The tap and click of boots as Emana approached again. “We let her go back—with the curse distorting her memories and a small amount of glamour, she won’t ever remember this. We let whatever is fated to happen, happen. If Heketoro returns, or Aroha, the political power rebalance will be most interesting to see. But most of all—”
Something soft, Emana’s finger perhaps, stroked Danii’s neck, then drew a wavering electric line all the way to her bottom. And she couldn’t stop herself stirring, the smallest amount.
Emana’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Most of all, I get to see if this one can be seduced away from the great Heketoro. And I do believe she can.”
“Get your fingers off me!”
A second’s pause, and the finger lifted.
“You misunderstand, Danii. Let me show you something of your own nature. Bear with me while I cover your eyes.”
A soft cloth went over her eyes and was tied firm. What was the point of this?
“You know of the egg inside you. We call that a toah. When a man or a woman handles you anywhere…” And again she put a finger on Danii’s back. Knowing it was coming, Danii managed to hold herself completely immobile.
“Ah, control. Very impressive. For the little things, that will be enough. That exquisite sensitivity, you may imagine, is the egg making changes to your body, but no, it only allows your own susceptibility to come to the fore. Your own self.”
With a click, the cross released her. Danii staggered a little and went to pull off the blindfold. Not knowing what this woman was doing was an agony.
“Wait, Danii. I’ve not finished. Stand there a while longer.”
Emana was circling her. And simply standing there, having to be still and listen, was conjuring something in her she feared, and her pulse quickened.
“I, myself have had a toah inside me, but it did very little. For others, well, we have a special name for using a toah on your enemy. It is called Anaha Kenet, which means ‘sweet revenge.’ For one such as you… In the hands of the right person, it can mean nirvana. Would you like me to show you what I mean?”
There was a silken edge to her tone, as if she knew how much this both terrified and tempted Danii. She cleared her throat. This woman was so wrong. “No.” Unsteadily, she moved to remove the blindfold.
This time Emana’s voice held the rigidity of steel. “Stop!”
Her hands arranged Danii’s shoulders, drawing her arms slightly back. The snake collar unwound, slithered cold and swift down one arm. As though attracted by magnetism, her wrists came together at her back and the collar whipped around, tying them. Emana pulled down on the snake collar until Danii was arched uncomfortably backward.
Aghast, Danii wondered why she’d done nothing to resist. Magic, she told herself. Some occult power, surely.
“Ah. Better. You think more than you should. But obey very nicely. This is what you are meant for.”
Emana’s lips covered hers at the same moment her hand covered her mound, and though there was no more than the gentlest of pressure, it was enough to shatter Danii’s every conscious thought.
“That is what I wished to show you.”
The blindfold was gone. She lay on the floor, released from the snake binding, remembering that only seconds before she’d been moaning and writhing in Emana’s arms. She blushed and rolled trembling onto her side. What had she done?
Emana knelt and caressed the side of Danii’s face with her knuckles, then tilted her chin. “Though you will not remember me, I shall not forget you, Danii. In this world, if you come to it again, you are a rare prize, a source of immense magical power. From the markings on your body, I see that you have blood from us as well as from the humans. You’re a human-faerie hybrid. It is in your nature not to resist.” She smiled, her eyes half hooded with passion and anticipation. “Perhaps you know that Heketoro is water? I am earth fae. Fire is subjugated by earth as easily as it is by water. You will be possessed by the strongest of us, and I plan for that to be me. Depend upon it.”
So assured was her manner, Danii remained there, frozen in shock for several seconds. If this was a dream, it must be a nightmare.
Danii wiped her mouth, summoning the determination that had got her through the police force despite the insults some had thrown at her. At first her voice shook. “If the egg does what you say it does, then you should know exactly where you’ve been stupid. You mistake a physical reaction for attraction. No matter…no matter if you did that to me every day!” Anger took hold of her. How dare she! “I would never see you as more than something that’s crawled from the gutter!”
