Darknight (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 2)

by Christine Pope

  A grim nod, and he pulled into the driveway. As he parked in front of the center garage door and took the key from the ignition, I could almost see the shift in his demeanor, the way the cloud of doubt lifted from his brow, and suddenly he really was Lucas Wilcox, cheerful and untroubled.

  “You ready for this?” he asked.

  I couldn’t trust myself to do anything more than nod.

  “Then let’s put on a show.”

  He got out of the car and came around to the passenger side, then grasped me by the arm and pulled me out. My feet slipped a little on a patch of ice in the shadow of the eaves, and his grip tightened.

  “You’re hurting me,” I said.

  “Just don’t want you to fall down,” he said sunnily, and dragged me to the front door.

  The illusion was so perfect that even I felt a flicker of cold doubt, wondered for half a second whether this had all been some elaborate plan to deliver me to Damon once and for all. No. That was crazy. This was just Connor acting as he thought Lucas might if he really had gone off the deep end and had decided to help out his old friend by delivering me all wrapped up in a bow.

  As before, the front door was unlocked. Connor pushed me through it, hand still like a band of steel around my upper arm. Playacting or not, that was going to leave a bruise.

  Then again, I had far worse things to worry about.

  A low snarl greeted us, and we both stopped dead on the Persian rug in the entryway. The clean-up crew had done a good job. You couldn’t tell that a young woman had died violently here only two days ago.

  The Damon-wolf was sitting on the threshold between the entry and the living room, unnatural black eyes glaring at us, teeth bared in a snarl.

  Connor held up a hand and said, “Look what I’ve brought you, Damon. Think of her as a present. She’s the one you were really trying to get, right?”

  A slight head tilt, and the smallest suggestion of a whine, as if the creature was trying to process what Connor had just said.

  “This isn’t going to work!” I cried, going along as best I could. “When Connor finds out what you’ve done — ”

  “Well, he won’t, because this is just Damon’s and my little secret, isn’t it?”

  Another whine, and the wolf began to pad toward us. I held my breath, not daring to move. But as the creature drew closer, I saw it halt, then sniff the air. Its teeth bared, and a low growl began to emanate from its throat.

  Oh, shit. Ohshitohshitohshit…

  That was about the only coherent thought my brain could form. Because somehow it must have realized this was not Lucas, that the scent beneath the guise of his friend was that of someone Damon knew even better.

  His brother.

  Even though I’d been expecting the attack, its speed took us both by surprise. The creature was in midair, mouth open, before I could even begin to react. Connor, acting on instinct, thrust himself between the wolf and me, arm up to protect his throat.

  The teeth latched onto his arm. Thank the Goddess that he was wearing a heavy leather coat, or that bite would have sunk straight to the bone. But it was still enough to knock him staggering, crying out in pain as he fell against me and we both collapsed to the floor, the weight of the creature — greater than I would have thought an actual wolf’s would be — driving us backward, slipping along the tile floor.

  Although I hadn’t been touched by the Damon-wolf, I still let out a grunt of pain, feeling elbow and knee smack into the hard surface. But nothing seemed to be broken, and I couldn’t worry about bumps and bruises now.

  Blessed Brigid, give me the strength of a warrior now, I thought. The glowing energy within me seemed to flare up brighter than the sun, and I pushed out with it, concentrating all its force on the unnatural creature snarling and biting at Connor’s face — now returned to its normal guise, the glamour ruined from shock and pain — as he held up his arm to shield himself, the leather jacket shredded beyond any hope of protecting him further.

  An unseen force lifted the wolf and flung it away, aiming it so it plowed directly into the wall. It gave out a little grunt, then pushed itself back to its feet before charging at us once again.

  I pushed out again with the power within me, but somehow the wolf seemed to be pushing back as well, resisting the power that was attempting to force it away. Fear surged up within me. I’m not strong enough —

  And it leaped, teeth closing around my calf just above the hiking boot I wore. Red-hot pain seared through me, and I staggered backward, blinking away tears of agony, even as Connor burst out, “Damon, no!”

