by S. J. Harper
Smiling, I pad across the thick carpet to the bathroom.
It’s an homage to luxury—marble floors, expensive tile, mirrors, and glass. I stand stock-still for a moment in wonder. Zack’s bathroom is about the size of my bedroom and living room combined. The sunken tub is long and deep; I imagine even Zack can stretch out in it. The shower at the far end has three showerheads and would easily accommodate a family of five. Just as I’d reached the conclusion I could spend the rest of my life living in Zack’s bathroom, I catch a glimpse of myself in the long mirror lining the wall behind the sinks.
My hand is trembling as I lift it to touch my face. It’s been centuries since I’ve seen myself like this. My skin is radiant, my hair shining like the finest lacquer. It cascades down my back and over my shoulders in soft waves. My lips are swollen, bruised red from too many kisses. My eyes, bright with lingering desire, begin to tear, clouding my vision and threatening to spill. I haven’t purposefully given up the glamour. I’m not even purposefully lowering it enough to display a hint of my real self. Yet I’m effulgent, glowing.
My heart soars free for one fabulous blissful moment.
Then reality comes crashing down.
There’s only one possible explanation. I’m falling in love with Zack. And he’s falling in love with me. Despite words and assurances, we weren’t careful enough. We weren’t honest enough. Not with each other. Not even with ourselves. Last night was supposed to be about one thing—sex.
Instead . . .
I stumble, the back of my knees hitting the edge of the tub and my legs collapsing beneath me. I sit, close my eyes, focus on my breathing, on the cool marble beneath my feet, on what needs to be done. I’ve practiced this exercise with Liz hundreds of times, just like with her grandmother before her, with other witches over time. It’s only when there are leaks that the glamour erodes. My power is escaping. I can hear their collective voices. If you aren’t doing it on purpose, there’s a crack in the armor. Find it. Fix it.
I can do this. I have to. If Demeter so much as senses what I’m, what Zack is feeling . . .
If Zack should walk in and see me, the real me . . .
It can’t happen.
I blow out a breath and struggle to stay calm. I talk myself through, step by step. Check the walls. Bring them down, one by one. Concentrate. Pull the power in. Raise the wall back up.
At last, I open my eyes, stifle a sob.
Nothing has changed.
The face staring back at me is still Ligea’s, and unless I take control of my feelings, deny Zack, I can’t protect him.
I close my eyes. Push everything that happened last night to the back of my mind. Remind myself who and what Zack is—a werewolf. More important, my partner. This job is the only chance I have to win my freedom. He can’t stand in my way. Anyone who does risks the unimaginable. Thinking we could have sex with no consequences was a foolish mistake because I can’t control the way Zack feels about me. I have to control the way I feel about him. I have to.
Concentrate, Emma. Accept the truth. You have no future with Zack. I close my eyes and patiently work through the steps again.
The change starts slowly. I feel it in the core of my being, feel myself disappearing. I open my eyes and watch the beauty fade. Faint lines appear around my eyes and mouth, my skin dulls, my hair loses its bounce.
Another sob escapes my lips. This time because it worked.
My human persona is back.
I open the bathroom door a sliver and peek out. Zack is still sound asleep. The mere fact that I want to keep him safe proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s in very serious danger. At some point during the night I slipped. I let down my guard. It can’t happen again. I need to have Liz check the spell, make sure there are no other leaks.
I head for the shower. Eye on the ball, Emma. You have a job to do. You have people counting on you. Liz is counting on you.
I just need to take this one step at a time. Concentrate. I’ll make a quick stop at the vegan bakery Liz frequents on the way over to Evan’s and pick up some of those almond coconut buns she likes. If I know Liz, and I do, she’ll have a pot of coffee ready, but she won’t have eaten. There are three vampires missing, including Evan. It’s time to go to work.
Redemption could be one rescue away.
