“Hi, there, Clar.” Smiling at the familiar psychic contact, she reached down to scratch behind one round leonine ear. He chuffed -- the soft puff of air big cats used as a greeting. With a soundless mental click, their wartime psychic bond activated again.
Like all Familiars, Clarence had been bred for magical ability, intelligence, and physical strength. His thoughts might be nonverbal, but he had the same ability to reason as a human four-year-old.
While Jake dealt with Carson, Clarence circled Erica, rubbing his head against her hip like the world’s biggest house cat, sampling her aura, tasting her emotions. Marking her. And making her acutely aware of Jake, whose spirit was so entwined with Clarence’s it was hard to tell where the cat left off and the man began.
Jake looked around at her, Feral gold gaze narrowing. She’d have known what he was just from the eyes alone. Ordinary humans just didn’t have irises that color. As their stares locked, she felt the intimate mental connection between her, the lion, and the man -- a holdover from the Corps. She drew in a breath at the emotion she felt ringing through that bond: Approval. Hunger. Need. Too strong to ignore.
And then the impression was gone, the connection vanishing as though snuffed out like a candle.
Damn it, Jake, I want you. And she’d have to go on not having him, because nothing had changed.
Swallowing, Erica forced herself to ask a halfway professional question. “Have you found Carson’s keys?”
“Yeah.” Jake jerked his chin at a pile of items he’d put on the grass just out of the suspect’s reach. A wallet, a cell phone, a pocket knife…
And a key fob.
Erica scooped it up. “Mr. Carson, do we have your permission to search your car?”
Carson turned his bruised, dirty face until he could look up at her. He sounded sullen, if a bit more coherent. “I don’t give a fuck what you do.”
Erica pointed the fob at the Honda Civic she suspected was Carson’s and pressed the button. The car’s headlights helpfully flashed, confirming its ownership. She pushed another button and watched the trunk pop open a couple of inches. But as she started toward it, a nasty thought made her break step. Suddenly I feel the need for a bomb suit. Damn, but she wished she could see through the metal of a trunk the way she could fabric…
“I smell guns.” Jake frowned as he followed, dragging Carson along with one big hand fisted in the man’s collar, the other gripping his handcuffed wrists. The Norm was five inches taller than he was, but that made no damned difference whatsoever to a Feral.
Erica eyed their prisoner, watching his aura for deception. “Did you rig your car to blow?”
“No.” Judging from his tone, Carson wished he had. But there was no sign of the swirling orange shade she associated with lying.
Taking a deep breath, Erica raised the trunk lid.
“Shit,” Jake growled. “What the hell were you planning, World War III?”
There was an AR-15 rigged for automatic fire with a bump stock, two sixty-round magazines, three tear gas grenades, and an H&K semiautomatic .45, as well as a bulletproof vest and a gas mask.
Erica studied the armory grimly. “Who were you planning to kill, Carson? And I know it was somebody. I could see it all over you.”
“I wasn’t gonna kill nobody.” His aura flashed orange with the lie.
Jake just looked at him, his magic vibrating the air around him, producing a deep leonine growl. Clarence flared into full manifestation again, lips peeled back to reveal fangs the length of a man’s forefinger.
Carson recoiled, eyes rounding in horror. “Had to! Drank one of their fucking magic beers. Bitch put a spell on me, made me think things…” He jerked, trying to escape Jake’s hold. The deputy growled again and cranked up on the handcuffs. Carson yelped and dropped to his knees as the cuffs bit into bone, threatening to break his wrists.
“You’re talking about Potions?” Erica demanded. The bar was the only place on Faraday Square that sold magical microbrews. It was also where she’d been headed for the cheeseburger and fries she’d had in mind for dinner. Good thing I got him before he hit the bar, or I might be dead now.
Carson hesitated. Clarence snapped his jaws, and the man jerked. “Yeah! Fuck, yeah, Potions. It had to be cleansed. Andy said if I killed the witch, it’d break the spell.” Orange, yellow, and red roiled his aura like a pot coming to a boil.
Erica and Jake exchanged a quick, hard glance. She dropped to one knee beside Carson. “What kind of spell?” She kept the question low and controlled. She couldn’t let her fury show if she wanted to get the truth out of him. “What witch?” The son of a bitch had planned to murder everyone in Potions.
