I didn’t move away. I should have. I should have hauled her back to the house and packed her into Capri’s rental car.
But that would come soon enough.
I should have, without any doubt, been strong enough to say goodbye. Because in the long run that would have been better for Opal. Safer.
But I wasn’t that strong. Or that selfless.
The young witch rested her hand on my knee, her palm up and open. She had the rune that masked her magic inked on her wrist over the pulse points, just a few shades darker than her skin. I didn’t recognize the symbol, but I didn’t doubt that Aiden had taught the young witch how to properly ink and trigger the magic it commanded. Magic that was currently masking the hum of Opal’s power from my senses, though Paisley had tracked her easily enough.
The dream walker was a quick study in various disciplines. Possibly because she’d once been tied to a spell meant to hold me, creating a connection between us, fortified by my magic and her blood. Then she’d been amplified by me, brought back from a slow death, at the cusp of adulthood.
Remarkable, Aiden had called her.
But it wasn’t her magical abilities that made me want to bundle her up and feed her ginger snaps.
Wanting to care for someone was such an irrational state of being. It had to be chemically triggered, because — for me — it certainly wasn’t a learned behavior.
I slipped my hand under Opal’s, cradling her hand in mine. That was the proper order of things. If I wanted to be more than an amplifier on the run or in hiding. If I wanted to belong to Opal, to be responsible for her. It was up to me to hold her, to offer her comfort. Not the other way around.
She threaded her fingers through mine. They were tiny fingers, so fragile in my grip, breakable with a mere squeeze. But I wasn’t just a killer.
I didn’t just destroy.
I was capable of love.
And I was more than capable of protecting Opal from anything the world threw at her.
She tightened, then relaxed her grip. I could feel the magic of the rune she’d drawn on her wrist now that it was pressed against my skin. “You want me to stay.”
It was a statement, not a question, but I answered anyway. “I do.”
She nodded, though less in agreement and more as if assuring herself. “But I’m not strong enough yet. I get it.”
“What do you get?”
“I get that you’ll fight for guardianship. You, Christopher, and Aiden. Even if it exposes you to the people you’re hiding from.”
I shook my head. Opal certainly wasn’t an idiot. “You shouldn’t worry about —”
She cut me off. “I’ll go back to the Academy and train.” She gripped my fingers in hers and I let her speak, to say what she felt she needed to say. To have a voice, and a chance to speak to her future. “And soon, I’ll be so powerful that no one will be able to say no to me.”
Paisley turned to look at us, blinking slowly. A gleam of red highlighted her eyes.
“I’m eighteen in less than five years anyway.” Opal shrugged as if nothing she was saying was a big deal. “So if that’s how long it takes …” She trailed off, her gaze riveted to our joined hands.
Paisley stretched on her chosen rock, then started sniffing around the icy edges of the river, grunting happy hunting noises. I considered Opal’s words. I understood that there were probably questions I should have asked, things that needed to be clear between us. I knew little about Opal’s past. Of how her mother died, or why she’d been on the streets when the sorcerers kidnapped her in San Francisco. But I thought it would be better for the young witch to share those things at her own pace.
A bright ping broke through the silence, and Opal untangled her fingers from mine to dig into my coat pocket. She pulled out the cellphone Christopher had foisted on me, swiping the screen to read it. Apparently, the phone recognized her face.
If I hadn’t been accustomed to living with a clairvoyant, things like that would really bother me.
“It’s a text from Jenni,” Opal said, scrambling up on the bench so she was crouched beside me, then angling the phone so I could see the screen.
>Opal?
“Text back that I found you.”
The young witch applied her thumbs to the on-screen keyboard.
Emma found me.
Three dots started blinking on the bottom of the screen. “She’s typing,” Opal said helpfully, blinking up at me.
I reached over, smoothing my fingers through her hair. “We’ll figure it out. The guardianship. Together. All five of us.”
