.”
She went rigid beside him, her head turning as she searched for him. “Why didn’t you say?”
“I just did.” Plus he hadn’t really wanted to spoil her fun. There was going to be little enough after tonight. “We need a cab.”
He concentrated on the string. From which direction was Cory coming? It was hard to tell.
Rachel was moving toward the road with her hand in the air and a cab was slowing.
Guess it didn’t matter since they were leaving.
“Where are we going?” she asked as she got in.
Great question. He had no idea. The cabbie turned, waiting for direction, the string became uncomfortably hot—Cory had to be close. Then Noah saw him, walking down the sidewalk like he owned it. People were actually getting out of his way as if they knew he was bad news. Noah thought fast. “Washington Square Park.”
Rachel raised one eyebrow, but he put a hand on her leg to stop questions. He gave a slight nod toward the front of the car where Cory was walking down the street, head swinging from side to side as if looking for something, a scent, them. But the cabbie was already driving and Noah was drawing up a quick camouflage circle around him and Rachel—hopefully it would suffice. When Cory didn’t look into the cab, Noah let the tension and the circle drop. The cabbie looked a little startled and Noah wondered what he’d seen, or hadn’t seen. He simply smiled and gave Rachel’s leg a light squeeze as if they were nothing but a happy couple.
While the park wasn’t as far away as he’d have liked, it was very public and had a church and bars nearby. All of which he might need in the next few hours.
She refused to look out of the window as they passed Cory. Kept her eyes forward and tried to keep her heart calm. That didn’t work, of course, but it made her feel as though she was facing up to her fear instead of giving into it. What she would have liked to do was duck down and hide completely, but that might have been a little obvious. Besides, Noah was leaning back and looking completely relaxed—except for the way he touched his wrist.
When they’d gone a couple of blocks, she began to relax a little. That had been too close. She shouldn’t have spent so long choosing shoes, but there’d been so many and it was on her list and she hadn’t wanted to rush. So pretty and colorful and completely impractical, but the look on Noah’s face when she’d asked him which pair had been priceless. Boredom and concern had given way to surprise and desire. The shoes had been worth it just for that moment.
She looked out the window as heat crept over her cheeks. This was so stupid, being chased all over the city by her husband, ex-husband if she had her way. She glanced at the cabbie and then Noah. His hand was on the box of shoes that had nearly brought a Cory confrontation, his backpack was on the floor with her bag, but he wasn’t here in the car. He had that faraway look and she wondered what magic he was working.
When the cab stopped, he paid and they got out.
“Wait,” she said as they reached the first trash can. Then she chucked the bag and box and put the shoes into her bag. It hurt putting them in unprotected, but the box was too bulky and she wanted her hands free.
He touched her arm. “Come on, let’s grab a seat in the park while I make a phone call.”
“Calling for help?”
“Can’t do an intervention on my own.”
She frowned and looked at him. “We can’t stall any longer?”
“He’s getting faster at catching up with us. I want to pick the place, not be caught off guard.”
“I’m sorry about the shoes.” It had been so nice to be in the store and trying them on, she could have easily spent twice the amount of time there deliberating.
He gave a low laugh. “I really hope they are worth it later.”
At least he wasn’t planning on either of them dying while he explained possession to Cory. That was reassuring. “So how many witches do you need?”
“I want two; you’ll be with Peyton.”
She stopped walking. “Why will I be with him?” She didn’t know him. What if he was creepy like Sawyer?
“I don’t want you there. Cory wants you, and if he sees you he’ll ignore everything I have to say.”
“Can’t you just magic him into listening?”
Noah shook his head. “Free will.” He took her hand and she let him pull her on. “I can’t force him to listen, but I can talk.”
“Like leading a horse to water?” Would Cory listen, or just demand her return?
“Exactly.”
And if Cory refused to drink, or shake off his demon, what then? She hoped Noah had another idea or a plan of attack, because they were running out of time and options.
“I thought magic was more powerful.” She’d been hoping Noah would save her with a wave of his wand…not that he had one. So far her brushes with magic had been not what she’d been expecting. They’d been subtle, no puffs of smoke or explosions of color. She’d been expecting magic to fix every
thing.