“That bitch bartender cast a spell on me to make me kill kids!” Carson’s eyes were so wide, white showed all the way around the irises. His aura burned in a furious swirl of hot color that grew brighter by the second. “She wanted me to go to that Talent elementary school and shoot up the place. I could hear her talking at me all the time, she wouldn’t let me sleep, she wouldn’t shut up. Always muttering and chanting. I had to shut her up!”
He’s either a paranoid schizophrenic or he’s been on very some nasty drugs for a very long time. Either way, he intended to kill Barb. Erica knew the cheerful blonde bartender well, and she’d always liked her. “Barbara Miller’s a Norm, Mr. Carson. A Norm with two little kids. She has nothing to do with brewing those microbrews. And even if she had, all the beer does is make you feel a little blissed. The voices in your head are all in your head.”
“It was her!” Carson insisted, voice spiraling higher. “I told Andy, and he said it was the beer, and she served me the beer so she had to die to break the spell.” He was talking faster and faster now, all but babbling. “Andy said I’d be a hero. Cleanse the evil. Save the kids. No more demons and witches and glowing eyes in the dark, no more screams and chanting… Quiet. Quiet. Just quiet. I need some fucking quiet…”
You need some fucking antipsychotics. Ruthlessly, Erica cut into his babble. “Andy who?”
At that, the whirlpool of yellow coiled tighter, reddening in a way that told her a lie was about to come out of his mouth. “Andy… Kelly… Andy with the ink.”
“You’re a fucking liar,” Jake snarled, in a voice more lion than man. He twisted the cuffs so ruthlessly, Carson yelped. “Andy who?”
“I don’t know, man, just Andy. I didn’t want to do it, but I couldn’t take the chanting, and the kids… Better the witches die than the kids… but the kids have demons, we need to save them. The dark has teeth, teeth and dragons and skulls on fire… and dark, blood dark, screamingwon’tletmesleep…” He began to gibber, the words running together.
Erica traded a look with Jake, who shook his head. She stepped back and keyed her mic. “Laurel County, please dispatch the crime scene unit and I-9 to Faraday Square.”
As she waited for Dispatch to confirm the detective and the crime scene investigator were en route, Erica glanced around. Looked like the crowd had dispersed back to whichever bars or restaurants they’d been headed for when all hell broke loose. Thank you, God.
Carson cowered at Jake’s feet, rocking slowly back and forth, muttering to himself. Judging by the writhing currents of his aura, this encounter hadn’t been particularly good for his mental health. Then again, it hadn’t done a hell of a lot for hers either.
Still better than being dead. And a hell of a lot better than a bar full of murdered people.
Jake slanted her a grim smile. “Glenda the Good saves the Lollypop Guild again. What told you he was a flying monkey?”
“Happened to be scanning the crowd when his aura blew white.” She blew out a breath and grimaced. “His head looked like a mushroom cloud.”
The Feral winced, knowing what that meant as well as she did. “Shit. You probably saved a hell of a lot of lives.”
“And you probably saved mine -- again. How many is that, anyway?” She grinned at him. “I lost count somewhere around the second tour.”
“About as often as you saved mine.” He gave her the grin that always made her heart beat a little faster.
Even in the dim light from the surrounding streetlights, Jake was ridiculously handsome. His square-jawed face was all chiseled contours, with an aquiline nose enhancing its stark masculinity. Thick blond brows slanted over Feral gold eyes that glowed in dim light. His frequent crooked grins were sometimes cynical, even downright sarcastic; you knew he meant the smile when his dimples came out. He wore his bright hair in a ruthless buzz cut, yet it somehow managed to tempt her fingers anyway. It had been long enough to curl in Afghanistan. Sometimes it had been all she could do to keep her hands off those curls.
Yeah, Bobby wouldn’t have taken that well.
Jake’s body was just as impressive as it had been during their tours, all broad shoulders and powerful muscle. Jake wasn’t that tall -- only about five feet ten inches -- but between his build, bulletproof vest, and duty belt, he looked like a tank. Given what he and Clarence could do, that was just truth in advertising.