She grinned at me, her slightly crooked teeth a flash of white against her skin. My heart squelched. With joy. I was beginning to recognize that uncomfortable feeling.
A text appeared on the phone.
>Come to the diner for lunch? A friend of Emma’s is here.
Opal tilted her head questioningly.
“Zans,” I muttered. “Samantha.”
“She is your friend, though. Right?” Opal pressed her shoulder against mine. “You mentioned her … her hair and the coconut oil.” She touched her own hair, which still looked perfect from Capri’s magical touch.
I grimaced. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is.” Opal’s tone was far too world-weary for a thirteen-year-old.
I smiled at her. “So … fries?”
She grinned. “With gravy?”
I laughed. “Sure.”
Opal leaped off the bench, landing in the snow on both feet with her arms in the air. “Come on, Paisley. We’re going to the diner for lunch.”
Paisley chortled, abandoning her exploration of the river’s edge.
Laughing to myself, I stood. “Text Jenni that we’re on our way. But Paisley can’t come inside.”
“What?” Opal cried, texting while pouting in my direction.
“Health code.”
Opal grumbled, patting Paisley. “We’ll figure something out.”
The demon dog’s head almost came up to the young witch’s shoulder. Paisley had added more bulk to her regular pit bull form while traversing the river’s edge. She liked to be big, even though I had told her numerous times that it would draw too much attention.
I stepped around the bench, knowing Opal and Paisley would follow.
“You know I’m sorry, right?” Opal whispered to Paisley. “I know you shouldn’t leave the property without Emma or Christopher or Aiden. I’m sorry I asked.”
I glanced back to see Paisley press her nose to Opal’s palm, everything forgiven.
Opal smiled at me brightly, then tucked the phone in her jacket pocket. “I’m keeping the phone.”
I snorted, opening my mouth to —
Magic sprang forth ahead and slightly to my right. I spun, instinctively reaching for blades that I no longer carried sheathed across my back.
A woman with straight white-blond hair — at odds with her southeastern Asian features — had appeared to the left of the snow-edged war memorial. Midforties. Slim. Long, blue silk dress underneath a quilted silk jacket with a short collar. High boots. I could feel the remnants of the spell that had cloaked her from my senses fluttering all around her, as if it was a cocoon from which she’d just emerged.
The spell felt like witch magic. Possibly sorcerer. But whether it was her own magic or not, I had no idea. I couldn’t sense her power yet.
The skin at the back of my neck prickled. The tattoos tying me to Christopher and Samantha quivered, then settled into a low hum.
“Hello, Amp5.” The newcomer smiled as if actually delighted to see me.
To name me.
To claim me.
Wrong tactic. Idiotic opening salvo.
But that was fine with me. Because that meant I didn’t need to waste even a second questioning how to deal with her.
Opal stepped up behind me, close enough that I could grab her and run, but not so close that I would accidentally trip over her. Paisley shouldered up to my right.
The newcomer stepped forward, clearing the field of the spell she’d been cloaked under. As best I could tell, it was anchored to the earth, but I still wasn’t certain whether the interloper was a witch herself.
“I thought if I followed Tek5, I’d eventually find one of you.” Her smile widened, revealing the tips of her teeth. “I’m pleased it’s you she led me to, Amp5.”
Opal pushed between Paisley and me, fists clenched, magic sparking off her. “You’re transgressing here … trampling on the proper rules,” she spat. “Withdraw or I’ll make you wish you hadn’t taken that first step.” She pointed at the newcomer’s feet.
The interloper blinked, surprised. Comically so. Then she laughed, with a bright tinkling of magic riding her amusement.
The hair prickled on the back of my neck. I might have blamed the cool breeze, except I was suddenly too warm.
Her amusement carried some sort of compulsion. Though whether she was wielding it intentionally or not, I didn’t know.
Paisley shoved herself in front of Opal, snapping at the magic twinkling through the air toward us. Then, apparently satisfied that she’d shielded the young witch, the demon dog pinned a red-eyed gaze to the interloper and growled, dark and deadly.
