She didn’t know, but she knew that she could not. She hadn’t been raised that way, she wasn’t built that way, and she wasn’t going down that way. Not without a fight.
Taking a deep breath, Kylie pushed to her feet and squared her shoulders. “Well, then, let’s get started.”
* * *
Oy vey iz mir!
“Now I know the real reason why they call Wynn a witch.” Kylie groaned and collapsed back onto her mattress way, way, way after she would have preferred to appear there. “She’s like the Genghis Khan of teachers. I swear by all that’s holy, I wasn’t this tired and sore after the one time I let Bran talk me into that fitness boot camp class. In fact, I think if that instructor met Wynn, he would have run away screaming.”
More than six hours had passed since the kaffeeklatsch in the living room, and Kylie was really regretting those kichlach. Her stomach had been roiling since twenty minutes into Wynn’s magical workout and showed no imminent signs of stopping. Everyone was waiting downstairs for dinner, and just the thought of food made Kylie close her eyes and swallow hard.
She felt the bed dip as Dag settled on the edge beside her and fought not to groan. Maybe she should have collapsed on the bathroom floor. Sure it was hard, but it didn’t move, and if worse came to worst, she would be a whole lot closer to the toilet. Much less chance of a mess.
“Poor baby,” he murmured. She felt a huge, rough hand settle gently on her forehead, and she had to admit the sensation was soothing. The initial coolness of his skin quickly faded into a comforting heat that made her relax almost against her will. “Did you learn anything useful?”
“You mean aside from the fact that Felicity really hates being called Filly-Willy, Wynn is a secret agent for the Spanish Inquisition, and Ella packs a hell of a magical punch for such a sweet-looking person?” She sighed. “Yeah, I learned that I really might not be cut out for this woman-of-power stuff. If those three chicks downstairs are like the high-powered rifle of magical offense, I’m like a squirt gun. Not a Super Soaker or anything cool, but one of those old-fashioned water pistols that barely get your target wet and yet manage to leak all over your hand every time you pull the trigger.”
She heard—and felt, oy!—Dag chuckle beside her, but she just didn’t have the energy to hit him. All she could manage was to flip him a very small bird. Like the hummingbird of middle fingers, only a lot less energetic. A dead hummingbird.
“Do not worry, little one. I have every confidence that you will prove most adept as a Warden with a bit more training and a little practice. You forget, this is your first real attempt at using magic. Every new skill takes time to learn.”
Forcing her eyelids open, she looked up to eye Dag suspiciously. “That’s a very mature and rational statement from a hunk of rock who came within a flea’s whisker of calling me ‘the little woman’ and ordered me into the kitchen a few hours ago.”
Dag heaved a great sigh and shifted to stretch out on the bed beside her. She noted how carefully he moved to keep the disturbance to her to a minimum. Not that it got him off her shitlist, but she noticed it.
“Yes, I have thought over what I said to you earlier,” he admitted, “and I have come to regret my words.”
“Really? Do tell.”
“I owe you an apology. By attempting to forbid you from attending the conference dinner, I insulted you deeply. I belittled your abilities not only to take care of yourself and defend your own safety, but even your ability to assess a situation and to decide for yourself the inherent risks, the possible rewards, and the weight of one in relation to the value of the other. For this, I am sorry.”
Pushing to her elbows, Kylie looked at him with her skepticism sitting right on the tip of her nose. “Who told you to say all that? Did they make you practice?”
Dag gave a rueful chuckle and tugged her to his side. Carefully. “They did not. It is true that the others did initially point out that my attitude may have offended you. They also let me know that they had learned very quickly from their own mates that human females are both sturdier than they look and fierce in their independence, which I should have recognized on my own. But once I grew calmer, I not only saw the reason for your anger but the justification for it as well. I reacted badly to the idea of sending you into danger, and I allowed my fear to control me.”
She kept her narrowed gaze on him, but felt herself softening. “When did you become so enlightened?”
He grinned and leaned close to kiss her. “When I feared that your anger for me would lead you to keep me from your bed this evening.”
Kylie scoffed. “Typical.” Settling once more onto the mattress, she allowed herself to snuggle against her Guardian’s side. “You know, right after I recovered from Wynn’s school of magical suffering, I was planning to come find you and skin you alive for the way you acted.”
“I know. This is why I came to you and commenced groveling with all due speed.”
“Groveling?” She tilted her head to look at him. “I heard an apology, but I don’t recall any groveling.”
Dag shifted to one elbow and loomed over her, resting his other hand on the mattress beside her head. “Oh, no? Then what is it that you consider to be groveling, little human?”
His smoke-and-stone voice rasped against her like a caress, sending shivers straight through her to pool low in her belly. “Well,” she purred, fighting a smile, “it usually starts on your knees…”
His grin turned wicked as he began to crawl down her body. “If you prefer to see me on my knees, I am happy to oblige you. Just let me get these jeans of yours off, and I can kneel before you and show you how very sorry I am for upsetting you.”
Just as her breathing began to speed up, the loud peal of the doorbell shattered the moment.