Emana’s laugh was low and ripe with amusement and scorn. “Brave words, Danii. Your belief in yourself only adds spice to the chase.”
The audacity of her, so sure of herself. Yet if she was going to forget this, how could she avoid this woman’s plans? Heketoro knew Emana. Yes. The answer was obvious.
When Emana turned away to summon the two men who’d brought her here, Danii scratched a name on the inside of her forearm with her torn fingernail. Tatu. Short and simple. She just prayed Heketoro could read.
Pahua and the other man took their places to either side of her. She eyed them warily. No tattoos… She wondered if these men were what Heketoro termed the paler fae.
“Farewell, Danii.” Emana locked those deep blue eyes on hers. “Until we meet again.”
And she’d thought Heketoro was arrogant—this woman was a rung above that even.
With the sack placed over her head again, she heard Pahua and his big helper stand on either side of her.
“Pahua,” Emana added quietly. “Make sure you heal the scratches on her arm before you let her go.”
And they dragged her away.
* * *
At home, she shut the door behind her. Killer barreled toward her, then slid to a halt, rumpling the end of the hall rug. She squatted to give him a pat. As she did so, the hallway seemed to give the briefest wobble, the walls flexing in, then out. For a millisecond she looked at a strange dog and wondered where it had come from, and where she was.
Killer. This is Killer. My dog. She blinked.
What the—Did I miss eating dinner? She stared at Killer’s crazy, happy face, used her hands to flap his floppy ears like bird wings and grinned at him. Cocker spaniels were natural comedians.
She still couldn’t recall if she’d eaten. “Alzheimer’s must be coming early this year,” she told Killer. She sniffed and screwed up her face at the odor. Shower definitely needed. Food could wait, as long as she didn’t fall over in a faint.
Once undressed for the shower, with the sari pooled at her feet, she turned slowly before the floor-length mirror in the bathroom. Not only was there a tattoo creeping down her temple, another black tendril outlined the lower curve of her right breast, and a third curled up from the triangle of her pubic mound. She traced the last with her finger, wondering at their meaning. To her eye they looked like any other tattoo. Unable to resist, she let her finger slide over her clit and down into the wetness and up between her lips. She gasped and squeezed her eyes tight, then leaned an arm against the porcelain basin while her fingers slid slickly in and out, in and out. Without even touching her clit, she was afire.
In the wall cabinet was something just the right size—a small phallus-shaped bottle. She removed her fingers, feeling and hearing the soft suck against her fingers from her own moisture. Positioning the tip of the bottle, she pressed it upward—hard, and tight against her entrance…it glided inside her all the way. She pushed her thighs together to keep it there, then put finger and thumb to her clit, squeezing rhythmically.
You have our blood in you.
Blood. Without Heketoro beside her, those words sounded vaguely ridiculous, but the way he made her feel…ah, that was indisputable. She came, mouth gasping in oxygen, legs shaking, and she bent over and rested her forehead on the cool basin. Yet even as the last shudders left her, she could have cried out for what was lacking. She wa
nted him, kissing her, between her legs. Her fingers and a plastic bottle were a poor substitute.
Chapter Eleven
Sunday morning. The bleary haze from too little sleep made the ritual of awakening and having breakfast go past like one of those terrible dreams where she wanted to get somewhere but could never quite find the way. And always in those dreams, there was something black and ominous just behind, never more than glimpsed, yet only a step from catching her.
Past ten o’clock and she slumped into the cane seat on the front veranda, sipping too-hot coffee. Killer rummaged in her garden, hoping to scare up a lizard or toad. She eyed the plants sourly. Half of them were borderline dead, and the other half had plans to take over the house. Across the road, children screamed in joy as they raced their scooters along the footpath.
The events of the night before played through her mind, and though the details had faded somewhat, the essentials she could remember.
The walk to the shop, Heketoro appearing at the bridge, the awesome lovemaking, then something about the curse…and she vaguely recalled there was some ritual needed to break it. Trouble was, in the harsh light of day, it sounded so far-fetched and crazy and just plain implausible she had to wonder if there was another explanation. A logical explanation.