CHAPTER 17
I park in Evan’s guest spot, but I don’t get out of the car. Not right away. I keep checking my reflection in the rearview mirror. If I wasn’t scrupulous enough in pulling back the power, Liz will see it the instant she sees me. So far, the glamour seems firmly in place. The plain Jane facade I show to the world is once again on display. And since no news from Demeter is good news, maybe my transgression went unnoticed.
I was lucky this time. But I can’t let myself think about Zack or our lovemaking or how his skin felt against mine or—
Shit. I bang my hand against the steering wheel. Pain jolts up my arm.
Double shit.
Stop it. Liz needs you.
I get out of the car and head in. Liz does her thing and pulls open the door before I have a chance to knock. I hold my breath. Is she going to say something about the fact that I’m still dressed in her gown?
Normally she’d never let something like that go. This morning, she’s too preoccupied and bleary-eyed to notice. Liz takes my hand and pulls me inside. She’s wearing the same clothes she had on the afternoon before, too.
I toss the pastry bag on the coffee table. “Did you get any sleep at all?”
She sinks onto the couch, buries her face in her hands. “I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t think.”
“I should have stayed here with you last night.” Maybe if I had . . .
She shakes her head, then drops her hands and looks up at me. “No, you had to go. You might have learned something. But you didn’t. Did you? If you had—”
I take both her hands in mine and sit next to her. “I’m sorry. We’re still following leads, but we don’t have anything definitive. I think it’s time you call the police.”
“But you and Zack will keep working on the case, too, won’t you? You’re not giving up? Please, tell me you’re not giving up!”
“Of course we won’t give up. I would never give up on someone so important to you. It’s just that the more people we have out looking for Evan, the better.” I reach for the bag and heft it in the palm of my hand. “Come on. Let’s have some breakfast.”
Liz reluctantly gets to her feet and I follow her to the kitchen. Her shoulders sag with weariness and worry. She’s exhausted both mentally and physically. I suppress the impulse to tell her about the other missing vampires. I can’t see that doing anything but adding to her misery. If we haven’t been able to find Amy and Isabella, it won’t be much consolation that Evan now makes three.
Liz goes through the motions of putting on a fresh pot of coffee as if working on autopilot. I take a dish from the pantry and lay out the pastries. The silence in the condo is like a third presence—oppressive, overwhelming. It’s not until we’re seated at the breakfast bar, cups in front of us, that Liz breaks it.
“What are his chances, Emma?”
She’s picking at one of the pastries, pulling it into small pieces, none of which make it to her mouth. She swivels to face me. “Don’t the police say that if a missing person isn’t found in forty-eight hours, odds are that he won’t be found at all?”
“You’ve been watching too much Law & Order,” I reply, keeping my tone light. “They have to say that on television because they only have an hour to tell a story. There are no hard and fast rules. We will find Evan. We’ll bring him home. Zack and I will make sure of it.”
For the first time since I walked in the door, Liz’s expression shifts from worry to surprise. She’s looking at me.
Really looking at me. “Something’s wrong. Emma, what are you doing?”
My stomach clenches. “I’m doing everything I can to find Evan. I promise you.”
She waves the words away with the back of a hand. “That isn’t what I meant and you know it. Why are you still dressed in that gown? You didn’t go home last night?” Her eyes bore into mine. “But you’ve showered. No makeup. Your hair is still damp.”
She stops, waiting for me to say something. What can I say?
When I turn my eyes away, she grabs my hand. “You and Zack? Tell me you haven’t let it go too far.”
Before I can think of a way to answer, she does it for me. “You’re falling for him. I can see it. You’re struggling to contain the glamour. He saw you. You let him see the real you, didn’t you? That’s why I didn’t hear from you last night.”
It’s as if she has a laser beamed into my head. “I was with him last night, yes. But I didn’t let him see me. I’m not even sure he did.”
“You didn’t let him? You’re not sure?” Liz throws up her hands. “Are we going to quibble over semantics? You know the risk. The danger. Not letting it happen and having it happen anyway? That’s even more serious. You’ve stayed under the radar for decades, but that doesn’t mean Demeter isn’t out there waiting for you to screw up. She’s a vindictive bitch. And you know that better than anyone. Remember the last man you fell in love with?”