“Pizza!” a loud female voice shouted from the stairwell. “Dinner’s here, you guys, so get your stinking clothes back on and get your butts downstairs. If I have to come up there, I’m afraid I’ll be struck blind or something!”
Fil’s footsteps drifted away from the stairs and Dag groaned, collapsing to the mattress beside Kylie. “Can you remind me of the reason why we invited these nuisances into our home?”
Kylie pushed aside the rush of warmth she felt hearing him call the house “our home” and threw her arm across her eyes. “I plead insanity. What’s your excuse?”
“I’m eating all the extra cheese and mushroom!” Ella’s voice drifted up from the hall and Dag swore before shoving to his feet.
He reached down to pull Kylie up behind him and dragged her toward the stairs, mumbling, “I have no excuse,” as he went.
Kylie laughed. “There is no excuse, but we’d better go. I want those mushrooms.”
Chapter Sixteen
Shlof gikher; men darf di kishn.
Sleep faster; we need the pillows.
Three days later and Kylie still couldn’t be certain she had recovered from that first lesson in magic. Not that it mattered, because the Terrible Trio of Trainers, as she had dubbed them, hadn’t let up on her for a minute. Every day, they had dragged her into the empty dining room (nothing valuable to get caught in the crossfire, Wynn explained) and put her through not just her paces, but the paces of several world-class athletes. At least, that’s what it felt like.
The first thing they insisted she know was defensive magic. After they made her demonstrate how well she had learned her lesson about calling the power to her fingertips. Once the magic tingled in her hands, Wynn explained, sending it out into the world with intent was what made for a spell, and a darned effective one. The witch demonstrated with a very cool cone-of-silence trick that ticked Fil off to no end (she’d been in the middle of a sentence when Wynn bespelled her) and yet that she refused to teach to Kylie.
“First off, you just want to use it on Dag. And me,” the witch added, noting her pupil’s glare. “And second of all, it’s not going to be much use against the nocturnis. You need to learn the important stuff first. We don’t
have a lot of time.”
Sighing, Kylie had gotten back to work. Wynn was right. They didn’t have a lot of time.
When they entered the convention center on Saturday morning to pick up their badges, Kylie’s new bag of tricks included a personal shield spell that helped to deflect magical attacks (it would get stronger the more she practiced, Wynn assured her), a kind of magical mirror that bounced a spell back toward the one who had cast it, and what Ella called her bad-guy bubble spell, a favorite of hers. That one trapped whoever it was directed at in a giant bubble of energy that both kept the target contained and prevented him from casting magic outside its confines. Apparently, any spell he attempted just bounced off the interior of the bubble and ricocheted around inside. Very messy, Ella had noted with a grimace.
Messy, but effective, Wynn assured her.
Tonight, they would continue to work on the most important spell—the one that sealed portals and prevented what was on the other side from making its way into the human world. It was a tough spell, and not one Wynn would normally have taught to someone so inexperienced, but it was the last measure they would use if the Order succeeded in getting the portals open. Hopefully, the Guardians would stop them before that happened, and the spell would never be needed.
Az a yor af mir. I should be so lucky, Kylie thought. She refused to hold her breath.
In the meantime, Wynn and Kylie had reconnaissance to collect and nocturnis to avoid.
“Ms. Kramer,” the woman who provided their badges gushed, a bright smile on her face that went nowhere near her eyes. Or, you know, near sincerity. “We missed you at the dinner last night. We were afraid you might not attend our event after all.”
Kylie flashed a toothy smile of her own. “Oh, you know, business first,” she said breezily. “It’s how we can afford to help these little causes, isn’t it?”
As she guided Wynn away to find lanyards for their laminated conference badges, the witch laughed. “Wow, I’ve never heard you use your multimillionaire tech guru voice on anyone before. That was impressive.”
Kylie rolled her eyes. “Just wait till you hear my ‘pissed off woman with a nagging Jewish grandmother’ voice. It’ll knock your socks off.”
Esther had already left three messages of good luck on her voice mail, each one with the implied threat that if Kylie wound up getting hurt, Esther would be coming up to Boston personally to kick asses and take names. Kylie wouldn’t put it past her.
“Oh, trust me,” Wynn assured her, “I’m already familiar with your earlier body of work. Now come on. Let’s get programs and stand around leafing through them and talking earnestly about the most important use of your time before we disappear.”
Kylie readily agreed. After all, the plan was to make their appearance and then leave, waiting to return until they had a better shot at getting a glimpse of the setup in the auditorium for Richard Foye-Carver’s scheduled speech.
After retrieving programs from a bored-looking intern at the welcome table, they chose a conspicuous spot next to a pillar so they could be stared at and identified by the masses. Kylie had gone out of her way to make it easy for people, dressing in ripped and battered jeans, cherry-red canvas high-top sneakers, and two T-shirts. The long-sleeved red shirt provided the perfect contrast to the short-sleeved black one worn on top, which spelled out the word “genius” using elements of the periodic table.
She could have tattooed the word “SUPERGEEK” on her forehead and not looked more the part. That, plus all the publicity generated by her high-profile sale to a gigantic tech conglomerate a couple of years ago should take care of getting her recognized and firmly implanted in the minds of attendees and organizers alike.
