Deadline

by Jennifer Blackstream

  I gaped at Flint, staring in shock at the sidhe who’d just killed one of the most powerful wizards to ever live. With one bullet. It didn’t seem a fitting end.

  Flint lowered his gun as he turned to the bed, and I caught a glimpse of a barrel that looked too long. My knowledge of guns was limited, but not nonexistent. It was a pistol with a suppressor.

  I wasn’t the only one Flint had surprised. Dabria was still holding the scorpion, the shock on her face reflected in the still tension in her body, her immobility in the face of the leannan sidhe’s approach. She twitched, survival instinct trying to push her out of shock, make her flee, fight.

  I knew what was coming.

  I didn’t warn her.

  “You won’t hurt anyone,” Flint murmured, his voice a deep, honeyed tone thick with power. “I don’t want you to hurt anyone.”

  I couldn’t avert my eyes. I had an idea of what Dabria must be feeling, but I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to bear the full force of the leannan sidhe’s charm. This was no slow seduction, no subtle influence. He hit her with everything he had, pouring it all into his voice. All for her.

  The sorceress never stood a chance. For all her cleverness and planning, her personal magic was no match for the sidhe’s power. Dabria’s face went slack, her fingers releasing the scorpion, her arms falling limp to her sides. The arachnid disappeared from my field of vision, and some irrational part of me recoiled at the thought of the creature scuttling around unsupervised.

  It’s dead, I reminded myself. It’s a spell, not a living thing.

  “Stay in that chair, lover. Don’t move until I ask you to.”

  The push in his voice was velvet on my skin, a soft, decadent caress. He wasn’t even talking to me and I felt his power, the desire to do what he said—whatever he said. I pressed my head deeper into the pillow until the gem hidden beneath the complicated folds of my hair dug into the back of my scalp. The hum of magic was reassuring, a reminder that I had some protection against Flint’s influence.

  Some protection.

  Whoever had tied my hands to the bed had done their best to make them tight enough to cut off circulation—a deliberate attempt to hinder any spell I might attempt. Moving my fingers took an inordinate amount of effort, and for a few panicked seconds, I worried I’d need telekinesis just to raise my hands. I swallowed hard and flexed my fingers, almost fainting in relief when a bit of blood trickled back into them, the sensation of needles stabbing at my hands a painful but welcome experience.

  Before I attempted escape in earnest, the weight of Flint’s power slid over me. It wasn’t unlike being covered in a heavy blanket. A soft, downy blanket that promised the best night’s sleep I’d ever had—after the best night I’d ever had. My body grew heavier, more liquid, and I squirmed in the sweat-soaked sheets.

  No.

  I held an image of the green jewel in my head, and concentrated on its weight, its magic. Dominique did not sell weak items of power. It would protect me. It had to protect me.

  “So nice to see you again, Shade.”

  That voice. It was a gentle caress on my cheek, the stroke of fingers down my jaw. A lover’s greeting. I cleared my throat. “Really? And I worried you might see me differently after our misunderstanding.”

  Something flickered in his eyes, but I couldn’t tell if it was amusement or anger. That the two blurred together for the sidhe was concerning.

  “I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know I’ve fully recovered.”

  The suggestion in his voice plucked at things low in my body, and I clenched my jaw against the urge to writhe in pleasure. His eyes darkened and he took another step toward the bed. He’d tucked the gun into his waistband, and a tiny part of me wished he’d kept it out. A gunshot seemed less threatening than his voice, those eyes.

  “How did you find me?” I asked, tugging at the ropes around my wrists.

  “You ran from me rather suddenly and you seemed…distressed.” His brow furrowed. “Also, there was an explosion. Seems someone tried to kill you.” He shrugged. “It was not difficult to deduce that you would go to your mentor’s. One of your neighbors was kind enough to loan me her car.”

  Loan you her car. Yeah, I’ll bet.

  “I went to Mother Hazel’s, and I waited there. When you left, I followed you.”

  He was too close now, his legs brushing the sheets. My heart leapt into my throat and my voice rose an octave. “How did you get into the closet?”