I flicked my gaze around the edges of the park. Though the town was quiet and still recovering from the snowstorm, I was very aware that any overt action on my part would call too much attention to us.
I either had to end this confrontation swiftly and decisively, or draw the interloper to a more secluded spot. Though if necessary, I knew I’d be able to hide her body behind the outdoor stage, covering it in snow until dark. Or, even better, I could drain her enough to incapacitate but not kill her, then get Jenni to pick her up in an official capacity.
The interloper followed my gaze to the red-painted outdoor stage. A slight frown creased her brow, though her too-bright smile held.
Opal laid her hand on Paisley’s broad head, both of them completely ready to face an Adept of unknown power by my side. It was foolish. Foolhardy. Yet a smile bloomed over my face. It took me a moment to understand my own reaction — a fierce pride.
And then, standing there in the snow, with Opal to protect and only Paisley at my side, a terrible understanding flooded through me.
Emma Johnson was more deadly than Amp5 had ever been.
Amp5 followed the rules of engagement, executing missions with a brutal efficiency. But Emma?
I hadn’t even tapped into the potential of what Emma would do to protect those she loved.
Those I loved.
I really didn’t need to pick up Christopher’s habit of referring to himself in the third person.
I was Emma Johnson. There was no question about it. Not anymore. I could have walked away with Aiden seventy-two hours ago. I could have sent Opal away. I hadn’t.
The newcomer stopped smiling, the amusement wiped from her face under the onslaught of everything she saw in my expression. She held up one hand in a placating way.
Letting the silence lie heavy between us, I examined her, head to toe — and finally picked up the tightly confined tenor of her magic. Even without referring to me as Amp5, which indicated she was connected to the Collective, there was no doubt she was formidable. Her magic was familiar, but contained in a way that made it difficult to assess. Only a talented magic user could dampen their power that effectively from my senses. She wasn’t a witch, a sorcerer, or a shapeshifter. And I was fairly certain she wasn’t a necromancer, though my interactions with wielders of death magic had been fairly limited.
She also wore an artifact of power around her neck, hidden under her clothing. Epically robust, given that I was picking it up. My senses were more attuned to people, because I could amplify or drain their magic. Artifacts were useless trinkets in my hands.
Once again, I contemplated killing her where she stood, leaving all my questions unanswered. I was quick. It would look like a stroke or a heart attack if I drained her magic swiftly enough.
Opal shifted her feet, presumably responding to the tension edging the chilly silence that encased the park. Her presence reminded me that Emma Johnson — that I — wanted to be more than a killer. I wanted a different life for Opal, if possible. If it was even in my power to provide such a thing.
“I meant no disrespect.” The interloper brought her hands together, nodding her chin in a shallow bow. “I am Chenda, Mystic of the Golden Peninsula, formerly of the Collective.” She paused, flicking her gaze to Opal and Paisley, presumably waiting for me to make reciprocal introductions.
But I really wasn’t that kind of Adept. I also had no idea what she meant by calling herself a mystic. Implying some spiritual context to the magic she wielded perhaps?
She laughed quietly. And again, the sound held a tinkle of power. That should have been disconcerting, but it somehow wasn’t. Which confirmed that it held some sort of compulsion or charm. “I’ve been dragged into your territory in an attempt to quell the destruction of my home, my life, by your clutch mate.”
My clutch mate.
She meant Samantha.
Clutch mate … as if we Five were animals.
Bred by intent, like Christopher hatching the chicks. Set the proper temperature and the correct humidity on the brooder, then unleash the Five on the world. Though to be fair, some sort of large predator would have been a better metaphor for the Five than chickens.
Anyway, I got the point. The dig. The mystic’s attempt at dehumanization.
And I was going to have to set all that aside as I tried to be diplomatic. Cleaning up after Samantha’s temper tantrums was usually Bee’s or Christopher’s job.
Damn it.