  Focus, I told myself. There is no pain. There is only the power.

  Somehow that allowed me to regain my balance. Once again I gathered up the brilliant prima strength surging within me and thrust it outward at the wolf, shoving it back so it couldn’t get close enough to do any real harm.

  “Please, Damon,” Connor said, moving gingerly to a sitting position, then pushing himself up to his feet. Blood was dripping from his nose, and now I could see that more blood stained the torn leather of his jacket. “Please. You don’t want to do this. Come back to us.”

  The wolf seemed to hesitate, black eyes watching us carefully. I didn’t move, didn’t dare breathe. Maybe this could work. Maybe Connor could somehow reach out to the shred of his brother still buried deep within the creature. After all, we’d taken Marie’s assertion at face value when she said the only way to stop Damon now was by killing him. For all I knew, she had her own agenda at work, her own reasons for wanting the primus out of the way.

  I could feel the world shift, feel the planet poised in that perfect tipping place between dark and light, neither one nor the other taking precedence. The power throbbed within me, but waited as well, as if it was holding its breath along with the rest of us.

  Then Damon sprang. I saw the shock and horror on Connor’s features even as I gathered up the strength I needed to drive the creature back, the power glowing within me like the white-hot center of a star. And as I did so, I felt the wrongness pulsing from the wolf, sensed how anything that might once have been Damon Wilcox had been warped and twisted to serve its need for chaos and death.

  How can you save someone when there’s nothing left to save?

  As I flung the power outward again, it seemed as if the very earth itself lent its strength to my attack, that sense of balance asserting itself to destroy this thing that had perverted every law of nature. The light arcing out from me was no longer golden, but pure, searing white, the kind of light that will sterilize everything it touches.

  The wolf let out an unearthly shriek and dropped to the floor. From the unnatural angle at which it lay, I could tell that its neck had been snapped. It whined, and as Connor and I both watched in shock, the shape of the wolf lying on the tile seemed to melt away, leaving the body of a man behind.

  “Oh, God,” Connor groaned, and went to him at once, dropping on his knees so he knelt by his brother’s head. “Damon, can you hear me?”

  No movement at first, but then the long black eyelashes fluttered against his pale cheeks. Only enough for him to open his eyes a fraction, to focus on his brother. “Connor…sorry.”

  “Don’t try to talk.” Wincing, Connor reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. “Stay still. I’m going to call 911.”

  “Don’t…bother.” Damon’s eyes shut. Without opening them, he murmured, “This is why I wanted you, Angela. So…strong….”

  A shudder went through him, and he seemed to go even more limp, if that were possible. Not sure whether I should approach or should stay out of the way, I hesitated, watching as Connor sucked in a breath.

  “No…please, no.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw movement, and realized Jessica’s ghost had moved toward us, looking almost expectant, as if she’d been waiting here for the moment when Damon would meet her in death. There was even a faint smile on her lips.

  Damon somehow managed to reach out and touch Connor’s hand
. “It’s yours now. Take care of the clan.”

  And as Connor began to shake his head, words of denial rising to his lips, Damon’s eyelids opened one last time. An expression of pure joy passed over his features, and he gasped, “Felicia!”

  Then he truly went still, and Connor bent over him, shoulders shaking, a horrible wracking movement, as if he couldn’t allow any tears to fall but at the same time couldn’t contain the agony of grief surging through him.

  And I looked up to see Jessica shake her head, tears glittering on her cheeks. Then she melted into nothing.

  * * *

  After that — well, I’d like to say that I’d forgotten large parts of it, but no, Marie came in only a few minutes later. Apparently she’d driven out after us and parked some distance away, waiting to see what would happen. When she spotted me helping an obviously distraught Connor into the borrowed Porsche, she took that as the signal to come in and start the mopping-up operations.

