Seraphs

by Faith Hunter

  Shock spiraled through me. Anger built in his eyes. “I know what I’m facing, married to you,” he said, crossing the space between us, taking my shoulders in his hands, squeezing. I was bruised from the fighting and flinched, but he didn’t ease his grip, forcing me to look at him. “You lied to me about what you were. Who you were. You placed me in deadly danger for sleeping with you if you were ever discovered. You’re a mage. And I want you anyway.”

  Anyway. In spite of my genetic signature. I didn’t know why that anyway hurt so much. I looked up at him, his blue eyes vivid, black hair falling over his brow, beard a black stubble on his lean cheeks. He was just as beautiful as the first time I saw him. Heartache tightened my chest. I had lied to him. In its own way that was an infidelity too.

  “You will never be able to be faithful to me,” he said, shaking me slightly. “And I still love you.”

  “You can’t possibly be afraid of my cheating on you,” I said. But he was. I saw it on his face and pushed my way out of his grasp. I placed the table between us, needing a clear head. This conversation was turning out entirely different from what I had expected.

  “It’s true,” I said, “that when mage-heat hits us, we don’t have a choice what we do or with whom. We go pretty much mindless. But in Enclave, a mage makes certain she’s locked up with her intended partner on the proper date for the seraph flyover, the day our mage-heat is stimulated. Married partners make stringent plans to remain faithful, plans that involve locks and keys. If we had stayed married, I’d have made those plans.” Lucas’ eyes moved over my face, evaluating my words. “There’d have been no orgy in the streets.”

  I could have added that it was usually only the unmarried who joined in group mating, and those who wanted to avoid having a litter while single placed themselves with champards for servicing—sterile half-breeds, the second-unforeseen. But I didn’t say it. When a woman chose a life partner, she no longer took part in the mass mating ceremonies. Usually.

  And wasn’t it different when a human cheated? Humans had a choice. Maybe that was splitting hairs, to parse it so closely, but we all made choices that reflected how we wanted to live our lives, humans and mages. And Lucas hadn’t had to flirt with the big-busted girl. Yet he had.

  Much like I hadn’t had to kiss Thadd under a porch during a battle, hadn’t had to because mage-heat hadn’t fully awakened. I’d still had a brain, had known what was happening. Yet I had kissed him. More than kissed him. My face heated uncomfortably.

  “What?” Lucas asked.

  I scrubbed my face, feeling the grit of stone on my skin. I needed a shower, followed by a long, hot, soaking bath to loosen my muscles. I needed Lucas. And I needed him out of my home and out of my life. “I’m too tired to make a decision tonight,” I said, dropping my hands. “Thanks for fixing dinner. We can eat. Then you go home.”

  “You’re not kicking me out?” he asked, suspicion, and maybe a bit of hope, in his voice.

  “I’m not sleeping with you, either.” An incredulous smile lit his features. “I’m not,” I said, making sure he heard me.

  “Fine. It’s a start.”

  I sighed, knowing I had made a mistake but not knowing exactly what it was. “I’ll wash up. Then we’ll eat. Then you will go home. Yes?” But Lucas didn’t answer. He was already dishing up the food, which smelled like a little bit of heaven, making my mouth water. I washed my face and joined my ex-husband for pasta Alfredo. How stupid was that?

  Lucas didn’t want to leave, of course. He wanted to stay the night, hoping to convince me with his body that we were perfect for one another, and he was charming and totally absorbed in me throughout the meal, the conniving bastard. He was just as wonderful as he had been before we got married. Is that the way to a man’s heart? Refuse to sleep with him? Kick him out early? Refuse to marry him? Again.

  My emotions were still raw even after a great meal, and I knew better than to let him near me, even for the shoulder rub he offered as temptation, and which I really needed. But I was wavering. So as soon as we finished cleaning up the kitchen and putting away the dishes, I went to the door, opened it, and stood back.

  He sat down in a kitchen chair, straddling it, his hands on the tall back, his chin on his knuckles. He looked gorgeous, and he knew it. “You’re really going to make me leave.”

  “Yes. Go.”

  “Right now.”

