The Wicked (A Novella of the Elder Races)

by Thea Harrison

  She also knew what that could mean. It was possible—just barely possible—that he might be beginning to mate with her. It was too soon to know, of course. It was too soon for everything. Only time could tell if he would mate with her, or if he would pull away, or if this complete, full-blown obsession she had developed for him would turn out to be love.

  But she thought, at least in her case, that it was the beginnings of falling in love. She really thought it was. He was fine and fierce, complicated and quite extraordinary, and the strength of emotion and vulnerability he had shown to her surpassed anything she had ever experienced from anyone else. He engaged all of her senses, emotions and intellect in a perfect trifecta.

  Yes, I think I could grow to love you, she thought, as she looked at the back of his tousled head. I think I could grow to love you so much, I would do anything, give up anything, for you. So don’t back away from us. Give us time.

  Of course she didn’t say any of that aloud. A sensible, sane person wouldn’t dream of saying any of that after spending just one single night with someone, however extraordinary that night had been.

  So the new, trembling, fierce thing inside of her would keep silent for now, and watch, and pretend to be sensible and sane.

  She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder. He stirred and rolled over, his tough face eased from sleep, and he gathered her into his arms. She went gladly, curling her tired, sore body to his. He cupped the back of her head, fitting her to his shoulder, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She stroked her flattened hand along his lean chest, which was bare of hair.

  Then she drifted with him, lightly along the edge of sleep, until the smell of brewed coffee wafted up from the kitchen, and the morning sunlight shone full and bright.

  Breakfast was another quick, simple affair of coffee, leftover chicken, cheese and crackers, and fruit. After carefully inspecting the sealed jars in the huge pantry, Derrick declared that he might have fresh-baked bread for them later in the day.

  Derrick, Tony and Bailey all made a point of smiling at Olivia and doing a dozen little things that said they were welcoming her into the fold. She was warmed by it, not only for her sake, but also for Sebastian’s. They cared about him, and that spoke volumes for the quality of his character and leadership.

  Dendera’s attitude remained the same, reserved but not unfriendly, and Steve kept himself aloof, which, as far as she was concerned, was just as well. If he tried to tell her any more negative gossip she might haul off and hit him.

  Once they finished the morning meal, Derrick and Tony took care of cleaning up. The three symbologists gathered the first batch of hermetically sealed containers and headed down the path to the cottage. Sebastian and Bailey insisted on accompanying them.

  “There’s no need for you to do that,” Dendera told them.

  “There’s every need,” said Sebastian. In full sunlight, he looked suntanned and vital, his personality as forceful as ever. As always, he wore his sunglasses, but now Olivia could read the subtleties of his expression behind the barrier as he looked at her and gave her a slight smile. “Your safety is my responsibility, and I reserve the right to yank all of you out of there if things get out of control. Carling said to stay sharp and be careful, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

  Olivia smiled back at him. Then, as she turned away, she caught sight of Steve. He was staring at Sebastian with an expression of such naked hostility it caused her to stop in her tracks.

  What on earth?

  But in the next instant the expression was gone, leaving her to wonder if she had imagined the whole thing as Steve turned to follow Dendera down the path.

  Finally, after months of hard work and planning, they approached their destination. The area around the cottage was overgrown with weeds. The building itself looked humble and ordinary, but tendrils of uncontained magic ghosted through the air.

  Dendera took the lead and opened the cottage door. There was a large workroom just inside. It hadn’t been tidied after its last use.

  Dendera said, “We’ll stack the containers in here until we fill them.”

  Bailey and Sebastian remained wary, their eyes sharp. Olivia set the two containers she carried alongside the others. She straightened to assess the erratic magic calmly. She met Dendera’s gaze. “We’ll have to follow each thread back to its source.”

  The other woman nodded. “Once we get those works contained, we’ll be able to pack up the rest of the collection at our leisure.” She took a deep breath. “For now it’s probably safest if we work in pairs.”

  Olivia couldn’t help it. She looked at Sebastian, who said immediately, “I’m your partner.”

  Perhaps it was silly to feel such happiness at his words. Certainly it was silly to read too much into it. Despite scolding herself to be sensible, she did both.

  Dendera said, “Steve, you and I will pair up today.”

  “Right,” said Bailey, as she bounced on the balls of her feet and looked around. Her long, elegantly pointed ears peeked through the curls of her short, tousled hair. “And I’ll…just…keep an eye on this room, shall I?”

  “The only way to start doing this is to pick a magical thread and follow it,” said Olivia. She picked one of the strongest, most erratic magical threads and began to trace it to its source.

  It led her down a hall, past rooms with filled bookcases. Sebastian followed on her heels. He stayed so close that she could sense his body heat on her bare arm. With an effort she had to turn her attention away from his presence and focus on the task at hand.

  She followed the magical thread to a leather-bound book in a corner bookshelf.

  “There you are,” she whispered as she squatted in front of it. With a careful, practiced eye, she mentally translated the archaic title on the faded leather spine. Instructions on Angelic Visitations and Demonic Summoning. “This is a medieval grimoire, a very old book of spells. The oldest books are always the most unruly.”