  “You were speaking with a man in the parking lot. I came inside and asked the lovely young lady at the counter for help. She figured out what room you’d reserved and let me in to wait for you. I heard the commotion outside the door and hid until I…understood the situation.” He shook his head. “You’ve made quite a mess for yourself, haven’t you?”

  I cleared my throat. “Just a minor hiccup in negotiations. Nothing we can’t move past.”

  I would never get out of the ropes with only my pathetic physical strength. My head felt like it would fall off, still throbbing from where Isai had struck me, and my hands were weak from the blood deprivation. I’d need a spell to escape this. There was only one that might work. This is going to hurt.

  Flint arched an eyebrow. “You joke when you’re nervous.” A smile slowly spread over his mouth. “It’s cute.”

  My body tightened in response to the compliment, and the resulting embarrassment was what I needed to clear my head. Flint was in full charm mode, but he wasn’t focusing it all on me—some of his attention was still bleeding onto Dabria, keeping her entranced. And the gem in my hair offered some protection. With the embarrassment burning my cheeks, I had just enough irritation to start a logical train of thought.

  “I can’t help but notice you’ve removed the two people who were threatening my life a moment ago, but you’ve yet to untie me,” I said. “Not exactly a white knight riding in on his valiant steed, are you?”

  His head fell to the side, his gaze a physical weight as he slid it up and down my body. “I rather like you tied to the bed.”

  The gem pulsed, growing hot enough that I raised my head, trying to keep it from burning the back of my scalp. There’d been more of a push in those words, a heavy-handed attempt to grab hold of my hormones and lead me around by them like an errant dog on a leash. I pressed my fingers to the bed, drawing the spell I needed. I hoped my body hid that hand from his sight long enough to activate the spell before he noticed what I was doing.

  “Dabria has the book,” I reminded him, my voice a little too breathy for my taste. “If you ask her for it, she’ll give it to you. You don’t need me.”

  Flint considered me, head still tilted to the side. “Yes,” he said. “And she will give me the book soon.”

  I had to keep pausing in the middle of the spell, fighting to hold on to it, keep the energy together while I waited for the pain to subside enough to continue. My hands throbbed.

  “So what are you waiting for?” I snapped, my voice sharp with frustration.

  “Have you ever met a leannan sidhe?” Flint asked.

  “Never had the pleasure,” I muttered. “Before your charming introduction, of course.”

  “We are a very political race. Brute strength is a poor man’s weapon, and any man or woman who cannot anticipate the future—stay three, five, ten steps ahead of everyone else—is as good as dead.”

  “A lovely people, I’m sure.” I drew out another circle. One more…

  “Why did the vampire hire you?”

  Surprise almost killed my spell. I closed my eyes and said the words in my head as I traced the final circle. I blocked out his voice as much as possible and forced myself not to think of what he’d said, not to think of how he’d asked the very question I’d been asking myself since the vampire had first shown up at my house.

  “Anton is as good as one of my people, the way he plots, he plans, and he always looks to the future,” Flint said. “He could have solved his case himself, could have hired m
any more powerful creatures to do it for him, were he so inclined. But he chose you. A witchling with little experience beyond serving as a village witch, and apprenticing for an old crone.” He crossed his arms, a gesture I was positive he’d intended to make his muscles swell, to present an even more mouth-watering spectacle. “So why did he come to you? Why did he trust you with his secrets, bring you into his circle?”

  He leaned over me, close enough he would see my hand now if he looked away from my face. His power roared forward like a wild animal, raw and primal, determined to tear through whatever defenses I might have, get at what was inside, what he wanted to know.

  “Who are you, Shade Renard?” he whispered.

  I met his eyes as my finger slid through the final gesture. “Incendium.”

  Fire flowed over my hands, yellow and orange flames that licked over my fingers, my palms. I gritted my teeth and pressed my fingers to the ropes around my wrists. The position hurt, pulling muscles that weren’t meant to stretch that far, but a good wave of desperation gave me the strength I needed to do it. The ropes caught, smoke curling into the air.