I touched Opal’s shoulder lightly, drawing her a step back and tucking her completely behind Paisley. “Opal Sherwood, witch, under the protection of the Five.”
I had no authority to pledge any such thing in the name of the other four, but it sounded good and felt right.
The so-called mystic — Chenda — nodded, a smile teasing her lips. Magic sparkled in the depths of her eyes. A glimmer of white, perhaps, unless it was the reflection of the snow I was picking up. White, paired with the compulsion I’d felt, would confirm that she wielded mind magic of some sort.
I touched Paisley’s head. “Paisley. Guardian of the Five.”
That pronouncement garnered a raised eyebrow from Chenda.
“And I am Emma Johnson, amplifier.”
She laughed quietly. “Oh, you are so much more than that.”
I ignored her, though her repeated attempt to own me and my past had already worn thin. “I will discuss your accusations with Samantha. And assess the situation when I’ve collected all the relevant information.”
“I suggest you assess in my favor.”
“Or what?” I asked coolly.
Chenda’s gaze fell to Opal, then flicked to Paisley before returning to meet my eyes. When she spoke, her tone was pleasant, even. “Or I keep what was always mine to hold.”
“You couldn’t hold me when you were backed by the Collective.”
“Couldn’t I?” she asked, still smiling.
I didn’t answer.
I hated repeating myself.
She laughed again, with more of the same tinkling, compelling magic rising with the sound. Then she turned away, stepping back into the cloaking spell that had somehow waited on the periphery for her return.
She disappeared.
Completely.
Magic, footprints in the wet snow, and all.
Opal’s mouth dropped open.
I shook my head at her sharply.
The young witch shut her mouth, clicking her teeth together.
“Lunch?” I asked, laying my hand on her shoulder and starting toward the sidewalk. “Let Christopher know we’re meeting a friend at the diner, please.”
She tugged the cellphone she had laid claim to out of her pocket. “And that we made a new acquaintance?”
“Yes.”
&nbs
p; I brushed my fingers across Paisley’s nose. Taking my cue, she hustled over and began scenting the area where the mystic had just been standing. Opal’s thumbs tapped and slid over the screen of the phone. I cast my gaze around the empty park, having no doubt that I’d just met the subject of the vision that had yet to fully manifest for Christopher. The vision carrying enough magic that it had prickled across all four of the blood tattoos on my spine.
What had he said about the glimpse that had woken him? Driven him to climb into bed with Aiden and me that morning? Blood on the snow, words exchanged, and a white-etched pentagram.
A conversation with the mystic? And what did that title even mean? Why had I been able to sense the magic of the artifact she wore, even as she’d appeared and disappeared without a trace because I couldn’t get a solid read on her own magic?
I didn’t like it when questions built up. When the pile got too high, I reacted like Samantha would — tearing through it and not bothering with answers. Because the past had taught me that eliminating the need for questions was often just as effective as getting answers.
But only in the short term.
I didn’t — I couldn’t — allow my past to dictate my future. Definitely not in how I made decisions — and not when I had more than the Five to protect.
So I would try the diplomatic route.
For now.
Chapter 4
Every red vinyl booth in the Home Cafe was occupied by the time Opal, Paisley, and I arrived. Back to her regular pit bull aspect, Paisley settled down on the sidewalk next to the glass front door, smiling at random passersby with her tongue lolling. I hoped no one called me on the fact that she was technically roaming free. In my focus on finding Opal, I had forgotten to grab the demon dog’s collar and leash.
I paused to scan the large front windows of the diner before entering. Opal hunkered down to scratch Paisley behind the ears, murmuring all sorts of promises involving sharing food.
Samantha occupied the back booth, facing the door. She was sitting centered, her elbows bent on the vinyl table, and her dark head cradled in her hands. It was such an unusual display of vulnerability from the telekinetic that I found myself staring, and a pinpoint of pain wiggled into my chest.
Mystics and Mental Blocks (Amplifier 3) Page 9
