Outfoxing Mysta

by Selena Illyria

  “You were always sweet even if you were bitchy to me.”

  She sipped her water. Her gaze resting on him, challenging him. “Well, you were annoying.”

  “Flirty.”

  “Persistent.” Defiance sparked in the brown depths.

  His body hummed as they fell into their old patterns. “Interested.”

  “Overbearing.” She stopped eating to lean forward.

  His heart tugged. “Ambitious.”

  She grumbled.

  “What? I can’t hear you?”

  Her shoulders slumped, a stubborn gleam in her eyes. “Pushy.”

  Tired of her monosyllabic answers, he decided to push her. “I loved you the second I saw you, dressed up as if you were about to take on a mountain in the dead of winter, with that awful striped and tattered Doctor Who scarf covering half your face, those mittens that didn’t allow you to grip anything.” He leaned forward but didn’t reach out, not wanting to risk her pulling away from him. “Your glasses, with the chipped frames, that fogged as soon as you stepped inside. I couldn’t understand how the hell you were able to walk in those thick-soled leg warmers you called boots. And the coat? The yeti called. He still wants his fur back.”

  She scowled. “I needed to heat up, and your store was the only one open, and it had books.”

  “And don’t forget a peek at the good-looking guy behind the register in a tight sweater,” he added.

  “Bullshit.” Her jaw worked back and forth, but her lips curved up in a tiny smile. It disappeared.

  “You didn’t think I noticed but I did. You would come back during my shift, walk past the window, glance in, and enter if I was working the register.” He picked up his burger and took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “You staked out the place for two months before the snow forced you to make a decision. There was a café next door, nice place, but packed with nowhere to sit, so you grabbed a hot chocolate and came into Burt’s, found an open seat, and sat there and read until closing time.”

  She put down the water. Her face shuttered, any emotion draining away like a receding tide. “How did you know I checked the place out for two months? You never glanced at me.”

  He grinned. “Because my senses would tell me you were there. I wouldn’t call what you did stalking, not in the least.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Close to it. Why didn’t you say something? And why didn’t you tell me when you and I got together?”

  “Stupid reason. I forgot. I was so happy to be with you it just slipped out of my mind. Didn’t see the point in telling you.” He took another bite of his burger.

  “Heh, cute reason.” Her shoulder and face relaxed.

  “So, should we fast-forward to the present?” He paused.

  “What do you want to know?” The words were cautious.

  “What do you do for Bridget? You come in here a lot. I doubt it’s just to look at my pretty face.”

  She snorted. “Research and acquisitions of books, scrolls, and information on arcane and current knowledge. Napkins?” She glanced around.

  He handed her a few from the stack he’d retrieved earlier. She selected a few sheets and dabbed her mouth. “Thanks. You going to try the wine and prove me right, or are you going to run out into the madness for beer?”

  “Not on your life.” He took a sip of wine and frowned. “Yeah, you were right. Blech.”

  “Told you.” She grinned and took a long drink from her water. “I’m glad my disgust in the combination of cheddar, strawberries, and bacon is amusing to you. Why don’t I hit myself in the nuts and see if that does the trick too?”

  “That would be a bridge too far, but thanks for the offer.”

  She took several swallows of her seltzer and let out another belch. “’Scuse me.”

  “You’re excused. I’m glad we’re talking. This is a start, and I’ll take it.”

  She shook her head. “And what do you think will happen? There will be a happy ending for us? This isn’t a pixie tale, and I’m not a princess.”

  Old anger flared. “Bullshit, and yes, you’re not a princess.”

  She glanced up at him in confusion. “Why are you so mad? It’s true. I’m not.”

  “You’re a fucking queen, always have been to me. You deserve to be happy, Mys. I know, because you are my mate, and your joy is important to me.” He waited for her to deny it. “Your logic is wrong. Familiars can have mates.”

