Caro shivered. Her mood was turning dark again, with the same nameless sorrow that dogged her whenever she left her own comfortable rooms anymore. She wished, with sudden vengeance, that she hadn’t left Saint City.
The earth witch simply wanted to go over some garden requisitions. She apparently had big plans for a paving-stone labyrinth in one of the unused garden plots and wanted to see if some of the Watchers would mind helping out. Frannie told her to go to Requisitions and put out a sign-up sheet. “A labyrinth would be a wonderful idea,” Fran encouraged, and the earth witch—so shy she stammered, poor girl—almost ran from the room in confusion.
The air witch turned in a sheaf of music for the next sabbat and asked if she could step down from chairing the decorations committee. “I’m swamped with orchestra work. Of course I’ll stick around until we find someone else to step in, but I’d really like to have some free time.”
Frannie had good news: someone else had already applied for the position, and after two weeks of orientation would be happy to take over. The air witch left with a smile and a bounce in her step, and Caro heard a snatch of unearthly flute music begin from the hallway, fading into the distance.
Then Fran’s eyes met hers. “Well, hello, stranger. I suppose this isn’t going to be pleasant.”
“Hi, Fran. Nice to see you too. Can we close your door?” Caro found her palms sweating. Fran always looked so damn calm, even during crises.
Fran got up, her silky primrose dress swishing slightly. She wore a light-purple cardigan too, and the smell of Easter lilies followed her around, leaching out from her lemon-yellow aura to trail in eddies along her wake.
She shut her door quietly and crossed her office to drop down on the bench next to Caro with a heavy sigh. “Gods above,” she said, staring at her desk. “Seen from over here it looks like a damnable mess.”
“No.” Caro dredged up a smile. “Just a chaotic organizational system, that’s all.”
Fran was silent for a moment. “You had me worried, Caro.” It was as close to chastisement as she would offer. “Want to tell me what’s on your mind first?”
“I had an accident because I was out after dark.” Caro took a deep breath, wiped her palms on her skirt. Why am I so nervous? “I got lost. I’m sorry, and I’m glad the Watcher was there.”
Fran said nothing. Caro plunged ahead.
“The thing is, I’ve been thinking. The Council really has no right to force me to accept a Watcher. I’m too old for curfews too, for God’s sake. I agreed to the bargain because I was too young and too scared to know any better. So what I want you to do is take this Watcher—Merrick—and let him go back on patrol or rotation or whatever it is he’s supposed to be doing.”
There. It’s out, it’s said. Her hands were shaking. Why? It wasn’t like Fran was going to yell at her. Fran rarely raised her voice and was only impatient with what she saw as sloppy work. The older witch was inherently neat and precise; despite the appearance of clutter in her office she could find any document or book in seconds flat. And gods help you if you did a shoddy job on a theory-of-magick assignment while she was teaching.
Besides, Fran had invited Caro out to do some training and take a look at some special cases. She would never be so impolite as to yell at a guest.
The older witch sighed. “Caro, I have to give you some unpleasant news. Unpleasant for you, at least. Merrick made his report. He’s no longer under the control of Circle Lightfall. He’s your Watcher. I can’t do anything about it, and I can’t give him any orders to leave you alone. You two are a pair. It’s not my jurisdiction.”
“But—” Caro began. This was going just as she’d feared.
“I can’t, Caroline. I’m sorry. And this brings me to another point. This effectively negates the bargain the Council had with you. It’s now Merrick’s responsibility to look after your safety. You’ll have to take it up with him—and please, Caro, please be gentle. He’s a Watcher.”
Be gentle? He’s armed, and he outweighs me. Not to mention the fact that I only come up to his shoulder—and barely even that. But she knew what Fran was saying. Merrick was trained to absolute obedience, and Caro could very well do something silly and put him in danger.
She’d promised herself she would never put another Watcher in danger. And she thought she’d avoided the whole problem neatly by only allowing bonded pairs near her when she had to go out at night. Merrick was all but helpless; he had no control over the fact that her aura didn’t hurt him. A Watcher couldn’t choose his witch. The official line was that it was a matter of chemistry, or souls, or just plain chance—not to mention the polite but vocal contingent that insisted the gods had a hand in it. Most bonded witches were firm believers in the gods theory. The Watchers, of course, didn’t venture an opinion.
