by Jamie Craig
He could have repeated the endearment. He could have said to Jesse, "I'd do anything for you," or even a simple, "Thank you for trying to make things better tonight." But Gideon didn't. He knew he didn't need to. Jesse already knew all of that.
So he simply lifted his head and kissed him. And then kissed him again. And continued kissing him until the unmistakable shift from the next room meant they were going to get interrupted soon anyway.
"Emma's stirring," he murmured. "Let's go to bed and keep her there."
Wordlessly, Jesse nodded, and they rose together, fingers entwined, to join her in their bed.
Chapter 20
* * *
Absently, Jesse rubbed the marks on his throat and listened as the melodic doorbell echoed through the house. It sounded silent inside--like a tomb, he couldn't help but think. The chimes faded, and he counted to ten before trying again. It wasn't like John to leave a person standing outside. It was rude. John was coy, maddening at times, but he was never rude.
It occurred to Jesse that John might have gone out, but John had been weak enough four days ago. Jesse doubted he would be up for an excursion now. He leaned over the railing of the porch and tried to peer through the window, but as always, the heavy curtain was pulled tight. He shifted uneasily, considering his options. There weren't many. He could leave. He could pound on the door until John opened it. He could break in.
Jesse knew he wouldn't leave, not now. Apprehension cloaked him. Pounding on the door might do as much good as repeatedly ringing the bell. If he was sick, or worse, and couldn't open the door, making a commotion wouldn't change anything. It certainly wouldn't help John. He knew how to pick a lock--that part was easy enough--but God only knew what sort of magical alerts and alarm systems he had set up. The last thing he needed was to have his eyeballs boiled, or his intestines liquefied. Or both.
On the other hand, the last ritual might have drained John's power sufficiently that his wards had been depleted. It wasn't a reasonable risk, but it wasn't totally insane either.
He pulled his bag open and dug past the books he brought to help John. Beneath the texts, the weapons, and the first-aid kit was a leather case of tools. He dropped the heavy bag and hunkered down so he was eye level with the knob. The house was old, the locks ancient, and he had the door open in less than five minutes. The ease in which he picked the lock was warning enough. It was obvious John never bothered to get something safer because he didn't need to hide behind a mere deadbolt.
Jesse turned the knob, stepped back, and pushed the door open with his foot. Something like green lightning jumped through the darkness, but fizzled before it reached him. He nudged the door open wider, sparks of green and something closer to blue reaching for him and then fizzling. He pulled a twig from the bush that curled around the porch railing and tossed it into the foyer. It landed on the floor safely, uncharred. Knowing that his flesh might not fare so well, he shouted, "John? Are you here? Can you hear me?"
A sound. Something weak and shapeless from upstairs. It might have been a word, but Jesse couldn't make it out. Taking a deep breath, he stepped over the threshold.
Nothing happened.
As soon as he realized the magic wasn't going to harm him, he shut and locked the door, then raced up the steep flight of stairs, calling John's name again.
The upper hallway was dim and narrow, remnant of a solitary life and an era gone by. Any other occasion, Jesse would be fascinated about being allowed into John's inner sanctum, but a repeat of the sound he'd heard at the porch focused his attention on the lone open door. He hurried to it, only to pause on the threshold.
Like downstairs, the curtains were drawn tight against the morning sunshine. The sole illumination in the room came from a lamp on the nightstand, and it cast a pale yellow light over the small figure on the bed. Jesse's breath caught. John was barely recognizable. The blankets were tucked close under his chin, and the pall that had settled over his skin made him look like a corpse. His eyes were so sunken, they appeared bruised, and his raspy breathing was audible even across the room.
In spite of his dreadful appearance, John offered a ghost of a smile at Jesse's arrival. "My apologies for not getting the door." His voice had taken on the same anemic aspect as his features. "Though your presence means my wards failed. I suppose that's not a good thing."