  I closed my eyes against the enticement he promised and rubbed my temples, my shoulders aching with the motion. If he touched me I was ruined. I’d capitulate. I knew it. “Please, Lucas.”

  “You’re going to miss me,” he said, rising, the chair legs scraping on the floor. “You’re going to wish I had stayed,” he said, closer. “You’re going to think about me all night, wanting and longing.”

  I couldn’t help the smile that pulled at my mouth. “I can live with that,” I said, opening my eyes. He was standing right in front of me, the rugs having muffled his footsteps. His blue eyes were only inches away, staring into mine, and I felt an intense craving to just touch his mouth. Once. I curled my fingers into claws and tucked them behind my back.

  As if he knew the reason for the action, he gave me that smile, that blasted smile. Tears of Taharial. “I’m not sure I can,” he said. “But I guess I’ll have to.” He leaned in the six inches that separated us and kissed the corner of my mouth. One of those little feather-light kisses, like heated air brushing close. “I still have my key. I’ll see myself out. I’ll call you in the morning.” And he was gone.

  He was smug, complacent, and self-satisfied. And he still had a key to the shop. As if that were significant of something intimate. I hadn’t bothered to get the key back, although I had changed the lock on the loft. Was it significant that he could get halfway to me? Had I deliberately left him with access to my life? Could I be that stupid?

  Somehow I got the door closed and a bath going and my body stripped out of the dirty clothes. I set the ward, feeling and seeing the glow of the energies as they filled the walls and foundation. I added stones to the bathwater, for their restorative powers, then added a big helping of salt for the muscle aches and pains.

  Just as I was about to step in, I heard something hit the back stained-glass window in the original hayloft door. Or rather, hit the ward over it. If the stone had hit the glass it would have made a simple tap. Instead it was a sizzle followed by a sharp snap, as the stone shattered. A bright light shocked through the windows. “Crap in a bucket!” someone cursed.

  I chuckled and wrapped the worn robe around me before pushing open the functioning window beside the stained-glass one. I rested an elbow on the ledge and looked down at Eli. He stood hipshot on the crusty snow, feet spread, pointy-toed boots at angles, and a cowboy hat on his head. I was a slut. I had to be. Because he looked really good. But I had no desire to invite him up—well, not much of one—so maybe I was only half a slut.

  “Shop’s closed.”

  “Is he gone for the night?” he asked.

  “Yeah, he’s gone.”

  “Want company?”

  “I had company. I ran company off.”

  “Well that’s good to know. Why would you want a slut-puppy like him anyway? I mean, when you could have me?” He spread his arms in display. “I’m clean, loyal, dependable, charming, and sweet.”

  “You sound like a pet. Mages don’t do well with pets.” Something about all the energies surrounding a mage made them die young. Or go feral. Come to think of it, a high percentage of humans did the latter.

  “I’m also great in bed. Or so I’ve been told.”

  I laughed outright. Eli had offered to shake my world, in a variety of innovative and athletic ways, and he was a pretty thing. Amber-colored eyes had always been a favorite of mine. I cupped my chin and went with the flow of the conversation. “Why would I want a man who’s prettier than I am?”

  “Why would I want a woman faster and more powerful than I? Speaking of which, did you ward the whole building?”
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  “Looks like.”

  “Dang, woman. That’s impressive.”

  Yes. It was. I liked him even better that he would know that. And that he could tell me so. I studied him in the snow as the cold air cleared my head. He was indeed attractive. And charming. And I was lonely. If mage-heat were a factor, I’d invite him up in a heartbeat. But with me as just me, I wasn’t ready, I decided. Not ready for any man.

  Realizing that made me feel better. “Good night, Eli,” I said, closing the window.

  “Wait!” he called. When I paused, the sash in hand, he said, “The EIH wants to talk. They think they can help you.”

  “Do I need help?” I asked.

  “You will. And when you do, remember the signal.”

  A white cloth in the window. Or was it red? “Good night, Eli,” I said firmly, pulling on the glass.

  “Good night, mage of my dreams.”

  The window closed. I pulled the tapestry over it, and slid the robe off my shoulders and my body into the hot water. Heaven. Pure heaven. And suddenly my life looked okay. Weird how a little honest attention from a pretty man could make the difference between a totally terrible life and a much better one.

