by Shéa MacLoed
"No! I don't need your help. Stop babying me. I'm not some sort of invalid." The words snapped out in sharp, ugly blotches that lacerated my heart. I cringed away from them. From him.
"Sorry," I said. I shut the door and sat staring at the steering wheel. I didn't want to look at him and see that same harsh ugliness in his eyes, staining his soul. "I know you've been through a lot. I'll just give you some space."
He heaved a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, Morgan. You didn't deserve that. You don't deserve any of this."
I almost protested, but then gave myself a mental head slap. He was right. I didn't deserve it. I wasn't the one who'd hurt him. I was the one who'd stood by and loved him.
"I agree," I said. "I think I deserve a little respect. I think I deserve to be treated like a human being instead of shit on the bottom of your shoe." I turned and looked him straight in the eye. "I deserve to be treated like someone you love. That is, if you still love me." When in doubt, rip the Band-Aid off and pray to the gods you don't bleed to death.
He swallowed. "Of course I love you," he said. "I just… I need…" He shook his head.
"Space," I finished for him.
He nodded. "Yeah. Sorry." I could tell from the tone of his voice even he thought that was lame.
"Okay, then," I said turning back to stare through the windshield. My gut was churning, and my heart had fallen to somewhere in the vicinity of my toes. "I've got a psychopath to find so I'll see you later, all right?"
Inigo nodded and climbed out of the car. Once both he and his duffel bag were on the sidewalk, I took off. The last thing I needed was to glance back in my rearview mirror, but I did it anyway. He was already gone.
# # #
I drove straight from Inigo's apartment to Sellwood, where Kabita's Witch friend lived. Although I tried not to, the entire drive, I thought of nothing but Inigo. Things were still totally messed up between us, but at least I had some hope.. And that was better than nothing. Right?
Kabita's friend lived in a grand old Victorian that would have made a fabulous Painted Lady, but had definitely seen better days. The shingles were weather-beaten, the porch sagged, the front yard was a mess of weeds, and climbing roses had overtaken the rusty cast-iron fence. It would not have been out of place in a horror film. If I could've picked out the quintessential place for a Witch to live, this would've been it. It was so stereotypical, it was ridiculous. Nothing like the clean lines of Kabita's ultramodern condo or even my cute little Craftsman.
Slamming the door of the Mustang, I let myself through the gate, which squealed like a dying pig, and picked my way up the cracked walkway. The sun had nearly set, making the path treacherous in the gloomy twilight. The front steps had recently been replaced, and the fresh wood gleamed softly under the afternoon sun. At least something in this place wouldn't kill me. Unfortunately, I couldn't say the same about the front porch. The floorboards creaked ominously under my boots. I was sure that at any moment, I would go plunging through to my death. Or at least to a broken leg. The front door swung open before I'd even raised my hand to knock.
"Morgan Bailey! So lovely to see you again."
I blinked in surprise. It was Eddie's friend from the ship. "Emory Chastain?"
"Indeed." She smiled widely, showing off perfect white teeth. Her parents must have spent a fortune at the orthodontist.
She was round and soft in all the right places, the kind of figure that would have looked at home in a painting by Rubens. Her strawberry blonde hair had been twisted up into a sloppy bun. Tendrils fell around her face, teasing her cheeks. It was all very Bohemian. Her eyes were bright turquoise blue. I'd never seen eyes that color in real life. Surely they must be contacts.
"Come on in." She turned and padded down the hall, her voluminous purple skirt swirling in her wake.
I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. It stuck slightly, so I had to give it a good shove which rattled the windows. I winced. I so did not need to be busting up this woman's place. I needed her help.
I hurried after her as she led me past several open doors and into the kitchen. It looked like something straight out of the 1970s, complete with an avocado green refrigerator and mustard yellow wallpaper. The linoleum was old and scuffed and matched the fridge. The electric stove was missing a burner. The place needed a serious makeover.
"Kabita told me you need some scrying done. Tea?" She snagged a cobalt blue kettle off the stove and carried it to the sink.