  True, she was very efficient, and thank the Goddess for that. She told me to take Connor home, and that they’d manage everything. Numb, I did as I was told, some irrational part of me worrying that I was going to crash Lucas’s car on the way back into town, and wouldn’t that just be the cherry on the cake of everyone’s day.

  Crazy what your mind dwells on when it doesn’t want to focus on the really important things.

  But we arrived intact. Well, physically anyway. I helped Connor up the stairs after parking the Porsche on the street. Somehow or another we’d have to get the car back to Lucas, but that was sort of low on my list of priorities at the moment.

  Connor slumped onto the couch, not looking at me, or at anything in particular. Not that I could really blame him for being shell-shocked; he’d just lost his brother and become the new primus of the Wilcox clan in the space of a heartbeat.

  What that meant for us, I had no idea.

  I couldn’t dwell on that, though. Instead, I went and fetched him some water, which at least he did take from me, and then got a fire going in the hearth. False cheeriness, but better than the cold emptiness of the space between the two of us, a space that hadn’t been there even an hour ago.

  Of course I knew why. I’d killed his brother. Never mind that I’d had no choice, that if I hadn’t done so he would’ve killed me and probably Connor as well in his blind animal rage.

  He hadn’t been an animal there at the end, though.

  Tears began to sting my eyes, and I blinked them away. I had a feeling Connor wouldn’t much appreciate me grieving over the man I’d killed. And how could I ever explain that they weren’t tears of grief, but of relief and joy? I’d seen that same expression of utter elation on Aunt Ruby’s face when she passed. I knew what it meant — despite everything he’d done, Damon Wilcox had not met damnation as he left this world, but the woman he loved, waiting for him.

  It turned out to be convenient that he’d died in his home. Marie and her crew moved him upstairs to his bedroom, settled him there, and removed every trace of a struggle. Then she called the paramedics, saying she’d come to visit her cousin, who hadn’t been feeling well, and found him dead in his own bed.

  There were questions, but in the end, since there was no sign of foul play, the medical examiners ruled it a natural death, probably from an aneurysm. The wounds Damon’s skin-walker form had suffered did not transfer to his human body, so there was nothing for the coroner to find. The Wilcoxes were allowed to grieve, to have the public memorial service that someone of Damon’s stature in the community required.

  I was surprised to see so many civilians there, so many weeping students — female, of course — so many sad-faced faculty members. Truly, it was quite the send-off. I wished I could ask Connor about it, ask him if Damon had really been that popular. My entire knowledge of him was based solely on what he had done as primus of the Wilcoxes, not as the public man he’d been.

  But I didn’t dare broach such a subject, because in the three days since Damon’s death, Connor had barely spoken to me, except about practical things like planning the funeral. Something inside me was quiet and cold and still, frightened, knowing things were horribly wrong and not knowing what in the world I could do about it.

  Of all people, Lucas was the one to give me some comfort. I’d thought he’d be furious over our subterfuge, but when I approached him at the reception after the service, he only gave a philosophical shrug and said, “There are some things you can’t come back from, Angela. Damon crossed a line. He endangered all of us.” For a second I thought I saw a flicker of real anger cross his features, but then he laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. “You did what you had to do. Don’t ever forget that.”

  I’d only nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Although I never thought I’d find myself grateful for Marie, I had to admit that she’d done a good job of smoothing things over with the rest of the clan, of trying to make them understand that I’d done them all a service. Whether they truly believed that, I didn’t know, but at least I wasn’t getting death threats.

  Then again, that probably wasn’t very likely. After all, I was the consort of the new primus. Or was he my consort? I had no idea, couldn’t begin to guess how his change in status would alter our relationship. Maybe I would’ve liked to have found out, to have the two of us come together while seeking some solace, some comfort, but Connor hadn’t touched me. True, he hadn’t gone so far as to ask me to move back into the guest room. It was enough that he lay huddled on his side of the bed, not reaching out to me, not cuddling together as we’d done so many times before.