I didn’t need Demeter’s graphic reminder the other night. And I certainly don’t need Liz’s now.
“Of course I remember. I buried him three days after our wedding.” Tears cloud my vision. It’s my turn to cover my face with my hands.
Liz’s voice softens. “It’s not too late. I can give you something.” She slips from the stool and disappears up the stairs.
I’m too numb to do anything but remain motionless, staring into my coffee and trying to wipe the image of a funeral on a bleak and dark December morning in Bristol from my mind.
When Liz returns, she has an envelope in her hand. She presses it into mine, holding on to me. “Grandma told me to keep this on hand, just in case something like this happened. Stir this into Zack’s coffee. It will erase his memory of any intimacy you’ve shared. You need to get back on course. You can’t fall in love with him.”
“By intimacy you mean . . . ?”
“Physical intimacy.”
“Zack isn’t stupid, and he’s not oblivious to magic. He’ll notice the gaps.”
“There won’t be any gaps. That’s part of the elegance of this particular spell. His own imagination will create alternative, plausible, and most important, safe scenarios. As far as he’ll be concerned, you’ll be platonic partners. That’s it. He’ll forget the night you shared. The threat will be gone.”
I look up at her through eyes glazed with tears. “There was more than one night.”
“What?”
“In Charleston. We slept together. After the case was over.”
Liz’s face pales. “Was that what you meant when you said you more than liked him? Emma, are you crazy? Did you know he was coming to San Diego? That he was going to be working with you?”
I shake my head, grab Liz’s hand for emphasis. “No. I had no idea. Do you think I’d go along with it if I had? This scares me, Liz. Zack scares me. But—” I lower my eyes, unable, unwilling to let Liz see what I know is reflected there. “I’m not sure I want him to forget.”
“You do, Emma. Of course you do. The two of you crossed a line. The kind you can’t easily take back. Hearts are involved. It’s the only way.”
“What if he doesn’t give up?”
“Listen, change the dynamic. Fool around all you want with Zack. Fuck him senseless every night. You’ve had hundreds of lovers. You just need to make sure he understands it’s nothing serious. That it can’t be anything serious. Keep your feelings hidden. The greatest sex he’s ever had completely without strings? No man on earth would turn down a relationship like that. And with the potion, he’ll accept it. He won’t remember anything different. Just don’t let him see the real you. Never let him see the real you. Do you understand?”
Like a puppet, my head bobs as if pulled by string. Liz is squeezing my hand. The glamour, the dampening spell, those were just to warm up for this particular moment. This is the one I’ve been paying Liz for all these years. She’s doing her job. But taking care of me has become more than a job. That’s why I see the compassion in her eyes.
But all I feel is numb.
I have to cut Zack loose and I don’t feel anything.
• • •
Before heading to the office, I do what I should have done before going to Liz’s. I stop at home to change. The detour takes me all of fifteen minutes. Then I’m on my way up the 163, the envelope she gave me weighing on my mind, a psychological brick in my handbag. Will I have the courage to use it?
I know Liz is right. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Give Zack the powder this morning, before he can do anything to make me change my mind.
Like say hello.
I’m heading for the elevator when I see her. Sarah. Standing off to one side in the lobby. Today she’s dressed more casually, in blue jeans, a white Georgette silk blouse, black boots, and a red brocade jacket. I resist the urge to ask her what she did with Captain Jack and the rest of the crew of the Black Pearl.
Partly because she’s bigger than me, partly because she looks pissed, really pissed, and the lobby is empty—I shift my bag to free the hand closer to my gun. Perhaps I’m being paranoid, but I feel better knowing it’s readily accessible.
Sarah sees the move, understands the implication. She holds up her hands. “I’m not here to hurt you,” she says.
We meet a few feet from the elevators. “Why are you here?”