I blinked at the subject change. "Sure. And yes, I do."
"Excellent. Have a seat." She waved in the general direction of the table with the kettle before turning to fill it.
I took a seat as she put the kettle on to boil. The chairs were straight out of the '70s with black metal legs and vinyl-covered seats in avocado green. At least they matched the appliances. Emory scrounged in the cupboards, coming up with a couple of mismatched mugs and a banged up blue and white tea tin.
"Paris tea," she said, waggling the tin at me. "Have you had it? It's delicious."
"Um, no. Not that I recall. I mostly drink coffee."
"Oh, you'll love this. It's my favorite," she assured me. She popped the lid of the tea tin and sniffed, drawing in a deep breath. A look of bliss crossed her face that was just this side of orgasmic. Girl really loved her tea.
She tossed a teabag into each cup. They were funny looking teabags. Pyramid-shaped and made out of some gauzy material instead of the cheap squares of paper most teabags were made from. She dumped in raw sugar from a bowl on the counter, then joined me at the table to wait for the kettle.
"So," she said, folding her hands on the tabletop, "who are we scrying for?"
I took a deep breath, wondering how much Kabita had told her. "Alister Jones."
Her eyes widened slightly, and a small smile curved her glossy pink lips. I wondered vaguely if it would be rude to ask her what kind of lipstick she used so I could get some. "Really?" she said. "How very interesting."
Chapter Twenty-two
A sharp whistling interrupted whatever Emory was going to say next.
"What do you mean, 'interesting?'" I asked as she got up to rescue the tea kettle.
"Don't you find it odd that Kabita, who is one of the strongest Witches I know, won't scry for her own father?" she asked, slopping boiling water into the waiting mugs.
"She said it was because it was too close. I mean, he was too close."
"Yes." She stared at the ceiling making a humming sound. "Yes, very interesting, don't you think?"
I didn't, but I didn't want to say so. If I'd been Kabita, I doubt I would have been able to remain calm enough to scry for Alister, either. Still, I didn't know enough about these things to offer a valid opinion. I figured I should let the Witches sort their own shit out. I just needed answers.
"I'll be right back." Emory disappeared out the kitchen door and down the hall. She reemerged a couple minutes later and laid an iPad flat on the table.
Before I could ask what it was for, she'd drifted over to the counter to remove the teabags from the mugs. "Cream?" she asked a little vaguely. She wasn't looking straight at me, but sort of off into the distance. "Please."
She splashed cream into the mugs and gave both teas a good stir before carrying them back to the table. "Here," she said, handing me a white mug with the words "Obstinate Headstrong Girl" in swirly pink letters. Clearly a Jane Austen fan.
I took a sip of the steaming tea and almost cooed in delight. The rich, aromatic tea held a hint of sweet vanilla. Coupled with cream and sugar, it was almost better than coffee. I mentally chastised myself for such a lack of loyalty to my favorite brew.
"Wow."
"I knew you'd love it." Emory beamed. "Now, let's see what we can do, shall we?"
She flipped open the iPad cover and pulled up a map of the world on screen. Then she dug a crystal on a long silver chain out of her pocket.
I stared at her over the rim of my mug. "You're kidding, right?"
She raise
d an eyebrow. "No. Should I be?"
"You just pulled up a map program."
"How astute." Evidently I wasn't the only one around here schooled in sarcasm.
I gave a little growl of frustration. "Don't you need a proper map? Like a paper one?"
She rolled her eyes. "This is the twenty-first century. Nobody uses paper anymore. Online maps are so much more accurate and detailed. Now, do you have something personal of Alister Jones's?"
"Yeah." I dug into my pocket and pulled out the letter opener.
Emory took it from me and turned it over carefully in her hands. "This should work," she said finally. "Watch." She held the crystal above the iPad making sure the stone was perfectly still. Then, holding the letter opener in her left hand, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and muttered something so faint I could barely hear it. She opened her eyes and stared intently at the crystal as though her will alone could move it along.