  Sebastian asked in her ear, “What are you going to do about it?”

  She wagged a finger gently in the air without looking at him. “I’m going to do my job, and you are not going to distract me. Either that or Bailey can come help me.”

  “Bailey’s not going to help you,” he growled. “I am.”

  She bit back a smile. “Then be quiet.”

  In the vast variety of magical books and treatises that Olivia had encountered throughout her professional life, they all had one thing in common—books wanted to be opened. The key to handling an unruly magical book was to make sure one’s own Power was quiescent, so that it didn’t trigger some kind of backlash or attack.

  Carefully she extended one hand, letting the magical energy of the grimoire adjust to her nearing presence. When she finally laid her fingers on the leather cover, it didn’t react.

  She pulled it off the shelf, and it came smoothly, even eagerly. As she held it in one hand, she said, “Claudo.” At the same time she uttered the single word spell, she sketched the symbol for “close” over the front cover.

  Despite its unruliness, it was still a book. The magic it contained snapped shut.

  She looked over her shoulder and smiled at Sebastian’s fascinated expression. “One down. Many more to go.”

  They worked through the morning. By lunchtime the air in the cottage was beginning to feel much more settled. After eating, Sebastian and Bailey returned to the library with the symbologists, but by midafternoon it became clear that their assistance was no longer needed, so they took off to fish for their supper. Sebastian gave her a quick, hard kiss before he left.

  The symbologists continued to work until early evening and the shadows in the cottage grew dark. Dendera told Olivia and Steve, “We will stop now. We’ve done a good first day’s work.”

  Steve looked up from the open container where he was carefully packing a five-volume set. “I’ll keep working.”

  Dendera shook her head, her round features softening with
a smile. “I know how hard it is to pull yourself away. This library is fascinating, and I could keep working through the night as well. But I don’t want anybody to work on the collection on their own. We’ll leave together.”

  “There’s so much to do, and I’m not tired,” he argued. He waved a hand in the direction of the rooms full of books. “You can sense for yourself that we’ve contained the most unruly magics.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m just not willing to take that chance,” said Dendera. “We’ve got plenty of time, and it will all be waiting for us in the morning.”

  Olivia watched with interest as Steve’s expression tightened with frustration. He did not like being told no. But all he said was, “If you think that’s best.”

  “I do.”

  He shrugged. “When do you think we’ll start work on the papyri collection?”

  “We should be ready to tackle that section in a few days,” Dendera said. “Let’s go eat supper.”

  The next several days fell into a pattern that was pure bliss for Olivia. The mild days were full of seemingly endless sunshine, and the nights turned chilly enough to call for fires, blankets and hot tea.

  She immersed herself in all of her passions. By day, she handled rare and unique books. In the evening they ate freshly caught fish, grilled with wild onions and garlic, and sweet dates and almonds drizzled with honey, and they drank rare wine.

  At night she explored every manner of sensual pleasure with Sebastian whenever he was free. He did not sleep alone. Either he took his turn at keeping watch, or he stayed with her. He drove her to exhaustion, and when she couldn’t take any more, they piled blankets on the floor in front of the fire and he would painstakingly massage her sore, tired body with the essential oils that he had found in one of the rooms.

  In the mornings they would talk drowsily, nesting in the warm bed until it was time to get up for the day.

  He told her of his life in Jamaica, and as he talked, he never stopped touching her. Stroking her thigh. Running his fingers through her short hair. Following the curve of her breast with a finger. The constant contact drenched her in pleasure.

  She lay draped across him bonelessly as she listened, and it didn’t matter what he told her. He could have been talking about accounting or mathematic algorithms, and she would have loved it. The fact that he actually opened up to her made it even more special.

  “How did you and Bailey meet?” she asked.

  “We grew up together in New Orleans.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “She’s more than a friend. She’s like my little sister.”

  “I think you guys have a wonderful relationship.” Olivia smiled too. She loved to watch them bicker.

  “Looking back,” he said, “I can’t believe we made a go of the company. We did almost everything wrong. At least we learned from our mistakes.”

  She walked her fingers up his chest as she said, “And you had to have done more things right than not, because you did make a go of it.”

  “Eventually.” He captured her hand and lifted it to kiss her fingers.

  Her mind flashed, without her consent, back to Steve’s negative gossip. “Why Jamaica?” she asked. “Why not the Wyr demesne in New York?”

  “I respect what Dragos has done for the Wyr,” he said. “I can even see that there is a necessary place for it in the world, but his brand of nationalism bothers me. I prefer a more inclusive approach to life. We hire anybody based on their talents and resources as an individual, regardless of whether or not they are Wyr or some other Elder Race, or if they are human.”

  “Like Tony?”

  “Yes, exactly. Tony’s human, but he’s a great fighter, he has a little bit of magic, and while he might not be a doctor, he is a damn fine field medic. All of that makes him a strong, versatile member of any crew.” He shrugged, his shoulders shifting fluidly underneath her stroking fingers. “And of course we could have done all of that in New York too. But that’s where the answer to your other question comes in. Sun, warmth, sandy beaches, endless beautiful water. Hell, we based the company in Jamaica just because we could.”