None of that meant a good goddamn. It wasn’t Merrick’s fault, and unless she could figure something out she was stuck with him.
Caro blew out between pursed lips, almost whistling with frustration. “Well, what’s the good news?” she finally said. It was a pale attempt at a joke, but Fran didn’t laugh.
“That was the good news, sweetie. There’s some strange stuff going on, and the healers are getting a little frightened. There’s been a spike in the number of cases requiring a Mindhealer—Dark attacks, mentally ill patients, violent traumas, that sort of thing. And there are a couple of . . . troubling signs. Something’s brewing. There are also some . . . some cases I wanted you to personally look at.”
A chill finger traced up her back. It was a routine request, especially when one was a Mindhealer. But something in the set of Fran’s mouth told her this wasn’t at all routine.
Caro shivered. “What kind of trouble are we talking about, Fran?”
“I don’t know. I’d like you to take a look. There’s been a few attacks. We can’t bring the victims out, the Mindhealers we have just aren’t powerful enough—and the victims tend to die before we can really treat him.” The Council witch’s mouth compressed. “There’s something preying on psychics. And not just psychics, normals too. We don’t know what it is, and neither do the Watchers.”
She flinched. That was bad news, and all the more so because the Watchers had no clue. Dealing with the Dark as often as they did gave most Watchers an encyclopedic knowledge of predators. “Really? Preying on normals? Is it Dark, or something else?”
“We don’t know. We don’t know anything, only that these people are attacked, and they end up brutally beaten and catatonic. No Lightbringers yet, but one of the Mindhealers here—Danica, the one with the long red hair—she tried treating one of them and got lost. Her heart stopped, and not even her Watcher could bring her back.”
“Gods above.” It was a shocked, breathless whisper. There was always the danger of getting lost inside a patient’s mind, but to have a Mindhealer’s heart just stop was rare. And unsettling. Her heart ached at the thought—a Mindhealer, gone. There were so few of them, and so many patients, so many people, to heal. “Her heart just stopped?”
“It killed her Watcher too. They were a bonded pair.”
Shame welled hot inside Caro’s chest. “I would have been down here sooner, Fran. I’d have come weeks ago without bothering to finish out the course up north. Why didn’t you tell me this when you called?”
“I didn’t want you to hurry, or to be afraid. I still don’t. I just want you to be cautious. Truth be told, I’m almost glad things have worked out like this. You might need that Watcher after all, Caro.” Fran sounded dead serious. “Please. Even if you don’t like the idea, please just . . . try. All right?”
“Okay.” Her breath refused to come back. “Normals too? Are you sure?”
“If I wasn’t, would I be risking the famous Robbins Razor-tongue?” But Fran didn’t sound upset. Instead, she only sounded tired. “Please, sweetie. Just be careful, and try to be kind to Merrick. It’s not his fault.”
“I know. It’s nobody’s fault.” That’s the curse of being a
Mindhealer. You learn that it really isn’t anyone’s fault most of the time. She made it to her feet, swaying as her knees almost declared mutiny. “Thanks. I suppose tomorrow I can start seeing these patients?”
“Absolutely.” Fran looked like there was more she wanted to say. “Caro—”
“Thanks, Frannie.” She made it to the door, fumbled for the knob. “Tomorrow, we’ll have a nice long chat and I’ll get to work. Thank you.”
The gods were kind and the door opened. She stumbled out into the deserted hall.
Well, mostly deserted. Merrick caught her arm, steadied her. “Are you all right?”
No, I’m not all right. Life’s about to get very interesting, and Fran just told me in the nicest way possible that I’m stuck with you.
Another thought, even more terrifying, struck her as she looked up. He had pushed his hair back, and the scars glared against his face. She had no choice, Fran had made that clear. She was responsible for him the same way she’d been responsible for Vincent. The one thing she’d tried to avoid had now happened, and she was stuck.