  Flint growled and retreated a few steps, searching for a fire extinguisher. I jerked at my bonds, panic swelling in my chest, making it hard to breathe. The spell protected my hands from the flames, but not my clothes, and not the rest of my body. Not the bed. My sleeves caught fire at the same time as the rope and the sheets, my flesh screaming as it blistered under the heat. I cried out as the ropes broke, then I hurled myself off the pyre the bed was becoming.

  “Don’t move,” Flint snarled, abandoning the search for a fire extinguisher to turn his full focus on me.

  I dropped my gaze to the ground, avoiding his eyes, the power that was already rolling toward me. “You can’t hold Dabria like that if you put all your focus on me,” I shouted. “Look around you. Mortal danger interferes with mind magic!”

  The fire swept over the sheets, hungrily biting into the thick comforter bunched at the foot of the bed. I staggered back, still smacking my sleeves to put the rest of the fire out. My skin screamed, the sight of the blistered flesh touching a primal part of my brain that panicked and began a whining screech of “Get out of there!”

  Dabria blinked and stirred. Flint whirled to face her, throwing more power over the charm to keep her still. I stared at the door through the flames, wondering if I could leap over the bed and make it out before Flint grabbed me. There was a scuffle of movement, then Flint swung at Dabria. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw the gun connect with the back of her head, and then she crumpled to the floor.

  “Stay there,” Flint said. “Or so help me, I’ll shoot you.”

  Dabria was on the floor, swaying on all fours as if the blow to her head had stunned her. Her purple hair was mussed, most of it having escaped its complicated ‘do, and some of the feathers along her neckline were smoking or burned away.

  I focused on the door. It had to be now or never. The bed was turning into a bonfire, the flames reaching for the ceiling. If I didn’t jump now, there’d be no bed to jump over, just a wall of heat.

  “Move one foot, one finger, and I’ll shoot you too, witch.”

  Flint’s voice stopped me cold, ripping my attention from the door and dragging it to the gun in his hand. A loud hiss preceded a sudden shower as the air in the room grew hot enough to set off the fire sprinkler. A fine spray shot over the room, sending tiny droplets into my eyes like miniature projectiles. I blinked, raising a smoking arm to block the worst of it.

  The leannan sidhe was soaking wet. But whereas I knew I looked like a drowned rat, the sidhe looked…incredible. The water glued his clothes to his muscled form, giving the impression he wasn’t wearing clothes, that he’d been painted to appear as though he were. Things low in my body tightened at the picture he made, the raw appeal of it, and there was no power there, no magical influence. Just plain physical attraction.

  The gun he pointed at me ruined the effect.

  “Don’t. Move.”

  I swallowed hard. “Let’s all just stay calm.”

  Flint irritatedly swiped at his face with his free hand. He opened his mouth again, but before he said a word, Dabria launched herself off the floor and made a mad dash for the door. The gun popped again, the sound loud despite the suppressor. I smacked my hands over my ears just as Dabria screamed and hit the ground clutching her leg. Blood seeped from between her fingers, staining her pale skin.

  My heart leapt into my throat as Flint glowered at me.

  “You are turning out to be a great deal of trouble,” he said tightly.

  “I really am. Loads of trouble. And not worth it at all.” I inched toward the door. “I don’t know why he hired me. I swear, I don’t.”

  “You’re coming home with me,” Flint growled. He looked at Dabria. “Both of you. I will have answers, and I will have them tonight.”

  “You can't walk us out of here at gunpoint,” I said. I gestured at Dabria. “You’ll have to carry her. And we’re all soaking wet. We’re going to draw attention.”

  Dabria moved a hand, and Flint raised the gun. “Don’t. Move. It’s not a complicated arrangement, sorceress. You move, you get shot—that’s how guns work.” He gestured at me. “She gets it.”

  The sorceress bared her teeth at him, a wild animal cornered and ready to fight to the death. “I need to heal. Let me bleed to death and the book’s location dies with me.” Her voice shook, but to her credit, she sounded more angry than hurt.