  “Being a familiar is important. Love isn’t. This is my duty. It’s taken my family decades to finally be chosen, and to be bonded to a powerful family is more than I could’ve asked for. It’s an honor to be compatible with Bridget and aid her in her magical work.” She didn’t meet his eyes. Her words sounded flat.

  “Yeah, yeah, cause I’m not a familiar. Try again. All complete and utter bullshit, sugar, and you know it. You can have it all without sacrificing anything.” He hadn’t thought she could hurt him any more than she had by leaving. Now he knew better.

  “No, I can’t. It’s one or the other. If I fail it affects my family, and I can’t afford to let that happen, not to my siblings, not when we have regained the respect we lost.” She shook her head. “You never listened to me when I tried to explain.”

  “Make me understand.” He spat out the dare with all the acidity and emotion he could muster.

  “No one from my branch of the family has been chosen to be a familiar for decades. I’m the first in the last fifty years.” She lifted her chin and met his stare. Her brown eyes were black, and fire blazed away in the darkened pools. “You could never see what an honor it was.”

  “You mean what a cash cow you’d become.” The bitterness seeped into every syllable.

  She reared back as if slapped. “It wasn’t about money.”

  “Tell it to someone else. I was there, Mys, I saw your family home, the tall, dry grass and weeds in the front yard, the cracked statuary, the broken windows and doors held together by duct tape and a prayer, the porch that could barely handle anyone’s weight on it. I met your father. He tried to sell me on that honor shit too. It didn’t work. I’m. Still. Here.” He punctuated the last three words by poking the worn, chipped, dented oak countertop.

  “You’ve never had to deal with the pressure I have. You refused to even hear me out.”

  “I know pressure, Mys. And I tried to hear you, but I never heard anything that didn’t involve family honor,” he growled. “I didn’t see the point in you denying yourself love to save a family that only saw you as another mouth to feed and a possible point of income when you turned eighteen and came into your full magic.” His heart pounded against his rib cage. His breath came out in gusts, and his blood roared in his ears. Stress filled every muscle and tendon of his body.

  “You just won’t listen,” she whispered. “They never saw me as a cash cow. You only heard what you wanted to hear to justify your blindness.” Her shoulders hunched, and her body seemed to shrink in on itself.

  “Damn you, don’t you dare withdraw from me. Don’t you dare hide. Where the hell is the fire and earth and the air? Where is the magic and the desire and the passion you showed me when we were together? I dare you to let me in again, Mys, because I sure as hell am not going anywhere.” He growled. His words bounced off the walls back at him. He had to make her hear him, see him somehow, some way.

  “You don’t need to shout,” she yelled back. “I can hear you just fine.” Anger, fear, confusion, resentment flowed across her face in a succession.

  “No, you can’t. You’re too busy letting your family fill your mouth with crap. I want to hear you, know your thoughts and emotions. I love you. I care about you. I want you to be happy, and now that I’ve found you again I refuse to walk away.” He had to make her see this was it for him. No turning back, no going home. This was where he belonged.

  “You mean, unlike me, right? I was the coward.” Her voice was quiet. He almost didn’t hear it. Pain burst in his heart.

  “Don’t put words in my mout
h.”

  “You didn’t have to say it. It was implied.” She sat up straight, shoulders back, chin up. A rattling sound filled her voice. Her serpentine other half was awake and engaged. Scales shifted over her skin. Inky blackness spread, enveloping her whole eye.

  “Wrong! I would never call you a coward. Hiding, yes, but you are one of the strongest women I know next to my mother.” A memory surfaced of his mother from a year ago lying on her hospital bed, shrunken. Her skin, which had once been supple, looked dried up and so fragile it would evaporate at a touch. Despite her weakness there was fire in her pale green eyes and so much love for him. His heart ached at the loss of someone he’d looked up to his whole life.

  “Ah, yes, Elaine.” Mysta glanced away, but not before he witnessed her eyes returning to the dark brown he loved once more, glittering with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know until after.”

  “She loved you, baby, loved you like a daughter and missed you lots.” The wound in his heart reopened.