  Chapter 23

  I put three blades and the amulet necklace on the bedside table near the ward’s on-off marble sphere, and fell into the covers, pulling them up around my ears. I slept hard, dreaming of seraphs. One had teal eyes, a chiseled jaw, and pale down beneath teal wings, and one had ruby irises and scarlet plumage. The Angel of Punishment wooed me, standing in a jewelry store; the winged-warrior in red battle armor played at rescue duty.

  I came awake to the sound of slow, steady dripping in the tub, sharp plinks. Outside, wind whistled as it whipped through the buildings. The old livery creaked, settling. There was nothing in the sounds to warrant the sudden chills that ran down my arms beneath the coverlet and across my scalp. Nothing at all, yet I was suddenly hyper-alert, skin tingling, breath fast, hands clenched as if to draw blades. Fear prickled along my flesh, lifting the tiny hairs on my body. Outside, just below the sound of the wind, I heard the distant cry of the lynx. That blasted portent. Drat.

  Without giving away that I was awake, I slowly swiveled my head and took in the loft. A gray tinge rested in the eastern windows, the night stars dimmed by the promise of dawn. The apartment was still and silent. But the ward was gone, the walls unprotected. I hadn’t done it. Ciana? Someone using her seraph pin?

  I breathed in slowly, and caught a scent, the smell that had woken me, cloying and sweet, like flowers and rotting corpses. Incubus. Tears of Taharial.

  Opening mage-sight, I scanned the room again; the furnishings, walls, ceiling and floor were lit with their usual soft blue, green, and pinkish tints. The stones at windows and doors were fully charged. There was no hint of Darkness, but the scent continued to grow, as if it sat on the foot of my bed. Beneath that scent I caught a whiff of something else, equally vile, yet subtly different. Fresh roses and dead leaves, standing water, mold, and mildew. There are two of them. Incubus and succubus.

  Stealthily, panic crouched tight in my throat, I slid my hands out of the covers to grasp the walking stick and amulet necklace. The amulets clinked softly. In mage-sight, they glowed weakly, wrongly; even the bloodstone handle of the walking stick wasn’t quite right, as if amulets could catch the plague or falter. Shock fluttered through me. Something had affected them. But they were all I had. I pulled the necklace over my head, then eased the blade from its sheath. Every noise I made seemed louder than the next, yet nothing happened, no hidden threat jumped onto the bed and gored me with its claws.

  Somewhere on the Trine, the lynx growled. On the Trine, but close. Fine, cat. I got it. Trouble. Danger. Now go away.

  In a single rush I threw back the covers, grabbed up an extra blade, and raced to the kitchen. Slammed my back against the wall. Three feet of stone and brick offered some protection, and the only window here was up high, long and narrow, the transom sealed shut with layers of paint.

  Nothing moved; nothing attacked. My harsh breathing and the dripping tub were the only sounds. The scents began to dissipate, to slip away. The apartment grew brighter to my sight as the smells gathered into one spot and faded. I followed them with a mind-skim, my nose seeking their scents, to the front of the loft where they formed a cloud at the French door onto the porch. They weren’t attacking me. They were trying to get away. Fury blazed through me, driving out the fear. I bellowed a battle cry. The mist of Darkness rushed beneath the cracks and out onto the porch where it re-formed into a loose column of black ink, almost indistinguishable from the night.

  I drew on my prime amulets, the walking stick hilt and the ring, but they wavered weakly in response, and I surely drained them as strength trickled into me, an irregular stutter of energy. I sprinted to the door, slashing through the cloud. The smell broke over me, drenching my feet. I ripped open the door and cut through the dark mist as it tried to re-form. Below me, I heard a gurgle. Bare feet on the frozen boards, I sliced through the Darkness again and again as I dashed to the railing and looked down. Below me, standing in the street, were two dark beings. One was a succubus, Jane Hilton, her head thrown back, throat exposed. This one looked more real than the ones from the battle. Her breasts were normal-sized, not the overripe melons of the succubi. She fell to her knees on the cracked pavement as if I had cut her body along with the mist.