  “Then we’d better make our bargain quickly.”

  The mention of a bargain chased some of the pain from Dabria’s face. “Bargain?”

  I didn’t like where the conversation was headed. I bit my lip and debated making a run for the exit. Or maybe screaming for help.

  Flint nodded. The sprinkler chose that moment to shut off, and he smiled and swiped the water from his face as if it had stopped at his personal request. “I know you can teleport us out of here.”

  Dabria sat up, then hissed as the pain in her leg made her stop. Her fingers twitched, trying again to cast a healing spell, but one glance at Flint’s gun made her freeze. A snarl curled her lip. “I will teleport us nowhere until I have your oath, sidhe.” She paused, taking a moment to smooth back her hair, adjust the feathers she had left, as if her hands weren’t coated in blood. “There’s no reason we can’t both use the book to get what we want. Swear that you will let me go—in full possession of my free will and free of any influence—and I will teleport us out of here. We can ransom the book back to Anton together.”

  “Your cleverness is well known, but so is your lack of personal power,” Flint said. “There’s no reason I can’t convince you to give me the book without making any such bargain.”

  “Then do it.”

  Flint rolled his head, tendons popping as he considered the sorceress. A thought tickled the back of my mind, trying to tell me I’d forgotten something.

  He’d charmed Dabria, hit her with enough power she should have been stupefied for hours. But she’d shaken it off, made a break for it not once, but twice. I glanced at the bed, then the sprinkler. Had Arianne activated the wards again?

  The gun made that popping sound, a sound that wasn’t scary enough to reflect what it was capable of. My chest tightened, my breath freezing as Dabria screamed. There was rage in the sound, rage and pain. More blood stained her skirts, this time pouring from her other leg. She scrambled to keep a hand over each wound, trying to stanch the flow of blood. The whole room smelled of copper, and some hysterical part of my mind was convinced I could smell Isai’s brains, could smell decaying flesh, despite the fact he hadn’t yet begun to cool.

  “You bastard!” Dabria screamed.

  “You will give me your oath to teleport us to safety—safety for all of us,” Flint said. “And then we will discuss a bargain.”

  Dabria shook her head, her chest rising and falling too rapidly. Shock would claim her soon if she didn’t heal. Already she looked too pale. �
��No. I will have your oath before any of us leaves this room. I am no fool, sidhe. My bargaining position will never be as strong as it is now.”

  Flint raised the gun again, and Dabria jutted out her chin, the blood she’d smeared over her hair and the feathers of her dress giving her the appearance of a demented, injured harpy.

  “Your oath on my freedom,” she rasped. “Your oath that if I hand over the book, you will make it a stipulation of return to the vampire that he give me full, unrestricted access to my sister’s castle.” Madness lit her eyes as she faced me. “And you will kill the witchling.”

  Seven stories up, jumping out the window would kill me. I couldn’t look at Flint, didn’t want to see if he was considering her offer.

  “I will grant your freedom,” he said, “and the stipulation to get you access to your sister’s castle.” He paused, and I felt his stare on the side of my face. “But the witch is mine.”

  Dabria’s mouth fell open. “What do you want with a witchling?” Her voice rose an octave, riding a rising tide of hysteria. “What does everyone want with this witchling?”

  I wanted to shout at her to quit calling me that, but since part of me wanted an answer to the question too, I held back. My arms were bloody and blistered, the shreds of my shirt sticking to the oozing wounds. Shock was wearing off, and the pain was eating more and more of my thoughts. I would pass out soon, and I looked forward to it.

  Flint studied me, keeping Dabria in his peripheral vision, the gun still aimed in her direction. “That is what I want to know. The vampire does nothing on a whim. If he brought this woman into his life, he has a reason. She is more than she appears.”

  “Make her tell you,” Dabria said, her voice strained, her breathing ragged.

  She’d probably never suffered a wound she hadn’t been able to heal immediately. I noted idly that she should put pressure on the wounds or she would bleed out. I didn’t say it out loud, though.

  Bad witch.

  Smart witch.