Had he drugged her? It was entirely possible and far more likely than all this magic crap. She sniffed, put down the coffee and leaned into her hands, covering her face. What if…what if… What if Heketoro was some sort of charlatan? Looking for a thrill, or a way to worm into the secure police files? She touched her temple. Was a mark on her skin impossible to make? No.
“Ah, dammit, Killer. Have I been played for a fool?”
He galloped up the three steps and plonked himself down at her feet as if he were made of some sort of animated jelly. His sad eyes looked from under that wrinkled brow.
“You have no idea, do you?” Her stomach twisted into a cramped knot. The sex, what she’d let Heketoro do to her—there could have been someone filming even. Her thoughts screamed down six paths at once, and all of them made her want to throw up. Except the one where it was all true. Despite her doubts, she wanted to see him again so badly.
Beyond the whispering voices, somewhere at the very back of her mind, dwelt a rock-solid certainty that Heketoro was exactly what he’d said he was, and every fact circling about him was a truth. Reconciling the two ideas seemed impossible.
She sniffed again and wiped at her eyes. Damn, crying wouldn’t help. Confusing, so very confusing for a girl with her feet planted firmly in reality.
“Come on. Let’s go for a jog.” Exercise often cleared her mind, and she could pick up the Sunday paper while she was at it. She had to get her head around this.
She tossed the coffee into the evil rose bush that had sent an army of invading spiked branches onto the porch. If only she didn’t have a sneaking suspicion something was missing—some key to this whole thing.
Having dragged on her trusty black shorts, a yellow T-shirt, and her ancient but roadworthy trainers, Danii locked the front door behind her and set off with Killer trotting by her side. The bounce was back in her legs as soon as she got out the gate. Beautiful day, birds tweeting, what wasn’t to love?
As she slipped past Trina and David’s, their blue sedan pulled into their driveway behind her. A door slammed. She jogged on the spot a second, then headed back.
“Hi, David, Trina!”
Jugsy barked a welcome to them from the backyard.
Already heading for the house, with his hands loaded down with shopping bags, David glanced back. “What’s up, Danii? And no, we are not going jogging with you.”
From the other side of the car, Trina emerged, laid her arms across the roof and grinned. “Ignore the old curmudgeon, darl.”
“I will.” She grinned back. “He’s getting too old for this anyway. Probably would keel over in a faint.”
“Hey, ladies, I’ll have you know I’m in prime condition.” He put down the bags and showed off his biceps.
“Ew. No thanks, David. Um, wondering if I could ask you some technical, like…psychology questions later?”
“Later?” He shook his head. “Sorry, have to head off to the uni library. Now’s okay though. Carry a bag to the kitchen for me and I’m yours.”
“That easy? Hang on, I’ll let Killer go.” She stepped up and took two of the bags, squeezed past the dangling hibiscus branches between the fence and the car, then followed David toward the house with Killer at her heels, dragging his lead. “Cheap for psychology advice. Is this how you snared him, Trina?”
“Naw,” she drawled. “I got him at a junk sale.”
Ensconced on a kitchen stool, Danii watched somewhat bemusedly as Trina and David put away the groceries. The lighthearted banter between them was adorable enough to make her almost yearn for domestic life.
“Done! Finally,” David announced. “Now, did you want to do this in my grand study or out here where Trina’s little pixie ears can listen in?” He gestured at the kitchen and small adjoining dining area, faux-marble countertops with timber embellishments, and a vase spilling with flowers on the rectangular dining table. Prettified and neat.
“Out here will do,” she said casually. “It’s just some things I’m curious about. Relevant to a case I’m working on.” If she’d asked to talk in private it would only serve to make this sound more important. Low-key was best.
“Ah-hah. Fire away.” He pulled up another stool and sat, then squinted at her. “What is that up there?” He tapped his forehead.
Oops. The tattoo? “Just a temp tattoo. Thought I’d try it out before a party I’m going to next week. It’ll scrub off.”