“Not because I want to be, that’s for damn sure.” The woman drops her hands to her side. She looks younger than her thirty years, except for her eyes. They harbor the shadow of sadness, of disappointment, of fear. “I’m here because I need your help.”
“With Zack?”
She nods. “He likes you. I can tell.”
“We’re partners.”
She tilts her head to the side. “It’s more.”
“He told you that?”
“He didn’t have to. I know Zack, maybe better than anyone.”
“You’re pack mates?”
She looks surprised. “You know our other nature?”
“Yes.”
Sarah releases a breath. “Then you know he doesn’t belong here. He belongs with us, his own kind, where he can be free.”
“Free?”
“Free to run under the moon. To live without restrictions. To be penned up in a cage three nights every month, alone. It’s . . . unacceptable.”
“Unacceptable to whom? Zack has chosen a safe way to ride out the changeling times.”
Sarah pauses now. She takes a step closer. “Who are you to presume to know what’s safe for us?”
“I’m Zack’s partner”
“I’m his lover.”
Someone didn’t get the “ex” memo. “I heard it was over.”
Sarah’s posture becomes rigid. I get the distinct impression that if we weren’t in the lobby of an FBI field office, her hands would be around my throat. There had been softness in her eyes from sadness, fear. Now brittle determination makes them spark with anger. She doesn’t hold on to it long. In a flash it’s gone, replaced by smug indignation and a shiny new strategy.
“It didn’t feel over when we slept together the other night.”
They spent the night together? I don’t believe it. Or, if they did, I’d bet they didn’t have sex.
“Whatever.” I turn to push the call button for the elevator.
She grabs my arm in a viselike grip. “Feign disinterest all you want. I see the way you look at him.”
I slowly look down at her hand on my arm, then back up at Sarah. “You need to be talking to Zack. Not me.”
Her grip on my arm tightens. “You’re playing a dangerous game. You should know here and now, it’s one you won’t win. I cannot, will not, leave without Zack.”
Regr
et morphs to anger. I don’t take kindly to threats. Happily-ever-after may not be in the cards for Zack and me. But I’m dead certain he isn’t going to find it with Sarah, either. If he could have, he wouldn’t have pushed her away, wouldn’t have left her behind. I shake my arm free. “Whether Zack stays or goes is up to him.”
A flash of the wolf turns Sarah’s eyes blue. “Perhaps the decision will be made for him,” she growls. “Perhaps the reason for his staying will suddenly be taken from him.”
I may not have a werewolf’s strength, but my gun at this range would blow her clear across the hall. Superfast healing isn’t in my repertoire, but I’m secure in the fact that no matter what happens, I will eventually heal. Demeter would never finish me off when there was pain to be dealt. I’ve been around a long time. And I’ve experienced my fair share—been up against stronger, faster, and smarter than Sarah. I’d match my cunning and determination against this werewolf’s any day.
“You’re threatening the wrong girl. I know what you are and I know how to stop you. You think you can take me out? Give it your best shot,” I growl right back at her.
The rumble of the elevator behind us signals its approach. Half a dozen people spill out, including Kirk, the boss’ admin assistant. He steps between Sarah and me, momentarily blocking her from my sight.
“Hey, Monroe, the lottery’s up to thirty million. You want in? I’m going to buy tickets. You can’t win if you don’t play,” he points out for the hundredth time.
I reach into the pocket of my slacks, pull out a buck, and hand it to him, waving him away. The rest of the crowd has already dispersed. When he steps to the side, I no longer see Sarah.
“There was a woman here,” I say. “Did you see where she went?”
“Sorry,” he says. “No.”
I release an angry sigh. Sarah is gone.
CHAPTER 18
The confrontation with Sarah should have left me anxious. Instead, she’s made me curious . . . and sore. I’m sure I’ll have a glorious bruise on my arm where she grabbed me. Rubbing the spot, I decide it’s time I ask Zack if she poses a real threat or if it was all posturing—the attempts of a scorned lover to scare off the competition.