When she had spotted enough stares and whispers, she checked the clock to be certain the next session was about to begin before she tapped Wynn’s arm. “I think we’re good. Let’s get out of here.”
“No, wait.” Wynn continued to face her, smiling, but her gaze was fixed over Kylie’s right shoulder. “I just saw a couple of guys take a cart loaded with electrical equipment toward the sign pointing to the auditorium. It looks like they may already be setting it up. Maybe luck is actually on our side.”
Kylie made a noncommittal sound. She didn’t plan on counting any chickens, personally. “All right. What’s the closest minisession to the auditorium?”
Wynn flipped through her program. “Let me see. Um, it looks like ‘The Technology of Social Justice’ with Armand DuClare.”
“Perfect. It sounds like something a techhead would go to, but I’ve never heard of the presenter. That means there won’t be any need to meet and greet, and no one to contradict me if I have to say I was there. Let’s go.”
The women strolled through the convention lobby with their complimentary reusable canvas tote bags on their arms. Kylie kept a discreet eye peeled for anyone who might know her well enough to waylay her, but honestly she tended to steer away from the do-gooder philanthropical crowd. Not because she didn’t support philanthropy and doing good, but because she kept her head in the bits and bytes and let her accountants worry about making her contributions. To her, it was just another form of point and click while she got on with her work.
Which reminded her, she didn’t think any of Richard Foye-Carver’s little projects was on her list of approved charities, but she thought it might be a good idea to call someone and double-check. Just to be safe. Wouldn’t it suck large to find out she’d been unknowingly financing the very people who were trying to kill her and as many other innocent people in this world as possible?
Ick.
Wynn and Kylie lingered in the hall while the crowd slowly began to thin out as people and groups disappeared into the various meeting areas for the breakout symposia. When the area outside the auditorium was clear, Kylie waved her friend to follow and chose the farthest door in the corner to ease open and peek inside.
No one even noticed.
The floor of the auditorium hosted huge racks of chairs ready to be unloaded and placed in rows and aisles according to the markings taped to the polished concrete. Around the perimeter of the room, balconies on three sides boasted permanent theater-style seating. At the far end of the room, workers and technicians scurried around erecting a long low stage and rigging lights and screens for what would obviously be a multimedia presentation. Didn’t want anyone thinking Richard Foye-Carver might be behind the times.
A sharp finger in the back forced Kylie into the room. Wynn followed right on her heel. “Ouch! What the heck was that for?” Kylie hissed.
“Standing in the hall with the door half open and your butt hanging out is a heck of a lot more conspicuous that just coming inside and taking a look around. Like actual conference attendees can’t be curious?” Wynn took out her cell phone and began snapping pictures. “Besides, I wanted to get this on camera.”
“Excuse me, ladies?”
A man’s voice carried toward them through the nearly empty auditorium. Just what Kylie had been afraid of—ten seconds inside the damned place, and already they had called attention to themselves.
A man in his thirties wearing a loose-fitting gray suit approached them at a fast clip, with a patently false public-service smile on his face. “I’m so sorry, ladies,” he said, arms out to herd them through the door, “but this part of the facility is off limits at the moment. We’re setting up for tomorrow’s event, and insurance won’t allow us to have the public around all the heavy lights and electrical equipment. You understand.”
His tone said he didn’t care if they understood or not, he was making them go. Glancing at the pin on his lapel revealed that he worked for the convention center, though, not Carver or his foundation, so Kylie relaxed a little. Chances of him being nocturni at least had gone down a few notches.
She was about to order him to take a chill when Wynn opened her mouth and played dumb.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, I’m being such a tourist,” the witch gushed, painting a little bit of Chicago int
o her voice. “I’m making my friend here show me everything. But we totally understand your concerns. I mean, I wouldn’t want one of those great big light boxes falling on my head, that’s for sure. We’ll just get back to our session.”
The member of the convention staff offered them another fake smile and an instruction to enjoy their day, then snapped the doors closed approximately three inches from their faces.
Wynn looked at her, one eyebrow arched. “Why do I feel like he just told us no one gets in to see the Wizard?”
“Yeah, well, the wizard can kish mir en tokhes. Let’s go show the boys what we found.”
“Do you think what we got is enough?”
“I think it’s the best we’re going to get. Between the photos you took and the plans and photos I should be able to dig up, I’m sure we can figure something out. Besides, we left four Guardians alone with Fil. I’m afraid to stay away too long.”
“True, but Ella’s there, too. She should be able to keep the peace. Maybe.”
“That’s the only reason I have hope that the house is still standing.” Kylie led the way to a less frequented stairway and back toward their parking spot. “Plus, if there’s something else someone thinks we really ought to know, we can always come back later this afternoon like we originally planned.”
“True enough.” They climbed into Kylie’s car and Wynn threw her a grin. “Five bucks says someone back at the house is missing their eyebrows.”
Kylie snorted and pulled out into traffic. “Do I look like that kind of sucker?”
* * *
As it turned out, no one had any less hair than they had when Wynn and Kylie left, facial or otherwise, but the house had significantly less food in it. Wow, could Guardians eat!
Rocked by Love (Gargoyles Series) Page 23
