“You planned to kidnap me? Bastard.” The cuff was tight, digging into her wrist.
He said nothing, just reached across and pulled her seatbelt across her chest before snapping it into place. He put his own on, then put the car in gear and raced forward to the next light. It turned amber and then red as they sailed through. More honking. Tires screeched. Rafe didn’t seem to care.
“What are you doing, Rafe?”
His mouth was a grim slit, his knuckles white on the black steering wheel of his Lexus. The car was his pride and joy. He took it to the car wash weekly and got full detailing. She looked down at the bolt securing the cuffs. She couldn’t believe he done that. Had marred the interior of his precious car.
Had prepared in advance, making sure she couldn’t get away. This was so not good.
“I have people waiting for me, you know?”
“You a lesbian now? Is that why you left me? Is that who’s waiting for you?” He careened down the street, dodging cars and pedestrians, blowing through a stop sign.
“You’re going too fast! And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He made a sharp left turn, and she jerked against the seatbelt hard enough to bruise.
“That woman. The hippie chick in the floaty clothes. I’ve seen you with her.”
Caroline started to shake, suddenly ice-cold despite the heat blasting in the car. How long had he been watching her? Following her?
“What are you talking about?”
His hand cracked across her face. “That woman!”
Caroline cupped her cheek with her free right hand. She felt blood on her fingers. His signet ring had cut her. Stanford. Another thing Rafe was so proud of. Who the hell cared what university you’d gone to once you passed thirty? Rafe did. Any social proof he could grab onto, he’d take it.
“She’s a client. She buys product from me!”
He grunted, then turned his head and spat at her, just missing her face. A glob of white dripped down her new blue coat.
As bad as things sometimes were with Rafe, she’d never seen him like this before.
“So,” she ventured. “You said you just wanted to talk. We’re here, now. Let’s talk.”
“Too late. You shouldn’t have run.”
She took in a slow breath, trying to stop her shaking. Caroline needed to keep her voice calm. She unsnapped the top of her coat, trying to get some air.
“I was scared. I didn’t know who it was.”
“You knew.”
He was right. She did know.
“I didn’t expect you.”
They were heading toward the river, the one that ran from north to south. She didn’t remember which one this was. Was it the Columbia? The Willamette?
Not important, Caroline. Her brain was scrambling now, grasping for anything that might make sense.
Shops made way to industrial warehouses and railroad tracks. Rafe pulled the Lexus into a mostly deserted parking area. A train rumbled by, whistle blaring, wheels screeching and huffing on the tracks. Bells clanged and red warning lights flashed.
He turned the car off, and sat staring at the train. Car after car after car of flaking metal shipping containers rolled by. Caroline waited, taking an inventory of her injuries. A wrenched shoulder. A bruised neck. The cut on her cheek. She felt that swelling already. And she must have twisted an ankle.
Finally, the train passed. The warning bells ceased clanging, and the red-and-black striped bar arms raised themselves again.
He stared out the window. Caroline didn’t know if he was looking at the gleaming river, or at some scene inside his head.
Finally, he inhaled, about to speak. “You shouldn’t have left. And you shouldn’t have lied to me.”
“I…”
He held up a hand, threatening to strike. She fell silent.
“You shouldn’t have lied to me,” he said again. “If you wanted to visit your Portland friend, or your ‘clients’…”—he made air quotes around the word—“you should have just told me.”
You never let me visit any stores except the ones directly en route to the big gem shows, she thought.
“Right?” he said, whipping his face toward hers. His eyes were dark, almost all pupil. Was he on something?
“I thought you wouldn’t let me,” she whispered.
“What? What did you say? I didn’t hear you.”
Caroline fought to control her shaking. Fought to not shy away. To remain calm.
She cleared her throat.
“I thought you wouldn’t let me.”
Her right hand slid through the vee at the opened top of the coat, underneath the green silk scarf, and curled around the medal of the Archangel Michael.
Help me, please.
“What are you doing?” Rafe’s voice was as sharp as the beveled edge of his ring. Caroline could feel the tension coiling in him, ready to lash out again.
Shit.
“Nothing. Just loosening my scarf. I’m hot.” She dropped her free hand onto her lap.
17
Brenda
Brenda breathed in the late morning air as she walked back to the Inner Eye. She felt grateful to be alive, and to have had short break from the shop.
The angel or whatever it was had been quiet for the past twenty-four hours, and, though she was worried about what the police chief had just told her, Brenda was determined to not get knocked off from her center today.
She wondered what the Equinox would bring. She prayed for balance as she walked. May light and dark, day and night, teach us what it means to softly tilt with the cosmos, balancing strength and weakness, fear and hope, love, joy, and power.
The coven’s traditional Equinox Prayer ran through her mind, keeping time with her light boots as she turned the corner that would take her to the shop.
Four blocks up was a woman who looked a lot like Caroline. A dark-haired man had his arms wrapped around her, and looked like he was forcing the woman into a fancy car.
Brenda ran toward the car, shouting, “Caroline!”
The man turned toward her, scowling, then climbed into the car.