If anything bad happens, he’s going to try to stop it. To protect me. Which means he’s going to get hurt. Or possibly die. Like Vincent. The vision of Vince, broken and bloody, his sword still in his loosely-clasped hand, rose in front of her. Her knees almost gave out, Merrick caught her by the shoulders. His hands were large and warm. The comforting smell of leather curled around her again.
“Caro?” Now he sounded alarmed instead of concerned. “Caroline?” He pronounced her name oddly, too. She had to hand it to him, though. An English accent made anyone sound more educated and reasonable.
“I’m okay,” she managed. “Just got some bad news.”
“Bad news?” Just like that, he tensed. Ready for the worst, it would seem. I’m half his size, and he fought off a pack of koroi last night, but wouldn’t you know, I think he’s scared of little old me.
“It’s all right. I just want to unpack and have a nice warm cup of tea, I think.” She took a deep breath. Between the reverberations of Darksickness and working herself up for a confrontation with Fran that hadn’t happened, she felt like she’d just run a marathon. “Francine tells me you’ve already made your report.”
A long pause. He set her carefully on her feet, made sure she had her balance back, and fell into step beside her as she set off down the hall, her heels clicking. “I have,” he said finally, cautiously.
“Don’t worry. It looks like you’re stuck with me for a little while. Just until I can figure out a solution.”
He obviously didn’t think that deserved a reply, because he was silent again. Caro hunched her shoulders and wished she hadn’t left home. Something attacking both normals and psychis—not all psychics were Lightbringers, and the ones that weren’t didn’t have the benefit of Watchers looking out for them. Caro could still remember the endless debates in both the regional councils and High Council about whether or not to ask the Watchers to help protect the psychics who weren’t Lightbringers. The Watchers would obey, of course, but it wasn’t fair to them. There were barely enough Watchers to protect Circle Lightfall—though there had been a recent spike in recruits, Caro remembered hearing.
A mystery, something attacking. Something we don’t know if it’s Dark or not. Something that can stop a Mindhealer’s heart. Her chin lifted, determined, as she stalked down the hall. Well, I’ll figure it out. If it’s able to be figured out, that is.
Six
Morning dawned fresh and clear, thin winter sunlight falling through the windows as Caro stepped into the hospital room. The other Mindhealer—her aura not half as bright as Caro’s, but well-disciplined and shielded nonetheless—let out a soft sigh. She was a tall, thin woman with large dreamy blue eyes and fine flaxen hair, her long blue linen skirt fluttering as she moved aside, giving Caro a clear view of the patient.
Saint Crispin’s stood on a hill in the south section of Altamira, a tall grim hospital set among quiet tree-lined streets, a graveyard off to one side and the cathedral rising a block and a half away. This hospital had once been run by nuns. Now it was modern, of course, but the walls still held the echoes of female voices chanting in Latin. Merrick’s memories of nuns were all from school—the ruler applied to his palms until they bled, reciting gibberish again and again, and the scratchy uniforms. None of which mattered now, but he spared himself a private wince as he followed his witch into the great stone pile.
Caro had pulled her hair back in a loose chignon, long earrings that looked like quivering aspen leaves trembled when she turned her head. She wore a pair of gray slacks and a black silk shirt. Her heels didn’t click against the short carpet in the hall but made crisp little sounds when she stepped onto the linoleum. The other Watcher, Avery, exchanged a quiet look with Merrick and took up his post outside the door, his hand resting on a knife hilt. It was, for a Watcher, the equivalent of a nervous tic.
Merrick didn’t blame him. The attacks had started a good six months ago, the victims being found mostly on the north side of town, and there was a quiet sense of something-not-right about them that had all the Watchers on edge. Merrick thought sourly that he perhaps should have known that Caro would get tangled up in it. It couldn’t be easy, could it.
He stepped past her into the room, scanning it once and determining there was no danger. He moved aside, boots whispering over the linoleum floor, and caught a breath of her perfume—a brunette smell, light and spicy. Spice and green tea, the smell that was starting to distract him.