"No, it's not," Jesse murmured, hurrying over to the bed. "But don't worry about that now. I can put up more. Or..." He was about to say he'd bring John home with him, but he couldn't imagine either Gideon or John agreeing to that plan. Still, he might veto both of them. He looked at the shadow in the bed helplessly. "I could make you some tea," he finally offered, knowing that John didn't need tea.
"You could," John agreed. "If you feel the need for recompense. But we both know tea is not going to change last night's outcome."
Recompense. It would be too easy for Jesse to bow his head, apologize, try to shuffle and explain that he was blindsided, and he could have done, should have done, everything differently. But Gideon's words from the night before stuck with him. It's not your fault. He'd take Gideon's word for it.
"No, it's not," he agreed. "That's why I'm here, though. There's got to be something we can do to reverse the effects. Something we can find."
John tried to laugh, but it came out as a wheeze, starting a coughing fit that had him curled up on his side as he struggled to breathe. "Don't you think I thought of that?" he finally said when his lungs had stopped torturing him. "If there was a way, I would have done it, rest assured."
Jesse took a deep breath. "Yes, John, I know that if you had anything helpful to contribute, you would have done it already. Now I can leave you here to brood about the futility of the situation, or you can tell me where to find your books, and we can get to work."
John's eyes narrowed, a glimmer of his cunning shining in their depths. "Why would you go to these lengths? Why not kill the man at the next attempt?"
"Because it's not as simple as that. We might have been able to stop him last night, but he locked us in the church with some sort of barrier spell, and then he teleported out of the building. That was before the ritual. He's too strong for Gideon to take physically, and I'm not a mage. We go to these lengths now, or I'll make tea and we can plan your final arrangements."
The bravado that had attempted to break through the bitter shell vanished, and John sank back into the pillows. "Could I trouble you for some lunch before we start? I had a grocery delivery yesterday, so the kitchen's fully stocked. We'll have to work up here, I'm afraid, though if I eat, I should be able to sit up to read."
Jesse nodded. "I'll be right back."
He hated to leave John alone in the room, but he went down to the kitchen without hesitation. He put the kettle on first, and while the water heated, began sorting through the fridge and cupboards. It took fifteen minutes to put together a modest meal of soup, a simple sandwich, and a pot of tea. Jesse placed it all on a tray and carried it upstairs.
John hadn't moved an inch while Jesse was gone, and his eyes were closed. He was so still, Jesse feared he was too late--it was all too little too late. But his eyes fluttered open once again as Jess approached the bed, and he positioned the tray over John's lap.
"Let's try a bit of tea first, shall we?" Jesse asked, settling on the edge of the bed and carefully pouring the steamy liquid into a cup.
John braced his elbows against the mattress, pushing himself upright. Beads of sweat popped up on his brow, but before Jesse could slip an arm beneath him to help him up, John was reaching for his drink, the faintest of tremors in his hands.
"Were you able to at least discern the thief's identity?" he said. He cradled the cup between his palms, his usual fussiness gone as he stole the heat from the ceramic. "I'd like very much to know who to kill when we reverse this."
"No," Jesse admitted, watching John's hands. The tea wasn't hot enough to burn him, but in his weakened state, it could still do his thin skin damage should John
spill it. "He was wearing a cloak, and it was very dark. I don't think Gideon got a good look at him either."
John sighed. "So much for vampires' superior vision. Or strength."
Jesse didn't mind shouldering the responsibility for John's current state, but he would absolutely not allow him to shove the blame onto Gideon. He opened his mouth to voice a sharp retort, but John's hand shook as he lifted the cup to his mouth. Gideon didn't need him to defend his honor, anyway.
"Do you want to try your soup?"
"In a moment. Perhaps you should fetch some of my texts while the tea takes effect." He nodded toward the nightstand. "There's a keyring in the uppermost drawer. The smallest unlocks the barrister in the room two doors down without setting off the wards. If I have anything at all that might help, it'll be there."