  Time, give it time, I told myself, trying to ignore the creeping chill within me. But maybe there were some wounds time just couldn’t heal.

  It wasn’t that late when we got back from the reception, just a little before seven. A weird time, because usually around then I would have either started making something for dinner, or we would’ve decided where we wanted to eat if we were going out. I certainly didn’t have much of an appetite, and Connor had even less. The past few days he’d barely eaten anything.

  We entered the apartment, and I set my purse down on the dining room table. Connor had been looking stiff and uncomfortable in his suit jacket all afternoon, so I wasn’t surprised to see him shrug out of it and drape it over the back of a chair.

  I started to limp toward the living room; the Wilcox healer had done a good job on me, but I still had some lingering muscle damage from Damon’s attack. I had the vague idea that maybe I’d put on some music or turn on the TV. Anything to cover up the silence. But I hadn’t gone two steps before Connor said, “This isn’t going to work, Angela.”

  My heart started to thump painfully in my chest, but I forced myself to sound calm as I replied, “What isn’t?”

  “This. Us.”

  I inhaled, then turned to face him. He was still standing next to the dining room table, one hand resting on top of his jacket where it hung over the back of the chair. The puffiness from his bloody nose was gone, but there were bruised-looking shadows under his eyes. Even so, he was so beautiful it hurt me to look at him.

  Or maybe that wasn’t why it hurt.

  “I know it’s been hard, but — ”

  “Hard?” A short laugh, one with absolutely no humor in it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Bad enough to lose my brother, to inherit his power and this clan and everything that goes along with. But then to have to look at you, to see what you did every time I look into your eyes — ”

  Something was blocking my throat, making it hard to speak. A monolith of unshed tears, like a wedge between me and sound. But somehow I got the words out. “You said you understood why it had to be done.”

  “I thought I did understand. I thought I’d be — well, not okay with it, but accepting. Or something. But I can’t.” He pushed a hand through his hair. It had been cut only the day before, so it wasn’t quite as unruly as it normally would have been, but he still managed to make it look more or less disheveled. “I look
at you, and I see him dying. I can’t get the image out of my mind. And I think the only way I might ever be able to is if I don’t have to look at you.”

  Cold, so cold, as if every single icy day of that bitter winter had somehow commingled and invaded both my body and soul. At least I didn’t have to worry about crying now, because that cold had completely frozen my tears. “Are you telling me to leave?”

  “I’m — shit. Yes. Maybe. I need some time. I need to not be around you for a while.” He wasn’t quite looking at me as he said this, but I didn’t know if that was simply because I reminded him of Damon’s death…or because he didn’t want to see my pain.

  “Fine. I’ll go.” I couldn’t meet his gaze, either, not and maintain my dignity. I walked past him and went up the stairs, taking them one at a time, slowly, deliberately, wondering whether there had always been so many of them. First to the guest room, to retrieve the duffle bag and the suitcase I’d brought with me from my brief visit to Jerome, and then over to our room — Connor’s room — to pack my things. My gaze fell on the concho belt he’d given me for my birthday, and that lump in my throat seemed to double in size. I choked, and shoved the belt toward the back of the drawer. No way was I taking that with me, not when it would remind me of him every time I looked at it.

  A side trip to the bathroom to get some toiletries and other odds and ends, and then I was packed. I heard feet out in the hallway, and saw Connor standing there.

  “What?” I demanded. “I’ll be out of here soon enough.”

  “No, it’s not that — ” The words stumbled and fell over themselves. I could see the guilt in his face, as if he knew he shouldn’t be doing this but couldn’t stop himself. “I mean, I can take you home.”

  Oh, no. No way. Sitting next to him for more than an hour as he drove me back to Jerome? Not going to happen…especially if he thought by doing so he could somehow assuage his guilt at abandoning me. “It’s all right. I’ll call someone to get me.”