  His mother’s past words echoed in his mind. “Find her, baby boy. Find her. She needs you.” His mother accepted Mysta without question and never doubted that he and Mysta were meant to be together.

  “Was it painful?”

  He shook his head and wiped a spot on the tabletop. “Not all the time. It was difficult, but she died comfortably surrounded by love.”

  “I wish…”

  “I know.” He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. He brought it up and brushed his lips across the knuckle, then released it.

  “Vik—”

  The lights shut down. The glow of the candles illuminated the front desk and a small circle around them but nothing else.

  “Shit.” Viktor stood. “The generators have either gone or run out of magic. I’ll go check. Be right back.”

  “Want help?” She looked around, unease on her face.

  “If I’m not back in ten minutes and the swearing has stopped, call Malcom. His number is taped by the phone. I may have been eaten by the thing Shevon keeps as security.”

  “What!” Her voice sounded strangled. Her panic hit him in the stomach as he left the station. “Who’s Malcom? What does Shevon keeps as security?”

  He moved on through the library, calling on his fox to lend him some of its power to see in the dark and avoid falling over or bumping into things as he made his way back to the Power Room. He pushed open a large door. Shelves lined with potion bottles and jars lined the walls, each illuminated by the magic suspended in it.

  He selected the three green ones Shevon had said kept the energy going, then went to the first generator. He flicked open the top of the tank where the potions should be poured in and checked to make sure the supply was depleted and not just gummed up. Empty. He uncorked the first container and poured in the mixture. Each of the other generators got the same treatment. Once done with that, he flicked the On switches and peeked over his shoulder. Dim yellow light glowed from the library beyond.

  He left the generator room and shut the door behind him. Then he took a deep breath, gathering his emotions together.

  Their talk had awakened some of the beasts he’d tried to put to bed over the last year. He’d let his anger get the best of him. There was no way he was going to drive her away by showing just how hurt and pissed he had been at her leaving him without a note. He had his suspicions on why she’d gone but couldn’t voice them at the moment. They were talking, the channel was open, and he refused to let it shut down because he’d gotten ahead of himself. He closed his eyes and did some deep breathing exercises until his heartbeat settled down. Then he stretched and ventured back toward the front desk.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The lights burst to life, blinding Mysta. She closed her eyes, then opened them a bit at a time until she could see her surroundings with clarity. Then she got up and headed to the bathroom, where she turned on the tap and filled her hands with ice-cold water. She sloshed some around her mouth to clear away the taste of the burger. So far it wasn’t too painful being around Viktor. At least it’s what she told herself.

  She swished some more water around in her mouth, spit it out in the sink, and splashed some fresh water on her face. With care she wiped away some of her makeup and reapplied her lip gloss, then dried her hands and left the bathroom. She returned to the front of the library, where she settled on her stool, keeping an eye out for whatever security Shevon had running around the library or Malcolm, whoever that was.

  She tried the wine. It was crisp and sweet as she remembered, with a hint of acidity, oak flavor, and tartness to keep her taste buds interested. Her thoughts circled around what they were discussing before the lights-out had occurred. The words returned full force: coward, fear of marriage, fear of failure.

  Only a handful of shifters could claim familiar status, and she was one of them. Viktor had never understood the pressure she was under. To have magical abilities but not to have a witch or wizard to help could drive some Familiars mad. It was the fear most of her kind went through. They needed the magical dump just as much as witches did, even more so. Bridget had needed her, and she enjoyed being recognized not only for her powers but also for her book smarts. When Viktor had come into her life he had confused her priorities, tested the plan for her life in ways she’d never imagined a relationship could.

  She took another taste of her wine. The alcohol buzzed in her veins muting her magic. Tension eased from her body, and she slumped in her seat. She glanced at the clock. Only fifteen minutes had passed since Viktor had gone to fix the generators. Why the hell was it taking so long?

  Viktor emerged from among the shelves, a smile on his face.