RRRrrrrr? The lion appeared again, glowing softly, barely manifested even to her senses. He was a big beast, the top of his head level with her ribcage. The cat’s physical body weighed almost six hundred pounds.
Erica reached out and stroked a hand through Clarence’s transparent mane. He rewarded her with a soft leonine moan of pleasure. As she touched the Ferals’ blended auras, it was all Erica could do not to moan herself. The psychic contact felt so damned good, so familiar. God, she wanted him. Wanted him despite the grief, despite the guilt, despite knowing she shouldn’t.
When she glanced up from the cat, Jake’s golden eyes glowed faintly with his magic. Reminding her far too much of his brother’s.
Bobby’s lips moved. He shouldn’t have been able to make a sound given the damage, but his magic spoke for him. “Sorry… Love you… sorry… so…”
Pain shafted her so savagely it was all she could do not to cry out. She jerked her gaze away. Clarence moaned again, this time in distress, as if he’d felt her pain through her aura. He probably had.
As she fought the agonizing memory, a white van rolled up and parked in the fire lane just down the block. A sheriff’s star gleamed on the door in metallic gold paint, and black lettering read “Laurel County Crime Scene Unit.”
An unmarked car that probably belonged to the detective pulled in behind it. Erica started toward them. Much better to focus on the present than the bloody, painful past.
Chapter Two
And there she goes again, Jake thought, watching Erica Harris walk away, her assorted gear framing that delightful, heart-shaped ass. Every time I think we’re getting somewhere, she runs like a rabbit.
Clarence made an impatient sound from the depths of his head.
It’s not that simple, furball. If I could, I would. But human women get to tell you no, and she ain’t having it.
RRumphhhhh. An image flashed through his mind: a snarling lioness striking out with a lightning-fast paw. Clarence’s way of pointing out that at least Jake didn’t have to worry about taking a set of claws across the muzzle. MmmRRRRR.
Translated from the lion: Grow a pair.
Maybe the cat had a point. God knew, Erica Harris had tempted him from the first day she’d been assigned as their team Arcanist five years ago, back when they’d all been in the Arcane Corps.
She was damn near as tall as he was, with a lean, athletic build that contrasted sharply with her delicate features. She still wore her chocolate hair in the same short, layered cut she’d had in the Corps, probably thinking it made her look like a hardass. Epic Fail. The pixie style called attention to the gentle contours of her oval face, with those big, dark eyes and that soft, full mouth.
Jake could think of a lot of things he’d like to do with that mouth. He might have suggested a few, if it hadn’t been for the scent of pain hanging in the air, lingering like a particularly astringent perfume over the acrid stench of Carson’s madness.
She still wasn’t over Bobby. But then, neither was Jake. It wasn’t the kind of thing you got over.
Ever.
Brooding, he watched her approach Detective Grant Sawyer as the man got out of his car. Despite his muscular build, Sawyer was a hair shorter than Erica. That and his cap of curly brown hair made his handsome face look boyish. He had a habit of speaking in a low, slow southern drawl that made people underestimate his intelligence.
Sawyer wasn’t above suckering people ruthlessly in the pursuit of justice. Jake liked that about him. He was also one of the reasons they’d gotten through that mess with the terrorists a year ago without a higher body count.
Erica started to speak, gesturing as Sawyer listened intently. Beneath the professional focus, Jake thought he saw a flash of personal interest in her brown eyes.
RRRRrrrrr.
Shush, Jake told his Familiar. She’s not standing too close -- she’s giving him a report. Don’t be an asshole.
Mmmrrrrrr rrrooooollll. Mmmmrch Ooomffff. Translation: Tell it to some cat who’s not in your head. Let’s get over there before he asks her to mate.
It doesn’t work like that, Clar. Anyway, we’ve got to keep an eye on the asshole.
The gunman still sat at his feet, dirty, bruised, face bleeding from being slammed into the pavement during that flying tackle. Jake felt zero sympathy for the fucker. If they hadn’t gotten lucky, Carson would have shot up the bar with Erica in it.
I could have lost her.
Nrrroooommmm? Translation: When did you have her?