He dropped his bag onto a bench. “What is your definition of power? I can tap directly into the energy of the gods through the Morrigu. I could raze this park because I control fire. Sawyer can strip the magic from an artifact and use it himself, or put it into something else, and Peyton makes blood deals that even the devil would have a hard time getting out of.” He looked at her. “You’ve seen too much TV. Magic isn’t like that. It still obeys the rules of physics. Energy can’t be created or destroyed, only used and made into another form.”
“Can anyone be a witch?” What she really wanted to know was could she learn to protect herself.
“How do you use any sense? It’s always been there for me. I learned how to channel it effectively and safely. These days most could-be witches don’t recognize it for what it is. For some it goes away if not used, for others it drives them mad.” He looked at her. “You could try learning, those without it in their blood give up because they get no result. It’s like trying to crack atoms with your mind. Not everyone has the will to do that.”
“You’re saying I don’t.” She was just a regular old human with no magic. Dull, drab and grey. “What about Cory?”
Noah frowned and tilted his head a fraction. “I don’t know.” But she saw something in his face, a question that needed to be pinned down. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “I need to give the Ravens the heads up that I need them. Why don’t you check your phone for a café or something?”
She nodded. He was back on the job, and she was the package to be delivered safely and nothing more. At least he was thinking about what needed to be done and not the shoes.
He walked a few paces away, enough that he could talk without her overhearing, but close enough that he was still watching her and everyone who came close. As he talked he paced a little, nodded, frowned, cast his gaze over the area where she was sitting, looked at her for a moment, almost smiled and then turned his back again.
She could call home, let her parents know where she was and that she was fine, tell them that Cory was trying to kill her. Would they believe her? She pressed her lips together and watched the people walking through the park. The way Noah would casually turn, as if engrossed in conversation, but was really watching everything. He didn’t look particularly happy, but then why would he. What he was planning was dangerous for everyone.
He didn’t get paid enough for this. Professional athletes got millions, plus sponsorship deals, and here was a group of guys who were regularly lining up to face demons and other nasties she didn’t want to know about and no one was even saying thank you.
She needed to say thank you.
She watched as he paced through another few minutes of phone call, this time not even making eye contact with her. After he hung up, he took a moment before walking back over; the worry was gone, carefully hidden away, but she’d seen it and she understood the risks.
“Thank you.” She blurted it out before he could speak.
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“For trying, I mean really trying. You could have taken the money and let him get me.” They’d dodged Cory several times now, and it would have been so simple for Noah to walk away and leave her to her fate.
“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did that—and that’s already tough some days.”
She stood up and placed her hand on his arm. “It’s not hard to be around you at all.”
His gaze met hers, steady and unwavering. When he’d first looked at her like that she’d wanted to look away. Now she wanted to let herself sink into those endless blue depths.
It was Noah who blinked and turned his head away. “We’re going to try a lunchtime hit. Cory should have caught up with us by then.”
She nodded, her mouth dry and her body numb. She needed to sit back down but somehow remained standing. That soon. If plan A failed they were down to plan B, and plan B would involve someone dying.
Waiting always sucked. Noah took a drink of water and started unwrapping the packet of cigarettes he’d bought along with a chocolate bar and water. It was a lovely day for a change, sunshine and blue skies giving everyone hope that spring was on the way. The kind of day that was well and truly wasted waiting for a man and his demon to hunt them down.
“You smoke?” Rachel’s gaze flicked between him and the packet.
“Nope.” He scrunched up the wrapper and pulled out a cigarette. The sweet smell of dried tobacco blossomed from the packet. He’d been tempted during his teens, lots of guys were experimenting with the habit, alcohol and dope. He’d tried it once, but he’d felt the burn on the back of his throat and known it wasn’t for him, not if he wanted to play professionally. Baseball had kept him on a very narrow path. The Morrigu now did the same. He grinned at Rachel, who was still wondering why he was rolling a cigarette between his fingers. He didn’t smoke, but this wasn’t the first packet he’d bought. “Smoking is the only socially acceptable form of pyromania I know.”
“Socially…what? You’re going to burn things?” Her eyes grew wider as she spoke.
“You were the one saying magic wasn’t flashy enough and you wanted some sparks. Besides, if it all goes well, only the smokes will burn.” He really hoped that was all that he’d burn, but he wasn’t sure since the magic was now feeling different.