  Mysta returned his grin. “You know there was a time when I could drink an Irishman under the table. Now I get a buzz just smelling alcohol.” She stared at the glass of strawberry Riesling in disgust, then took another taste and another.

  “Want some?” Maybe if he got drunk too he’d stop asking the questions and searching for the truth that made the pain come back.

  “Yeah, I remember. We’d end up in the tank for a night because you were still too buzzed to be let loose on the town again. Or I’d be the one defending your honor against some asshole who wanted to cop a feel.” He smirked. “Good times.”

  Mysta ducked her head. “Not her anymore.” Despite the words images of the old room she had shared with her younger sister, with two beds crammed into it and a few books scattered on the floor, came back to her. She drank down her glass and put it on the table. “Got anything stronger?”

  Her mind flashed on a memory of pebbles being thrown at her window. A young man with pale blond hair stood in the moonlight. Her heart lurched.

  “Mys, sugar?” Viktor’s voice tugged her out of her sadness.

  She sighed. Her stress had ebbed away with the wine. It would be so easy to give in, to tell him. Give him all the excuses and answers she had inside of her. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

  “What’s up, Mys? You okay? You look so sad.” He reached up and brushed back some of her hair. His finger traced along the edges of her glasses. Before she could stop him, he removed them. “There, no blinders. Now, please, tell me.” He gazed up at her with such clear green eyes it made her hurt even more.

  “I need those.” She didn’t reach out to retrieve them.

  “No, you don’t. Not with me.” He leaned forward until his face was only a hair’s width away. “Never with me, Mys.”

  The memory of a peridot ring set in gold with diamond chips flashed in her mind. She pulled back, refusing to give in to the urge to kiss, to trace the seam of his mouth with her tongue. A glossy scar at the corner of his mouth drew her attention. She scooted back as far as the stool would allow without falling off to avoid touching him. Her hands flexed, balling into fists, squeezing and then relaxing as she fought with herself to keep from closing the distance between them. Damn him for seeking her out. They’d had a deal.

  A tingle at the corners of
her mind drew her attention. Something foreign was approaching. She slipped off her stool. Her body stilled, and her mind went blank, readying for an attack.

  The front double doors burst open with a crash. The slabs of oak bounced off the walls, shuddered, and swung back to close.

  Energy sizzled through her limbs throwing off the lethargy of the alcohol. She hissed and groaned. Warmth filled her mouth. Her tongue changed to a thin strip of muscle forked at the ends with poison-filled barbs. Her canines thinned and curved to needlelike thickness.

  “Mys! No!” Viktor called out.

  “Malcolm is here bearing Guinness and a board game! Ready to have your ass kicked in D&D?” A man strode in, confidence crackling around him. Sunglasses perched on his nose even though it was night, and he wasn’t wearing a jacket despite the chill. Like Viktor, he had on a Henley, only his was rust colored. Holes studded the shoulders and sleeves, and threads dangled from the hem. Baggy khakis and scuffed boots completed the look. His ink-black hair was slicked back from his face, allowing her to see his scarred features. Even with the shades on she could feel his stare weighing on her, a light presence that made her shift from one foot to the other.

  Tension coiled in her stomach and limbs. She didn’t know who Malcolm was, but she sensed danger from him.

  The stranger strode closer, bringing with him the slight hint of brimstone. Her head jerked.

  “Demon?” She only knew two demons, and she barely trusted Carver and Thorn, who ran The Java Demon, as it was. Dealing with demons was an intricate gamble that brought on a headache at the very thought. There were so many loopholes, ins and outs, and unsaid implications that just having a conversation about coffee could cost you your soul if the demon was in the mood to take it. How did this demon know Viktor? What had Viktor been up to in the past year?

  Viktor shook his head.

  “Not even close, darlin’.” Malcolm pulled his glasses down, showing off gold-flecked, cobalt-blue eyes that were lit up with secret humor, life, and vibrancy and didn’t look remotely normal even for a shifter. “But I will be if that’s what you need.”