Jesse thought he could probably smash the glass out of the bookshelf without setting off wards, but he didn't say as much. Leaving John to his tea, he palmed the keyring and left the room. He didn't know what to expect to find behind the second door to his left, but it wasn't the rather comfortable, if a bit overstated, study. The barrister took up most of the back wall, and Jesse moved through the room as softly and carefully as he moved through any library.
The room may not have been impressive, but the volumes Jesse found took his breath away. They were the sort of books he had heard about, lusted after even, but never hoped to find. He pulled the first thin, leather-bound volume out to study the title, and his heart sank. Had John already looked through these as he claimed? If so, and he found nothing, there would be nowhere else to turn. These books were the ultimate authority. His own collection was bush league, compared to this.
Jesse carefully stacked as many of the books as he could carry in his arms, and returned to the bedroom. John had the spoon in his hand, his fingers curved around the handle like a claw.
A single brow shot up. "You're either feeling ambitious, or you were too distracted by my collection to be discerning," he commented. He lifted the spoon to his mouth, excruciatingly slow, but the vise-like grip on the spoon kept the utensil steady enough for the soup to make it past his lips. "Do you have notions of where you wish to start?"
"I am feeling ambitious, and yes, a small notion. Most of these books probably won't be any help, but..." But he liked having them near. "It's best to be prepared," Jesse said, arranging the books on the desk near the window. He lined his own books up beside them, then went through the familiar ritual of preparing to research. "I'm going to start with channeling spells. I know a few already, but they won't be anywhere near strong enough. We need something powerful, and focused, and quick. Much quicker than what he's doing."
Only the sound of John's careful sips filled the room as Jess finished getting settled. When he sat down, he glanced back to see John toying with his spoon, his bowl still half-full.
"If this fails," he said quietly, "my library is yours. I'd prefer it be in the custody of someone who will truly appreciate it."
Jesse blinked. "Thank you. But it won't fail."
I won't fail.
* * * *
Emma stopped at her parents' favorite Italian restaurant for the dinner she'd promised Jesse she'd take to John. Laden with baked ziti, ricotta gnocchi, and enough tiramisu to feed a small army, she followed the directions Jesse had given her to John's house, grateful that his Jeep was still parked out front. She would have visited John anyway, even if Jesse hadn't been there. But Jess would be a buffer to her own tumult if John's health had deteriorated even further as he suspected.
With her hands full with the carryout bags, Emma had to use her elbow to press the doorbell, stepping back to allow John room to answer the door. Her eyes widened when it opened to reveal Jesse instead.
"Where's John?" she asked.
Jesse took the bags from her and ushered her inside. "He's in bed, resting. He's very weak."
Though he started down the hallway as soon as the door was shut behind her, Emma hesitated. "Should he have company then? I don't want to make it worse."
Jesse hesitated. "Come upstairs. I promise, you won't make things worse. He'll be...quite happy to see you."
She followed him up the stairs, reaching out to try and make sense of his odd mood. He was calmer than he had been that morning, and some of the fear that had laced his emotions was gone. It was replaced by something sharper, something almost belligerent and determined, leaving Emma to wonder what it was that had provoked him.
The room he led her into was sad and dim, books in disarray over the bed and desk. John sat up against the headboard, and though his color was even worse than the last time she had seen him, there was a fervent gleam in his eye and enough hope rolling off him to alleviate some of her concern.
"I hope you're hungry," she said with a bright smile. "I've brought some of the best Italian food in town, and I'm not leaving until it's all gone."
John smiled. "I'm sure we can do something about that, can't we, Mr. Madding?"
Jesse only nodded distractedly as he began to clear a place at the table for the food. Emma didn't miss the reverent way he handled the books, as though they were something more than precious. He gestured at the chair beside the bed, indicating she should sit, then began unpacking the food.
"Do you think you can handle a little ziti?" Jesse asked John over his shoulder.