  The thing beside her was Malashe-el, the daywalker, its eyes labradorite blue flecked with scarlet. From the bloodstone hilt, images flooded through my mind. Stored images of the beast overruled the rune of forgetting Malashe-el still carried.

  The daywalker’s rune sat high on its chest, a silver tracing of wire supporting a huge, white quartz crystal. I stared at it with mage-sight. A mage-rune, but different from one I might create. This one was shaped, not to destroy memory, but to blur memory away. The memories of this Darkness hadn’t been stolen from me so much as clouded over, hazed into the mundane, their importance eradicated. I cut the mist again, but my pause had been too long. Stupid! It separated and slid off the porch, dropping to the street. I crossed the blades low over my body, breath heaving, heart racing, a cold sweat drenching me.

  The succubus was fragrant with evil, but with an overlay of human scent. The thing had possessed Jane’s body, an evil sprite hoping to capture men in a spell of lust. Lucas had slept with this thing. Jane clawed her throat. A single trace of black mist wriggled across the porch and I sliced it through, again and again. Jane gurgled in anguish, her body rippling. I was surprised at the alteration. For a moment, before she flowed back to her youthful appearance, she looked like Gramma Stanhope, bent and worn, full of old angers.

  The daywalker stood beside her, watching as she writhed in agony. Finally, it looked up at me and spoke, directly into my mind. “Come. My mistress calls you. There is not much time.”

  Without thought, without plan, I reversed the small blade and threw it, overhand, the spinning toss aimed at its heart. Its pupils widened and it darted to the side, but the blade caught it beneath its arm, striking deep, close to the site where I had last struck it. I heard the thump of blade against bone, and smelled lilacs as the mage-steel cut through ribs and muscle and into its lung.

  It crumpled to the street. The black mist coalesced around it. The woman who had claimed to love Lucas bent and withdrew the throwing blade. It gave a sucking sound and she threw it to the side, keening, holding her hand as if it burned.

  Together, spilling blood in the moonlight, trailing a scent of death and destruction, they ran down the street and vanished into an alley. Not willing to risk a broken leg by a jump, I stood on the porch, staring down into Upper Street, my eyes seeing only ice, cracked pavement, and broken sidewalk. The fight, such as it was, had taken less than a minute.

  My side, where the spur had touched me twice, gave a single mighty throb. It hadn’t pained me since Thadd smeared it with his blood, but now it twisted brutally, like a muscle sp
asm, stealing my breath. I pressed my elbow against the hard knot, and it burned, feverish, like a boil. I glanced down, and was startled to see it pulse once in mage-vision, a wan yellow glow that faded and was gone.

  Behind me, my door crashed open. I felt more than saw him whirl through my apartment. I could feel the spin of his blades and smell the faint whiff of sweat. I turned and stared through the window, though I could see only my reflection and the pale gray sky in the glass. After a moment, Audric stepped onto the porch. His blades were both at the ready, the tinge of oil tainting the air.

  “They are gone?” he asked. To my mage-sight, Audric glowed a bright coral, blood coursing beneath his skin in tones of crimson.

  “Yeah,” I said numbly as I lifted the amulet necklace. Something was wrong with it.

  “How did they get in? Did you set the ward?”

  “Yes, I set it.” They did something to my amulets. Maybe during the battle? “I need light.” Audric followed me inside and turned on the light over the kitchen table. I removed the necklace and spread it over a clear space on the old wood. In mage-sight, everything looked wrong, dull and off-color; nothing stood out as the one cause, but when I shut off my sight and looked at the amulets with just human vision, I saw one that was nicked.

  I would never attempt to use a broken amulet because damaged stone releases energies wrongly. Many can’t be charged with creation energies at all, the power sliding across them and into the nearest whole stone. I lifted the quartz crystal and held it to the light. It was an amulet of illumination, like the ones I had thrown in the street during the battle.

  The trinkets were cheap, energy-wise, and easy to make. I seldom searched for and retrieved one if I misplaced it after use. I had lost some on the Trine once. I had lost others in the street. I skimmed it, sniffing with mind and nose, catching my own scent, and the reek of old evil. “I made this. But something else changed it, then reattached it to my necklace.”