The car sat there. Good. Maybe she had a chance to get to Caroline before they took off. She was certain it was her, despite the distance.
She raced toward the car—she could see now that it was a dark blue Lexus—purse flapping and banging. Right. Her purse! She fumbled for the phone tucked into the bag’s front pocket.
She paused for a moment to key it open and click on the camera. Running closer, her eyes darted between the back of Caroline’s dark head and the license plate. Not close enough yet.
Brenda ran, full out now, purse still bashing against her hip, boots clattering on the sidewalk.
“Excuse me!” She rushed past a man securing a toddler into a massive jogging stroller that took up most of the sidewalk. Brenda ran out into the street. The Lexus revved, ready to go. She snapped three photos, as quickly as she could, just hoping one of them came out.
The car did a three-point turn and raced back toward her. She leapt out of the street, stumbling into a parked Toyota, and saw the woman’s face as it flashed by.
It was Caroline. She looked terrified.
“No! Caroline!”
Brenda raised her right hand and began to pray out loud.
“Goddess Diana, send your hounds to follow and find Caroline, my friend. Lucifer, shine the light of the sun upon her. Give her courage and strength.”
She gave a small push of energy out of her hand, and sent the prayer winging after the receding taillights of the car.
“You okay, lady?” It was the man with the stroller. He looked concerned. “Do you need me to call someone?”
“Did you see what happened?”
He stopped and waited as she stepped back up onto the curb between two cars, and pushed her way between two rhododendrons.
“What happened?” he said. “I was getting Carlos here all strapped in, so I wasn’t paying attention. I ju
st heard you shouting and then that car raced by.”
Damn. She could have used corroboration.
“Never mind. I think my friend was just forced into the car, but can’t be sure. I was hoping someone besides me had seen something.”
She looked up and down the street. No one. Everyone was at work, she supposed. Or indoors eating lunch.
“Sorry,” the man said. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I’m happy to give you my number, but really, I didn’t see anything.”
Brenda nodded. “That’s okay. I’ll figure it out. Thanks.”
She stood a moment, feeling the ache in her hip where she’d hit the car. And her boots were scuffed now. She hoped they weren’t ruined.
As if that matters, Brenda. Right. There were more important things to think about, like what in Goddess’s name she was going to do? Calling the coven was on the list, that was for sure. Should she call the police? She had no proof of abduction….
:Alejandro knows how to help you.:
It was the Voice again. It was back, damn it. But at least this time, it seemed like it was offering some useful information.
She hurried to the shop. The coven needed to be notified, and maybe Caroline’s friend, Sydney.
:Joshua.:
Joshua? Why would…?
The archangel medallion. Michael. Right. If he sold that to Caroline, he might have some insight into what was going on.
Any port in a storm, she thought, then sent up another quick prayer. “Michael, if you hold the powers people say you do, protect Caroline with all your might.”
She was at Hawthorne right now. The bustling street, which usually filled her with such joy, barely registered today. All she saw was a series of obstacles between her and the Inner Eye. Weaving in and out between pedestrians, dogs, baby strollers, toddlers tugging at their parent’s hands, and houseless people selling newspapers, Brenda remained intent on her task.
“Hold tight, Caroline. Stay strong,” she murmured. The man had to be Caroline’s husband. But how in the world had he found her? What was he doing in Portland?
:Alejandro.:
“Okay. Okay. I’m almost at the shop. Just give me a second.”
Her priestess self had taken over the panicked woman who saw someone she cared about abducted. Despite wanting to stand in the middle of the sidewalk and scream and cry into her phone, Brenda wasn’t going to do that.
A priestess and witch acted from strength and centeredness. The Inner Eye was going to help with that. She needed the clarity and protection of all the years’ worth of wards, the prayers of peace and contemplation, and the scent of magic itself.
Brenda trusted that her prayers had landed, and what protections she’d been able to send to Caroline were in place. But their connection wasn’t strong yet, so she didn’t know how long they would hold. She needed counsel. Input. Help. She needed the threads of magic she didn’t hold herself, but that others in Arrow and Crescent did.
She also needed a war room, and the back room of the shop would serve quite well for that.
“Rafe, if that was you dragging Caroline away, you have no idea what’s about to hit you.”
18
Caroline
Michael, if you can hear me, and if you’re a protector like they say…please. Help me now.
Caroline couldn’t stop shaking. The medallion had felt good for the three seconds she’d been allowed to hold it. If only…
:Don’t move.:
Who said that? Michael?
Her eyes darted around the car. From the river outside, to the train tracks, to the glob of spit, slowly drying on her jacket. Anywhere but at Rafe’s face.
She tried a deep breath and almost choked. Rafe must be on something. A stinking, chemical sweat smell crossed with the spice of his cologne. It made her want to vomit.
Keep it together, Caroline. But she couldn’t. Not with a handcuff on her wrist and no way to call for help without him taking her phone from her. She backed as far into the space between her bucket seat and the door as possible without scraping the skin from her left hand. She angled her body toward Rafe, keeping her eyes on her lap.
And on the handcuffs.