John's smile followed her as she took a seat, and he reached across to pat her hand, his skin papery and dry. "And miss out on the best Italian food in town? Never."
"Of course not. How silly of me," Jesse said as he dished out the food.
Jess handed one full plate to her, and set a much smaller portion on the tray in front of John. John barely acknowledged the food, his eyes still on her. Jesse sat at the foot of the bed with his own plate, but he seemed even less interested in his dinner than John did.
Emma pretended not to be aware of their focus on her and speared one of the gnocchi. "Your room looks like Jesse's office," she said. "Do all the books mean you found something that'll help, or does it mean you just love them as much as he does?"
"A little bit of both, actually," John replied.
"He's understating a thing. John is a bigger bibliophile than I am," Jesse told her. "But he's got more resources to do something about it." He chewed a gnocchi thoughtfully. "And we found what I hoped we would. A solution, of sorts."
She brightened. "But that's a good thing!"
"It's an excellent thing," John corrected. "Mr. Madding had quite an ingenious suggestion that pointed us in the right direction. He would have made quite the mage, if he'd ever chosen to pursue that path with any diligence."
Emma expected Jesse to show some satisfaction at the praise, but it was almost like Jess didn't hear him at all. "It is a good thing, but we're not quite finished yet. We're still missing two important elements."
"And what are those?"
"Our funnels, if you will," John interjected. "We've found the most interesting little spell that will siphon the power away from this thief stealing mine, and divert it back to the two original sources. All we need are two focal points to attract and then redirect that power after we've done the spell." His eyes were bright, so fixed on her that she had to stifle a shiver. "Like empaths, for instance."
Her gaze shot to Jesse. "Is that true?"
Jesse met her eyes and nodded slowly. "There were a few others, but we feared they weren't stable enough. This spell though...it's very, very powerful and due to its nature, has very few risks."
Emma frowned. She wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her it wasn't dangerous, or trying to warn her away. "So what's the problem?" she asked carefully.
Jesse smiled wryly. "You mean besides the fact I don't want to ask you to take the risk, and Gideon will have a coronary if he learns of this plan?"
"Gideon needs to learn how to stop being so controlling," John complained. "You tried this his way. Now we try it ours."
Jesse ignored John's interjection. "But I wouldn't as
k if I thought you would be hurt, Emma. No matter the risk of not performing the spell."
"But I could help? If I did this. It would stop this man from hurting John any more?"
Jesse nodded. "More than that. Not only will it restore John's strength, it'll stop him from using his newly gained powers against the city. But we need two empaths."
His implication was clear, and a week ago, Emma wouldn't have hesitated. Now, she felt all the color leech away from her face.
"You need Ethan, too," she said softly.
"Yeah, I do," Jesse said, setting his plate aside. "I wish that wasn't the case. I don't think Ethan will be in any sort of mood to help me."
She didn't think Ethan would be in any sort of mood to help her, either, but one look at John was all Emma needed to know she at least had to try. "What if he won't do it? Will it still work?"
Jesse shook his head. "No, we need two focal points because he's using two focal points. If we don't have two empaths standing in the center of the enneagrams, the spell would just fizzle out."
"If we're lucky," John cut in.
"If we're lucky," Jesse agreed. "It could fizzle out or backfire. Either way, not good for us."
Backfiring was not an option. Neither was seeing John die when there was a way to save him. As painful as it was going to be to do it, Emma knew speaking with Ethan was the only choice she had.
"I'll do it," she said softly. "How much time do we have?"
"Three days," John said, the elation evident in his thin voice.
Jesse didn't look as elated. His face was closed and serious as he stood and came to her side. He dropped to one knee beside her and took the plate from her hand. "Emma, I appreciate your willingness to do this. It's going to be very...overwhelming for you. Draining. It'll take some time to recover. This isn't going to be simple. Once we start on this, you can't change your mind."
