“Why?”
“You’d have to be willingly handing over your stem of power. It’s not like you’d let someone attacking you just access your magic in a way that cut you off. That’s just insane. And your magic is too strong. It made a solid tether. I felt it.”
“How would that happen? Handing over magical power?”
He snorted. “You’d have to give some sort of physical consent.”
I sat on the edge of a bed covered with piles of clothing and papers. When I gave them my knife, I’d been giving them consent to use my magic somehow.
“What do you have there?” he asked, looking at where I hadn’t realized I’d touched my arm.
“Nothing.”
“Holy Woods of the Mist! What have you been doing?” Bitters put his concoction down and started rummaging through his things.
“Is it permanent?” I asked, not bothering to deny it any longer. “Am I going to die?”
He shoved some more stuff out of his way as I waited. Then he was climbing up on his stool and digging through things on a higher shelf. He picked up a vial, uncorked it, and nodded approvingly after he smelled it.
“Bitters, am I going to die?” I asked as he walked over to me.
Without warning, his ear was against my chest, and I was so desperate that I didn’t move or ask what he was doing. He straightened up. “No, not yet. It takes a while. You’ll lose your magic first.”
He handed the vial to me. “Here. This will help you get through it…for a while, anyway, so that no one knows.”
“You won’t tell anyone?”
“Why would I? I like it here, and I know why you’re doing it. I’m not stupid, and I can live with your death on my hands.”
I took the bottle and uncorked it. “Do I want to know what’s in it?”
He shook his head, and I tilted it back to my lips without asking anything else. Seconds after I took it, the energy started coming back into my body.
“Don’t take too much at once. That’s all I’ve got left. Make it last until I can make more.”
I pocketed what was left of the potion. “Thanks. How many times do you think I’ve got left in me?”
“Could be two. Could be twenty.” He shrugged as only someone who wasn’t royally fucked could.
Chapter 25
Oh shit. Those were the most eloquent words I could come up with as I watched Dax stride through the gates with four beast men in broad daylight. Thank God for Bitters’ potion that had me feeling somewhat normal again, because I was going to need whatever artificial strength I could get.
As the five walked across the lawn, I knew they were exactly what I thought. If they had been human men or women, I’d say it was a certain rugged je ne sais quoi—Moobie had used that saying in book four, and I’d been dying to find a fitting situation ever since—but a really, really rugged version. It was in the line of their stride, as if they’d forgotten what it was like to use human legs. The way they constantly scoured their perimeter, like I’d seen Dax do hundreds of times before, not realizing that it was his inner beast looking for prey and not the man being cautious. The magic energy they pumped out as a group, I could feel from here. It was so strong that even a numb human would probably pick up a tingle of something, even if they didn’t know what had just tickled their skin.
I got to my feet and met them halfway between the house and the gate, knowing that every set of eyes in the yard were trained on the newcomers because we were an untrusting lot.
One of the beast men stepped closer to me, but Dax cut him off and let out a low growl.
A handshake was out of the question. Unless someone else pulled my arm forward, not going to happen. These guys made Bart looked refined. Not sure what else to do, I fell into unfamiliar territory and smiled—then stopped. Some animals took the baring of teeth as a threat, and from the looks of them, I’d say they were still more animal than man, despite the loss of fur at the moment.
“Hello.” That was going to have to be enough.
One just stared at me and one grunted something that might have been a “hi,” if I gave it a whole lot of leeway.
I tried to keep my limbs limber and relaxed as I shot Dax a look that completely contrasted with the pose.
“They’re a little further behind than Bart,” he answered, always good at reading the unspoken question.
They were once human, so even if they didn’t speak, they’d still understand, so I tugged on Dax’s shirt and called him off to the side.
“Are they going to try and eat people?”
Dax rubbed a stubbled jaw. “Nah, I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean, ‘think’? You aren’t sure?” The four beast men were staring at us, and I started to smile again but stopped myself. Of all the times I decided to be a smiler, today was the day?
“They aren’t going to eat anyone. I can’t guarantee they won’t bite a few.”
I heard a rough noise from one of them and realized he’d just laughed. I’d forgotten how well Dax could hear, and therefore, how well they could probably hear.
I looked over our new recruits. The one on the right was currently lifting his upper lip as he tried to smell me from where he stood, and another one let out a loud belch. I hoped it wasn’t caused by a recent meal of babies, and racked my brain thinking there had to be another way.
But if there was, I couldn’t think of it.
I pushed back my hair and tried to knot it away from my face as I stared at them and weighed the options. A couple of bites or dead? When you thought of it that way, the choice seemed obvious.
I scratched my head, the whole thing making my brain itch. “As long as you don’t think they’ll, like…kill anybody, I think it can work.”
“What’s a scar or two in the long run?” Dax shrugged.
I shifted my weight to my other foot. “You’ve got a point. I’ve got scars. No big deal.”
“Okay, good luck,” I said.
“Where were you heading?”
“I’ve got to go to the wall. I left some of the guys in a real pickle over there,” I said, taking a step away, knowing what was coming next.