Before Jake could retort, a black and white pulled up and double-parked beside Sawyer’s vehicle. A moment later, a familiar figure got out and started toward them.
Jake suppressed a curse. Johnson. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Tall, graying, and spare, Sergeant Roger Johnson cultivated a Sam-Elliot-playing- Wyatt-Earp look, complete with ruthlessly short hair and thick mustache. Completely humorless and convinced of his own moral rectitude, he hated the fuck out of Jake.
The feeling was mutual.
Johnson stalked over to interrupt Erica in mid-word. As the sergeant started snapping questions, a frown gathered on her pretty face. Bastard was probably being his usual douchenozzle self. She always did have a low tolerance for bigots.
In the depths of his mind, Clarence chuffed.
Yeah, I’d better get over there before she tells him off and gets fired.
Reaching down, Jake grabbed Carson by one arm and hauled him to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you in the car.”
Crazy or not, the man knew better than to push a Feral any further than he already had. He didn’t resist as Jake marched him to the patrol car parked a couple of blocks down the street.
Five minutes later, Carson was buckled in the back, sitting slumped and sullen as Jake parked behind Johnson’s cruiser. When he got out, he saw the Honda’s trunk was open again, revealing its armory to the crime scene investigator documenting it with an expensive Nikon.
As Jake approached, Johnson glowered at Erica. “So why did you stop this guy to begin with? It doesn’t sound like you had probable cause.”
Look who’s joined the ACLU, Jake thought. You’re never this worried about civil rights when you’re kicking a Talent’s ass.
“His aura showed the explosive white pattern that’s a known indicator of someone planning a mass casualty attack. I saw it several times during the war.” Erica’s face was so expressionless, Jake knew she was about a minute and a half from telling the sergeant what he could do with his probable cause.
Johnson curled a lip. “You saw it in his ‘aura’? What kind of magic power is that? You sure you didn’t just overhear him bragging about it?”
In the depths of Jake’s mind, Clarence growled softly. Johnson had treated them just as contemptuously until Jake’s dance with that fucking bear Feral. Funny how saving the SWAT team’s ass gave some people a whole new attitude.
Damned if Johnson was going to dis Erica if Jake ha
d anything to say about it. “Actually,” he said with a little too much Clarence rumble, “All Talents can see auras. Harris is just much more sensitive than most of us.”
The sergeant shot him a glare of cold displeasure at the interruption, then ignored him. “How’d you get him to confess? Cast a spell?”
“No sir, I did not,” Erica said, icily respectful.
“But you Arc witches did that kind of thing all the time in the war.”
“Not to American citizens -- it’s a violation of the Fifth Amendment. Even if it weren’t, it would require a spell circle that takes an hour to cast. Besides, I doubt I could have pulled it off. My strength is in sensing and disrupting magical structures, not brute force magic.”
“Then why did Carson confess?”
Okay, that’s enough of that. Jake reached down into the white-hot core of his bond with his cat and let Clarence spill out. The lion manifested around him in a crackling surge of magic, glowing so bright even the Norms could see it. When he spoke, his voice rumbled an octave deeper than normal. “Because I scared the shit out of him.”
Johnson flinched a heartbeat before his fear morphed into anger. “Yeah, well, I’d better not hear of you using your magic in violation of department policy…” Glancing at his fellow Norm, Johnson registered Sawyer’s cool, disapproving stare and broke off.
Yeah, you’re letting too much of your hate-on show, Sarge.
“Still, you probably prevented a mass casualty event.” The praise sounded grudging at best. “Good work.”
The air around the sergeant smelled astringent with the telltale scent of deception. But was it their methods he disapproved of? Or the fact that they’d prevented a bloodbath that could have forced Potions out of business? Johnson didn’t approve of Talent-owned establishments.
The cynicism in the thought made Jake wince. The sergeant might be a prick, but he was still a cop sworn to protect the public. Even Talents.
You’re getting paranoid, Nolan.
* * *
Sergeant Roger Johnson thrust his key into his cruiser’s ignition with a hand that shook. Grinding his teeth, he checked behind him and pulled out, forcing himself not to stomp on the gas. Sawyer and those fucking Talents are probably watching.
Arcane Heart (Talents Book 2) Page 2