When she cheated a look up, she saw him staring past her, out the window. Was that good or bad?
Must be good. He wasn’t focused on her for now.
Don’t piss him off. Don’t piss him off. Don’t piss him off.
The phrase synched with her heartbeat, so familiar. It had been her refrain for years. The only time she was free of it was at the gem shows, surrounded by raw rubies, tourmaline, and quartz. Talking with like-minded people.
Feeling as if, for once in her life, things were filled with beauty. With light. And that she was normal. Respected, even.
Don’t piss him off. Don’t piss him off. Don’t piss him off.
Caroline was suddenly quite weary of the voice. Shut up.
She raised her face, just enough to look at him, but not enough to signal a challenge. That was a thing wolves knew. Or dogs.
“Why did you shove me in your car? And why am I handcuffed?” She spoke clearly, softly, carefully.
His pupils were so black, like onyx stones eclipsing the sun.
“Because you’re a bitch. And you disobeyed me.” His voice was cold. Cold was more dangerous than hot. Hot was scary and random, but cold always meant that Rafe had a plan. Caroline had learned to avoid cold at all costs.
Too late.
Michael, help me. I need to be strong.
Strength would either save her, or get her killed. But, frightened as she was, she knew somehow that this moment was the one in which she had to make her stand. To draw her line. To say “enough.”
She just wasn’t sure how yet.
There was a pattering on the glass. The rain had come.
“Why did you leave me?” He held her gaze with those scary, onyx eyes. He swallowed. “You know you shouldn’t have done that? Don’t you?”
One hand snaked out and softly stroked her cheek, then pinched, hard, right over where his ring had cut her.
She grit her teeth, fighting not to hiss in pain. Her eyes snapped shut for an instant.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
She did.
“Why did you leave me?”
This was it. There was no way to placate him. No way to keep herself safe anymore. She was trapped in this car on the edge of an unfamiliar city, handcuffed and helpless.
She might as well be honest. He was going to punish her anyway.
“I haven’t been happy. Not for a long time, Rafe.”
“Why?” He frowned, brow furrowing, as though he were truly confused.
“You’re angry a lot. Sometimes you scare me.”
“Oh, baby, I just do that to let you know when you’ve done something wrong. I thought that was our arrangement. Wasn’t it? That I would correct you when you’re wrong?”
“No,” she whispered.
He leaned in, close. Too close. The acrid, chemical sweat stink of him filled her nose and throat, choking her. She fought not to gag. She used to love the scent of Rafe’s cologne. That was a long time ago.
He cupped the back of her head, bumping his forehead up against hers.
“It was, though, Caroline. It was our agreement.” His fingers dug into the back of her skull, right where it met her neck. His hand fisted into her hair and he yanked.
She did hiss that time. He pulled, tilting her head backward, then jerked her skull against the glass.
“Do you want me to undo your handcuffs?”
She worked to swallow. The angle of her neck was all wrong.
“Yes,” she finally gasped out.
“What do you say?”
“Please?”
His lips were almost on top of hers, his breath warm on her lips and cheek. He smelled sour, like desiccated leaves and vinegar mixed with whatever chemicals coursed through his bloodstream.
“Please what?”
&nb
sp; “Please, lover. Would you please take my handcuffs off?”
He released her head so quickly it slammed against the window again. She tasted bile and swallowed it down. Lover. She had started calling him that when they were still young. Before he changed.
Rafe insisted she continue to use the word. Insisted that she didn’t love him if she didn’t. Then the accusations began. The questioning. Did she have another lover? Was that why she didn’t use that word anymore?
And so she used it. Every time.
Don’t piss him off. But that wasn’t as important right now as the fact that if he took the handcuffs off of her, she had a fighting chance. Be smart.
Calling him “lover” meant she was knuckling under. Kneeling to his authority. Giving him what he wanted.
With a jangle and a click, the handcuff was off her wrist. She rubbed the chafed skin, cradling her wrist up against her chest.
Up against the amethyst tip. And Michael.
She slid a finger and thumb around the medallion, feeling the raised bumps of the wing and the archangel’s sword.
Help me.
“What do you keep touching there?”
With a rough thrust of his right hand, Rafe shoved the green silk aside, fingers closing over her own. He tugged. Caroline felt the chain digging into the soft flesh on the back of her neck.
Help me. Archangel Michael. Help me. Help me now. I beg of you. I plead with you…. The words tumbled through her mind, faster and faster.
The medallion grew warm against her skin and began to softly hum. It connected to the amethyst tip with a sharp zing that caused her to gasp.
“What is it?” Rafe slowly pried her fingers from around the medal, tugging on the medal and the chain. Caroline tried to get her fingers between the chain and her neck, to ease up on the tension as the chain cut into her skin.
“Just a necklace. You know I like necklaces.”
“You know I like necklaces, what?”
“L-lover.” God, that made her feel ill. Sick spit filled her mouth again. She swallowed it.
“What is it? An angel? Since when… Holy fuck!” He dropped the medal and shook his fingers off in the air. Then smacked her face, slicing through the skin over her cheekbone with his ring again.
By Wind Page 9