“Ah. I see.”
“I’ll be outside, anyway,” Trina added quietly. “You two go ahead and talk.”
Where to start? She shifted on the stool, acutely aware her shorts showed way more of her legs than seemed right for what she wanted to say. She saw a change in David’s expression, the smallest crease between his eyebrows as if he’d twigged that this was more than a casual question.
Body language, of course. Psychologists were a blasted hazard.
David tilted his head. “Don’t forget I’m not qualified yet, Danii.”
“No. No.” She made herself smile. “Nothing important. I just wanted to know a bit about memories, false memories even. Can you give someone a false memory through”—she screwed up her mouth—“drugs, or hypnosis?”
“Like in the movies? No. You could perhaps confuse someone enough with drugs, set up some scene that’s acted out and make them think it’s real. But it would seem blurry and vague.
“Otherwise, if you mean a clear-cut recent memory, then no. But if it was an old memory, years ago, it can become very difficult to separate out what really happened and what you think happened but didn’t, even in cases where people weren’t deliberately confused.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I know that. Witnesses aren’t terribly reliable at the best of times.”
David scratched his head, ruffling his brown hair. “Is that it?”
Was it? Her memories seemed real. They happened in a clear sequence. The emotions she’d felt surely couldn’t be faked. “What about using hypnosis to get someone to say, commit a crime?” Or make you have sex while strung up naked in public, her snide inner self whispered. She blushed, stupid, but there it was. As if David could hear that thought.
He sucked on his lip. “The general consensus? No, again. People aren’t supposed to be able to be forced to do anything they wouldn’t do of their own free will.”
“Uh-huh.” She tapped her fingers on the countertop, then slid off the stool. “Thanks. That’s all I’ll bother you with for the moment, David.”
“That’s it? Too easy.” But he sat there staring at her. Clearly something she’d said hadn’t quite come across as genuine.
He saw her and Killer to the door, and she felt him watching her as she jogged away. For a professional law officer, sh
e’d not come out of that one too well. The answers and the questions still seemed disjointed in her mind, as if she’d set up a situation where nothing could ever come together neatly and make one plus one equal two.
She loped along at a steady pace, legs counting the distance. Killer easily kept up, though being a cocker spaniel, he looked ridiculous when he ran.
Up the hill at the back of the shops, round the streets with the high-priced mansions and their sea views, down the hill again and along past the shops. She ducked into the market to grab a newspaper, some sushi and tabbouleh, then jogged on with plastic bag swinging in her hand. The smells from the Mexican and the Chinese restaurants mixed and competed with each other to see which could make her drool the most.
Her mind wandered as she drifted into that half-meditative state running sometimes drummed into her—the mindless thud of her shoes on the pavement like a hypnotic clock ticking in her head.
Graffiti on a passing wall—a plain scrawled tag in sprayed blue. No art. No finesse. She could hear Nick Wilmer’s voice mocking it. Thud thud thud. Random words rattled into her thoughts and out again, in time with her feet. Aroha. Aroha. Aroha. Toah. Toah. Toah.
She went round the corner, past a freshly painted facade at the video store—a fast repair job had been done there.
Last time she’d tried to take out a DVD, the owner’s girlfriend had almost fried herself in the kitchenette out the back.
The flames were licking up the wall by the time she and Harry, the owner, got through the adjoining door to see why the woman was screaming. Smoke billowed past them, paint spit and peeled off the wall, a frying pan full of fat blazed on the stove, and his girlfriend Jeannie cowered in the corner surrounded by the hungry fire. Harry wielded the fire extinguisher while she dragged out the girl. They’d stood out front watching half his store go up. Luckily, the fire brigade and ambulance arrived minutes after her call. The girl had a few spots with third-degree burns, smoke inhalation, and so did Harry, while she’d escaped with singed hair and melted soles on her trainers. Pure unadulterated luck. Karma maybe, if you believed in that sort of thing. Just like if she’d arrived a minute later, or rung the fire department a minute later, someone might have died.
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