He took a step after me. “Hang on. I thought you’d want to show our new guests around.”
And introduce them to people as we did? Oh no, I wasn’t doing that. People already looked at me strangely enough. “I gotta get over there, like, five minutes ago. I left them in a really bad spot.”
“Sure you did,” he said, finally dropping the act.
“What? You saying you can’t handle this?”
“I can handle this just fine. Watch me go and handle this,” he said, walking back over to the four of them and waving them to follow him, along with every set of nearby eyes on the farm.
I wanted to laugh but kept my expression blank. He could handle it. I knew that. But Dax wasn’t the type to play hostess, even to a bunch of beasts, and I certainly wasn’t stepping into that job.
“Dal?” I turned and found Bookie running over to me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Someone broke their finger on the wall,” he said as he grabbed my hand and tugged me with him. “I told them I had to get a splint from the shed. Isn’t this great?”
I looked at his other hand and saw he already had some supplies.
“Why is this good?” We were almost to a group of men working on a different part of the fence.
“It’s not as good as a dead person, but we can rule out whether you can heal.” He paused for one second to say, “Follow my lead,” and then was tugging me along again.
We got to the group and a real rough-and-tumble guy they called Martin was already waving his hand, crooked finger and all, at Bookie. “I don’t need no splint. It’s just a finger. Splint’s gonna get in the way.”
“Martin, do you want your middle finger pointing up like that for the rest of your life? It’s going to cause you a lot of problems,” Bookie said.
Martin looked at his hand, a
nd at a certain angle, Bookie did have a valid point. The other workers must’ve thought so too, since a couple of them were chuckling.
“Fine, but be quick,” Martin said as he thrust out his hand toward Bookie.
“Dal, please hold Martin’s finger straight as I apply this splint.”
Bookie was giving me a look that said, Work your magic.
I grabbed the tip of his finger and Martin yelped in pain. “Sorry.”
“Focus, Dal,” Bookie said as he took the longest time possible to place the splint along the finger as he stared at me. “Please hold this in place for me too?” Bookie asked.
I nodded, using the given excuse to get a better grip on Martin’s finger. Bookie unwrapped a small string in the slowest manner possible while continuing to look at me as he did. His eyes would shoot from me to Martin and back, as if he were silently asking, Well?
“Ow!” Martin yelped when I was looking at Bookie and not realizing I’d bent his finger.
“Let go!” Martin said. “I don’t need a splint! I was better off before you two touched me.”
I did. I hadn’t felt a glimmer of heat stirring.
“So, you don’t feel any better?” Bookie asked Martin, and I wanted to groan a bit.
“No! I feel worse,” Martin said, and walked away, leaving us with the splint he’d ripped off.
“Did you feel anything?”
“No. I didn’t even feel a tingle, and I think I messed up his finger worse.”
Bookie wrapped his string around the unused splint, looking pretty disappointed. “Maybe you had to bury him?”
“Or maybe I’m not a healer. He walked off feeling worse than before me. We’ve got to get back and dig up those birds. If it’s not me, it’s got to be the place.”
Chapter 26
I was lying in bed, Dax’s bed. It was big, soft, and smelled just like him, which proved he must use it sometimes, even though I rarely saw him sleeping these days. I grabbed the pillow and took a deep breath but knew it was a good thing he wasn’t here.
I needed to get a catnap while I waited for everyone on the farm to go to sleep and I snuck out with Bookie. If Dax was around, I’d be forced to make up all sorts of lies.
Yes, I was better off napping. Bitters’ potion was helping, but I was afraid to drink too much. It had helped the scar heal quicker, so I didn’t have to wear a long-sleeve shirt anymore while proclaiming a chill in the air.
Head back on feather pillows, I closed my eyes, thinking I should really get up and blow the candle out before I fell asleep.
Then I heard his footsteps and I popped up. I turned on my side, trying to give the old, ratty shirt I wore to bed a better look.
He walked in, pulling his shirt off as he did. This man, this perfect being, why would he want someone like me? I was awkward, scarred, and typically shunned by every decent person around. Even though I never stopped eating and had put on a couple of pounds, I was often called a toothpick. My hair stuck out every which way and never did what it was told. I said the wrong things, and usually on purpose. I had the general reputation of being rude, uncivil, and sometimes combative. Why would anyone want me?
Still, he’d moved me into his bedroom. I hadn’t asked to be here. What was that about? Even if he just wanted to use me, shouldn’t he be trying to use me more often? What did a girl have to do?
He turned as my shirt slipped a little higher on my thigh—accidentally, of course. His body froze for a moment and I saw his gaze follow the length of me. Oh yes, that’s right, use me, goddamn it.
Then he dug out a letter from his back pocket and threw it on the bed. “From Zarrod. It’s the details for the next meeting.”
I looked at it but didn’t touch it.
When I looked back to him, it was as if the heat in the room had suddenly gotten jacked all the way up. He took a step toward the bed and then rested a knee on it as I rolled onto my side, closing the gap a little more. Then his hands were planted on the bed and his face was near the crook of my neck, as he breathed deeply.