  She grinned. “You must get a lot of applicants for job openings.”

  “Quite a few,” he said dryly.

  “How many people do you employ?”

  “Almost a hundred. We’re still technically a small company.”

  She blew out a soundless whistle. “It sounds like a big company to me. I had no idea.”

  He chuckled. “Sometimes having so many employees is almost like having that many children.” Then he paused. “Don’t tell any of them that I said that.”

  “I won’t,” she told him. “Probably.” He bit her forefinger in retaliation, and she laughed. “And anyway, employees and children are nothing alike.”

  He sighed. “I’m sure you’re right. At least none of my employees need to be diapered.”

  She chuckled, and he rolled her over, reversing their positions, so that she lay on her back and his head rested on her shoulder. Then, lazily, he played with her nipple, and even though they had made love through the night until she had fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion, she felt arousal stir at his touch.

  “How about you?” he asked. His voice had turned very quiet so that she almost couldn’t hear him. “Have you ever considered having them? Children, I mean. Not employees.”

  She went still, turning her face into his hair as she listened to the nuances in his question. Then she whispered, “The right relationship never came along, and I never wanted to have children on my own. But if I found the right partner…”

  Dare she say it?

  She realized that he had gone as still as she had. That he seemed to be holding his breath. That gave her the courage to whisper, “With the right partner, I would adore having children.”

  Then he moved and sighed, and pressed a kiss against the side of her breast as he spread one hand over her flat abdomen. “I love children,” he said simply. “And you would make a beautiful mother.”

  Luminous emotion filled her as she imagined him with his own children. He would make an incredible father, strong, protective, patient and loving. The image was so compelling, it made her chest ache. She covered his hand with hers and pressed her lips against his forehead.

  They fell silent and lay like that for some time, until he stirred and said, “Tell me more about Louisville.”

  It was hard to let go of the moment, but then she followed his cue and talked of her life and friends in Louisville, and Brutus her cat, who was currently staying at her parents’ house.

  Neither one of them broached the subject of how they would continue seeing each other when they left the island, although they came close to it several times. She wanted to talk about it, but each day she fell further and further in love with him, and she grew more and more afraid of what might happen next.

  She could leave her life and friends to live with him in Jamaica, and she could build a new life there that would make her very happy. But what she couldn’t do was live Sebastian’s life of constant adventure.

  She knew she could never ask him to settle down and hope that he could change that completely. Sooner or later, even if he did grow to love her too—even if he did mate with her—she was afraid that he would get tired of being in one place and end up feeling trapped. And that would be intolerable for the both of them.

  Still, despite her growing trepidation for what the future might hold, she couldn’t turn him away when he came to her room. He drew her too powerfully.

  During the daytime hours, the symbologists methodically worked from section to section and room to room in the library, handling works from all nationalities and races—French, medieval, Chinese, Hungarian, early American, and Greek and Roman auguries. Light and Dark Fae works, Elven, Nightkind and Demonkind. Books on Wyr magic, Other lands and the Elder gods, and books upon books on Vampyrism.

  Finally one morning they reached the Egyptian section, which contained the papyri collection,
and Steve’s attention grew sharper and more focused.

  Olivia wasn’t the only one who noticed. Dendera asked him, “Have you studied Egyptology or Egyptian magic?”

  “My employer has,” Steve replied. “He’s talked quite a bit about it, and it’s piqued my interest.”

  “Don’t you work for Edinburgh University’s Magical Depository?” Dendera asked.

  “Currently I do,” he said. “I’m talking about another employer.”

  Did that sound odd?

  As she locked the lid of one container into place, Olivia frowned, drawn in spite of herself into the conversation. “Do you mean a former employer?”

  Steve didn’t reply, and her frown deepened.

  She had grown used to Steve being a bit of a dick, but this was something entirely different. To get hired for this job, he had to have gone through the same thorough background check as everyone else, but she couldn’t help but wonder what Sebastian would make of Steve’s behavior.

  She glanced at the angle of sunshine streaming in through the nearby window. It was only midmorning. She wouldn’t see Sebastian until lunch, still a few hours away, but she was definitely going to tell him about the conversation.

  As they talked, they had started work on the most ancient section of the papyri collection. Dendera knelt in a corner and carefully drew out a thick scroll from the cubicle where it had been stored.

  “Carling’s instructions are very specific,” she breathed. “We handle these as little as possible, and transfer them directly to the container. Look at this one. The original wax seal is unbroken. It has survived all these centuries.”

  Steve knelt beside Dendera and leaned forward. Olivia left the container she had just closed to walk over. The papyrus scroll was tied with what looked like a strip of leather, and the wax seal was unusually large and thick. The wax had darkened from what had probably been originally a golden brown. Now, either magic or time, or both, had turned it almost black. A sigil had been inscribed into the wax while it was still warm and soft.