She edged away, he kept smiling. “You didn’t buy a lighter.”
“Don’t need one.”
“Isn’t this a bit public for…you know?”
“Thus the smokes.” Also, it was a test of his self-control. It was easy to burn big, much harder to make a single spark and a controlled fire. It had taken him months of practice to be able to light a candle or a cigarette without it going up in a fireball. He was intimately acquainted with how to use a fire extinguisher and fire blanket.
He held the cigarette between his fingers and drew up the spell with his other hand, felt the weight of the full metal lighter. He flicked it and fire formed, then it was simply a case of transferring the fire in his mind to the object he wanted to burn. The flame was bright and hot, but it didn’t have the intensity it once had. There was no push behind the flame and it wasn’t trying to leap from his mind and onto his fingertips. That had been missing for a while, he’d had to push the flame into reality but he’d brushed that aside, even though he knew a spell shouldn’t be able to change on its own. He should’ve known something was wrong with him and thus affecting the spell.
Now he had Rachel and a desire to live, and it was him who was going to get burned…but he didn’t care. It was better to live and enjoy every day than hide and push everything and everyone away. She had shown him that. If everything went bad and he somehow lived, he would always have that and that part of her. The flame deepened to a rich orange. He focused and thought about the heat and the way it would react when it touched the thin paper and tobacco.
He exhaled and touched his finger to the tip of the cigarette. It flared, sizzled and turned to ash before he’d had time to drop it and finish swearing. He flicked his hand and blew on his fingers.
“That was cool.” She was admiring the pile of smoldering ash by his feet.
“No, it wasn’t. I was supposed to light it, not incinerate it.” He pulled out another cigarette even though he was already wrinkling his nose at the smell. His clothes were going to stink. He should be long past this stage of learning, but he had to keep going until he got it right. His life had once depended on him mastering fire.
Mason had given him an actual metal lighter engraved with a raven, it had been empty and Noah had spent many hours committing it to memory until it was real in his mind. He’d channeled his anger into it, filled it and learned how to control the fire so he wouldn’t be a hazard to himself or others. He could have let it go, moved on, but fire was a hard spell to master and he’d be damned before he gave up. Very few witches could do what he did, even if they knew the theory. Magic wasn’t an all-encompassing talent that bestowed power. It was like a
ny skill, like baseball. He was a pitcher not a hitter. He couldn’t craft and hold a circle like Oskar or hide like Sawyer, but he could do other things.
He tried again with the same result. Cigarette smoke curled around him. “I’m out of practice.” He shook his head and pulled another one out of the pack.
Rachel covered his hand with hers. “It looks good to me. Even if it doesn’t smell good.”
“Sorry about that.” He incinerated the next one…although it burned slower than the others and he didn’t burn his fingers.
“How did you get out of practice?”
He tapped an unburned cigarette on his hand. “It’s a long story, but I lost the spell.”
She turned to look at him. “You aren’t reciting anything… In fact, I haven’t seen you do anything like they do on TV. No book, no Latin, just some flour and a felt tip pen.”
“I have a book of things I’ve tried and things I’m working on.” Not that he’d worked on it for a long time. “Magic comes from here.” He touched his chest above his heart. “You have to feel it, have faith in it. For some people it’s spells in Latin, sure. Many covens work that way, but not the Ravens. We are the Morrigu’s warriors, we have to be battle ready, and that means carrying it here.” He touched his head.
“How do you do that?”
“Props, like the flour. For fire, I have a lighter in my mind. Well, it does exist in the real world, too, but I don’t need to physically hold it in my hand. It could be anything, though, that the witch spends enough time working on, so that when they open their mental bag of tricks, it’s ready and waiting.”
“Like your knife.”
“Like my knife. It’s real to me, thus when I use it, it becomes real to the entity I’m stabbing.”
She nodded but was still frowning. “I still don’t get how an imaginary lighter can light a real cigarette.”
“How do miracles and faith healing work?”
“Do they?”
He smiled. “If you believe in something enough, it takes on that energy. Thoughts have more power than people realize, but the flip side is few people can hold a thought and push enough will into it to make it real. It’s hard work, especially at the start.”