For nearly a full minute, it didn't move. I was beginning to think this was a waste of time. Then the crystal began to swing gently back and forth like a pendulum. I narrowed my eyes. Was Emory deliberately moving it? But her hand seemed rock steady. The crystal began to jerk and wobble and circle in a way she couldn't possibly have done on purpose. Then it seemed to practically leap across the pad and hit the screen with a sharp thump. I winced, sure the crystal had cracked it.
Emory didn't seem worried. She leaned over the iPad to see where the crystal had landed. A small smile curved her lips. "How very interesting indeed."
"Why? Where is he?"
She didn't answer me right away. She moved her fingers over the screen, zooming in closer to the location. As she did the crystal skittered this way and that, until it finally stilled.
"There we go," she said, leaning back a little. She looked altogether too smug as she took a genteel zip from her mug. It had a picture of a lady from the '60s with the words "If you're going to kick ass, you need kickass shoes." Ironic, since I'd yet to see Emory wear shoes. Even on board the ship, she'd been barefoot.
"Well," I prompted. "Where is he?"
Her smile grew wider. "Here."
"What you mean?"
"Alister Jones is in Portland," she said taking another sip of tea.
I stared at her. "Impossible. We would know."
"Would you?"
She was right. It was annoying, but she was right. We wouldn't know necessarily. But why would he come back to Portland? He hadn't been here in years. Since before I was even born. "Where is he? Exactly."
"Here." She tapped her forefinger on the screen.
I stared at the place she pointed and felt myself go a little pale. Alister Jones was at my house.
# # #
I left Emory's house at a dead run. As I slammed my car door and took off down the street, I was already on the phone with Trevor, giving him a quick rundown of the scrying and Emory's results.
"But you're not sure he's there," Trevor said. "I mean, you haven't seen him with your own eyes."
"Oh, he's there," I said grimly. I could feel it in my bones. Talk about in plain sight.
"I want to believe you. I do. But I can't send men out there because some witch says so."
I scowled even though he couldn't see me. "That's a bit prejudiced, don't you think?"
"I didn't mean it like that and you know it. I need confirmation, Morgan."
"Fine," I snapped. "You want confirmation? I'll get it." I hung up before he could say anything else. Next I dialed Kabita. She picked up right away, and I told her what I'd told Trevor and his refusal to help without confirmation.
"Can't say I blame him," she said. "His superiors would have his head if we're wrong. He's already walking a fine line for us."
"We're not wrong."
"You know that, and I know that, but some idiot bureaucrat doesn't know that. Do you want Trevor to lose his job?"
"Of course not."
"Then don't give him such grief," she snapped. "I'm on my way. Be there in ten." This time it was she that hung up.
My tires squealed as I took a corner a little too fast. I could only hope there weren't any police nearby, or I was going to be in some serious trouble. I pressed on the gas, veering in and out of traffic to get around the slower-moving vehicles. I tailgated a powder-blue Nissan that was poking along at five miles an hour under the speed limit. As soon as I could, I swerved around while the driver, who looked about eighty, laid on her horn and gave me the finger. I flashed a smile and kept going.
Who else could I call? Jack. Maybe he was back in the country. I pushed speed dial, but he didn't answer, so I left a quick message. Eddie maybe? I mean, he was the father-in-law of a god, for goodness sake. Didn't that give him superpowers? Still, I couldn't fathom Eddie up against Alister. He might be able to boss around the god of the sea, but a psychopath with a grimoire was another kettle of fish altogether. Still, there was one other person I could contact. I hesitated for a moment, but then punched the number.
"Hello?"
"Inigo. I need your help."
# # #
No sooner had I pulled into my driveway when I hit the ground running. Alister Jones was in my house. The thought kept tumbling over and over in my head. Why my house? What did he want with me? I mean, besides stealing my powers, of course. That seemed to be the modus operandi for bad guys these days.
I didn't have a gun. Not a real one. Mine shot wooden bullets or UV rays and were only good for hunting vampires. So, unless Alister had literally gone to the dark side, I was shit out of luck. I pulled out a blade instead. A blade isn't picky about the flesh it parts.