I was about to grab him by the hair and tell him to touch me already when he muttered, “Finally,” and nearly tore the shirt off me.
I didn’t know what had come over him, but I could definitely second the finally. There was nothing slow or romantic about us coming together. It was chaotic and hot, and by time it was over, I didn’t know how I was going to get out of bed and go on the run with Bookie later.
If it meant getting out of bed where his flesh was warm against mine, maybe tonight wasn’t the best night to go anyway.
Then he was getting dressed again and heading for the door.
“What?” he asked as he glanced back at me.
I looked down at the bed, feeling my forehead crinkling and wanting to hide it. “Nothing.” It was ridiculous. I needed him to go so that I could go do my own mission, and yet I couldn’t shake this feeling of sadness as he was leaving.
He shook his head.
“What?”
“‘Nothing’ always means something.”
I sat straight up. “What do you mean, ‘always’? How many nothings have you heard?”
“Think about how long I’ve lived and then let me know if you really want the answer to that.”
Even the vague notion bothered me. “Well, when you put it that way.”
He paused by the door, waiting. “Are you going to tell me?”
That I thought I’d wanted him to use me for sex, but now that he was done, it didn’t feel so hot? “Nothing to tell.”
He stared at me a moment longer, a frown creasing his brow. In my love books, this was where the guy would tell the woman he loved her and everything would be okay. But those were fantasies, and no one knew if things were going to be okay. And I didn’t want him to do that anyway. Not that it mattered, because in the end he turned and left me all the same.
* * *
The lights in the house had just shut down for the night when I went and found Bookie in the barn waiting by his bike as planned. “You ready?”
“Yeah. Are you?”
“Hope so, because we’ve got to get going. We leave now and don’t stop and we’ll make it back before dinner, hopefully. I don’t know how much time we have.”
“You sure the beasts aren’t going to be a problem?” Bookie asked. “I can’t help but think we’re pushing our luck.”
“We’re going to ride straight through, so it’ll be okay. Plus, Dax said no one has spotted one in the forests for a while.” I didn’t tell him it was because they were all on the farm now. “Let’s get going,” I said, motioning him over to the bike so that I could cut this conversation off.
He nodded, and we rolled the bike to the gate. The guard on nights lately was old pals with Bookie, so we knew he’d keep our secret.
We didn’t stop once on the way there. I didn’t want to because I knew we’d be cutting it close to when Dax usually came back for dinner. Bookie, whether he admitted it or not, was afraid of the beasts, so he didn’t argue with the plan.
The timing ended up being perfect. We pulled up just as the sun was rising. He put down the kickstand and I climbed off the bike, my mood about as funky as week-old cheese sitting in the sun. This had gone from my favorite place to one I dreaded, because somehow I always feared it would do something to Bookie.
“You sure you’re ready?” Bookie asked, staring at the small grave as the sun’s rays began to touch it. “Because you don’t look like you are.”
“Are you? I mean, you’re the one that experienced this. I’d think it would be harder on you.” As it was, neither of us was moving forward. A squirrel rustled in the leaves nearby and I jumped.
“It’s only a chicken,” Bookie said.
“What if it comes out, like, possessed or something?” I asked.
“I’m not possessed.”
This was one of those moments I wished I could suck my words back in. “I was totally kidding.”
Bookie scowled. “No, you wer
en’t.”
Nothing like insinuating your buddy was actually a demon to spur you into action. I grabbed the shovel off the back of the bike and knelt next to the small grave, deciding I’d rather dig than continue talking about possession.
We’d buried it three feet down, just as I’d buried Bookie. We’d tried to do everything the same, even the timing of digging it up.
“Be careful,” Bookie said as the bird showed through the dirt and I dug around it with the shovel.
“I am, but I’m not touching it. If you want to use your hands, feel free.” I hadn’t had anything to do with this portion of Bookie’s revival, so it shouldn’t matter if I did this or not. I used the shovel in a sweeping motion to clear it some more.
“Nah, I think you’re doing a good job,” he said, changing his tune at the idea of having to pitch in on something that hit so close to home.
I looked back over my shoulder to where he was keeping a few feet of distance. “Thanks.”
He nodded, as if I’d been sincere.
I grabbed a nearby stick and, between that and the shovel, managed to get the thing out of the hole without touching it directly. It dropped to the ground and lay there without even a twitch. The bird looked as dead as it had been when we’d buried it.
“Poke at it a little,” Bookie suggested.
“It’s dead. It’s maybe even deader than when we buried it.”
“There’s no such thing as ‘deader.’”
“I bet the bird there would argue that if he could.”
I heard his feet shuffling, and then he looked down over my shoulder where I squatted beside it. “Let’s think this through logically. Did you do all the same things?”
“As far as I could, considering the obvious differences.”
“I came back alive. It’s either something in me, which I’m pretty sure isn’t the case, something about what you did, or something about this place.”
“So to sum it up, it’s something about anything?”
The Magic: Wilds Book Four Page 16