She had, of course, only caught a couple hours’ sleep after unpacking. He’d surfaced from a resting trance at dawn to find her already up and making breakfast. She’d presented him with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, apologizing because she didn’t know how he liked his eggs, and he’d been surprised enough to take it. He’d been on patrol so long he had almost forgotten what it was like to have a witch feed him. And especially when the plate was offered with such a grudging, shy smile.
The truce between them was fragile enough that Merrick hadn’t protested when she informed him she was heading out to St. Crispin’s to take a look at a case. He should have. She was still obviously tired, so pale the circles under her eyes seemed like bruises. But the way she lifted her chin and looked at him, daring him to disagree, had been too much. He’d simply nodded, taking her plate and retreating to wash the dishes from breakfast. The urge to smile had risen when he heard her muttered curse, but he’d banished it. Smiling was beside the point. The important thing was that he’d managed not to annoy her.
Well, at least not much.
“Gods above.” Caro sounded pale. “What is—” She took a quick sipping breath, her mouth gapped as if the air was foul. “What on earth is that?”
The other Mindhealer nodded. “Awful, isn’t it? The Watchers can’t smell it, neither can the others. It seems only a Mindhealer can.”
“Is that sulfur? It reeks worse than a gimmerin.” Caro crossed to the bed, her heels marking off each graceful step. “Gods.”
The room held only one bed, sunlight picking out the nap of the ripcord blanket and the much-bleached sheets. Settled into the bed’s embrace was a human shape, the face puffed and discolored, only the long auburn hair against the pillow marking it as female. “And nobody else can smell it?”
“No.”
Merrick filled his lungs, straining to detect anything out of place. He smelled nothing but human pain, disinfectant, the persistent reek of hospital, and the breath of lavender from the taller Mindhealer—and Caro’s soft spiced perfume, a smell that made his hands want to tighten into fists to keep from touching her. He’d thought it would be awkward, watching over a witch again. It wasn’t awkward; it was nerve-wracking. The fact that this was it, this was his witch, the only chance he had to redeem himself, was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat. Plenty of other Watchers died before they found their witch—died without having a chance to make up for whatever bloody act or series of acts h
ad tortured them into becoming something inhuman to atone for it. He was luckier than he deserved.
And he was finding out that he liked this blue-eyed firecracker, despite her sharp tongue and her obvious ill-temper.
Caro examined the patient, her hands clasped in front of her. He watched the morning sunlight play through her hair, burnish her skin to a matte glow. “How many attacks now?”
“Fourteen that we know of, probably more. Eight of the victims are dead.” The taller Mindhealer sounded sad. “All found in the northern section of town, beaten . . . well, you can see. Their bodies just give up. The damage extends so far down, it’s incredible.”
“And this is the one Danica was lost in.” Caro ducked out from under the strap of her large canvas bag, settled it carefully in a vinyl-covered chair. Machines bleeped softly, monitoring pulse and respiration, the EEG showed severely-repressed alpha and beta waves, almost flatline. The delta waves were infinitely small, and very slow.
Merrick took all this in, and his eyes came to rest on Caro again. The other Mindhealer’s presence filled his scars with acid, taunted his nerves with pain. He shifted his weight slightly, wishing he dared move closer to Caro and feel her aura brush his again, however briefly.
Caro studied the patient’s broken, battered face. “What can you tell me about her?”
“Her name’s Colleen Frames. Thirty-four, worked in an ad agency downtown. The last time anyone saw her was three days ago, she was heading to catch the train out to Alta Heights—that’s a suburb in the northwest—and just vanished. She was found in an alley six blocks from her apartment, beaten almost to death. One of the trauma nurses in the ER here is a Lightbringer, and she asked Danica to come in and take a look. Danica came in a few hours after Colleen was admitted, worked on her for two or three hours as far as we can tell. Then her heart stopped. Our contact found both her and her Watcher dead in here, and that was a mess.”
“I don’t suppose Danica left any notes.” Caro paced to the end of the bed, her eyes unfocused. Merrick could See her aura stretching, gently testing the air around the unconscious woman on the bed.
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