I let myself in through the front door and cautiously made my way down the hall. The house was empty. Quiet. Just as it should be. No sign of Alister. Had Emory's crystal been wrong? Maybe my relationship to Alister, such as it was, had messed up the scrying. Was that even possible? Kabita had seemed to think so, but I wasn't that close to him. Not like she was.
I slid my blade back into its sheath and let out a sigh, the breath from my lungs fluttering my bangs. Now what?
I'm not sure what alerted me. Maybe some sort of sixth sense. Who knows? But before I could think, my blade was out, and I was rushing through the back door into my yard. There on the patio sitting cool as a cucumber was Alister Jones, and he had a gun pointed straight at my chest.
Chapter Twenty-three
I stared at the gun in Alister's hand. I might be a quick healer, but there was no way I'd survive a bullet to the heart. I told myself to remain calm. Fat chance.
"Hey, Alister," I said, forcing a smile I didn't feel. "Kabita's gonna be real pissed if you shoot her best friend."
He gave me what I can only be described as a smirk. "My… daughter has nothing to do with this, Ms. Bailey." The pause he inserted before the word "daughter" got my hackles up. Alister's attitude toward Kabita had always been cold, but I'd only recently found out why. She was a Witch, and he hated her for it. Like it was her fault. It was Alister himself who carried Witch blood, and his daughter had paid the price.
"She might beg to differ," I said. My mind was still racing. I had to keep him distracted, at least until I could come up with something. "You've given us a merry chase Alister. You're a hard man to find."
His smirk widened. "Like taking candy from a child." He seemed inordinately pleased with himself. Prick.
"What do you want, Alister?"
"The amulet." His eyes were on my chest where the Atlantean amulet hung. The sapphire in the middle glowed softly in the moonlight.
"You're not getting it."
"Oh, I don't want to take it from you. Never fear. I just want you to do me a tiny little favor."
I narrowed my eyes. He really expected me to do him a favor? After all he'd done? "You've got to be kidding."
"Not at all. And when I tell you what that favor is, I'm certain you will jump at the opportunity."
I snorted. He sure didn't know me very well. "Fine. What is it?"
With h
is free hand, he pulled a small book from inside his jacket and laid it on the small bistro table next to him. The dark leather cover and glittering gold scrollwork stood out against the turquoise blue of the mosaic-tiled tabletop. In the center of the book was intricate gold filigree. In the middle of the carefully worked gold was carved a pattern, as though something fitted into it. It was a shape I recognized very well: the Atlantean amulet.
I wrapped my hand around the amulet, feeling the sapphire dig into my palm as the metal disc began to heat. "What do you want, Alister?" I repeated.
"I want you to take that amulet from around your neck and place it where it belongs. Here." He tapped the book.
"Why?" I asked. "What will happen when I do?" There was no way I was getting anywhere near that book with my amulet. Not while Alister was in control. There was no doubt in my mind whatever happened when the two ancient items met, Alister would use it to further his own agenda. That wasn't something I was prepared to be a part of.
"Do as I ask, Morgan, and no one will get hurt."
"Bullshit."
His smooth veneer cracked a little. "Take it off, Hunter," he snarled. "Or I will shoot you and take it myself."
I tilted my head a little as a thought struck. "No, you won't. If you could do that, you'd have already done it. It has to be me, doesn't it?" The key to the Key. "I'm the one who has to place the amulet in the book. It won't work otherwise, will it?"
"You have to be alive. There's nothing in the rules that says you can't be in pain. Or that you have to place it willingly." With a nasty little grin, Alister pulled the trigger.
Chapter Twenty-four
It felt like hot lava was burning my skin off as the bullet ripped through my jacket, shirt, and the meaty part of my upper arm. Holy hell, it stung. My right knee and palm made hard enough contact with the concrete floor, I knew I'd have bruises for days. But it could have been worse. I could be dead.
The second I saw Alister's finger tighten on the trigger, I'd dived toward the floor. The bullet hit me in the arm instead of the chest. Alister needed me alive to place the amulet, but he didn't need me alive once he got what he wanted.
