by Deanna Chase
Armand stopped eating. “How in the hell is that good news? Lady, I saw a ghost. And I feel like an idiot just for saying it.”
Sasha halted her march. “For your information, that was not a ghost you saw. It was a demon, or at least one of their minions.”
“What are you talking…”
“…and demons,” she interrupted, “aren’t anything to mess with. If it just wanted to feed off of your anger or your fear, consider yourself lucky.”
Armand dropped his half-eaten biscuit and pushed his fingers into his temples. The pounding in his brain had returned. Things had gotten too weird, too fast, and it was all he could do to keep from going ape.
“It might be the sleeping pills or the booze or the fact I haven’t watched a goddamned TV show or even heard a normal song in well over a month, but you almost had me believing in this shit. With your weird dances and your fake Latin.” He looked from Dora to Sasha. “If you two want to live your life like every day is Halloween, that’s your thing. I don’t believe in witches and I don’t believe in demons.”
Sasha narrowed her eyes. “Well, I suggest you start.” She brushed a lock of hair from her face. “I don’t care if you believe in what Dora and I do, but as far as demons go, disbelief is the greatest weapon they have. They’ve spent millennia trying to make people like you think they are nothing but myth. But I assure you, warlock, they are as real as you and me.”
“I need a shower.” Armand stood, shaking the crumbs from his hands onto the floor.
Dora retrieved a broom and immediately started sweeping. “Ya got that right.”
“It’s the last door on the left.” Sasha pointed down the shadowy hallway.
Armand remembered the creature in his chair and a shiver crawled down his spine. He suddenly wasn’t keen on being alone at the moment, no matter what he told the women he didn’t believe in.
Sasha handed him a bar of soap. “Before you go, can you tell us if you’ve encountered anything like this before?”
“Huh?” He looked at the soap in his hand, then down the hallway again. “Why?”
“Because your energy, combined with your abilities, might be particularly appealing to those types. They feed off those who are gifted, especially the untrained.”
Armand hesitated, wondering how much to reveal. At last, he shrugged. What was one more egg to add to the cuckoo’s nest?
“I saw a cloaked rider on a dark horse,” he confessed, almost laughing at the absurdity of it.
Dora and Sasha exchanged glances.
“When?” Sasha asked.
“Yesterday. In the alley.”
Dora swallowed. When she spoke again her voice wavered. “Did the rider…speak, or show ya anything?”
Armand tightened his grip around the soap. “Yes. He said ‘you,’ and showed me a set of silver…”
“… scales,” Sasha finished.
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh, dear,” Dora now poured herself a cup of tea, her fingers trembling so badly she could hardly keep the pot steady.
“Oh, dear? What does that mean? You’ve heard of this horse guy before?”
Sasha nodded. “It means stage three has begun.”
She pressed her hands to her chest in a prayer posture, her eyes darting between Dora and Armand. Finally, she took a deep breath and exhaled, nodding reassuringly to herself.
“Stage three.” Dora picked up her cup, spilling some of the tea in the process. “I thought we’d have more time. It hasn’t been that long since the last one.”
“The last one of what?” Armand demanded.
Sasha ignored Armand and spoke straight to Dora.
“The world is speeding up. There’s nothing we can do about it.” She paused, turning her attention to the window. Outside, three small girls were skipping rope. “It’s time to head home, Dora. And Armand will be coming with us.”
Armand blinked rapidly. “Where is home and why do I need to go with you?”
Dora lifted her chin, the cup in her hand still trembling. “Dark Root, Oregon. It is time for us to build The Council.”
“You two seem like nice women and all, but I don’t think I’ll be going with you to Dark Root.” Armand thrust his hands into his pocket as he stood before the fountain.
The cherubs chirped and gurgled, recording all of the bad things that he was doing, while ignoring the bad things that freely roamed the land.
Sasha stood before him in a sleeveless, blue cotton dress, not at all cold as the temperature dropped. She turned her eyes on the horizon, watching as the setting sun cast a pink film across the otherwise gray landscape.
“We have no choice,” she said, her voice far away.
She might not think she had a choice, but he certainly did. His life was back in California. Why the hell would he go to some hick town he’d never even heard of until tonight?
“You’ll go because it’s the right thing to do,” Sasha said, crossing her arms to face him.
His mouth fell open. “I thought you couldn’t read minds,” he said, feeling as though he’d been caught pilfering from the church collection bowl.
She shook her head. “It was a guess, based on your silence. And no, I can’t read minds. That is a very rare gift, and for good reason. Someone who has access to other’s thoughts can cause all sorts of trouble.”
She looked him up and down, as if to prove her point.
Armand couldn’t argue.
He had discovered his gift when he was in the second grade. He used it to know when the teacher was having a bad day and how to make that day even worse. It served her right. She was the only teacher who assigned homework on the weekend.
He never told anyone about his gift, though a few had guessed. His mother learned about it only in her last year, when he’d confronted her with the cancer she had kept hidden.
After that, she was more worried about his soul than her own.
Armand stared at Sasha’s feet, aware of how exposed he felt. He had spent his whole life hiding who he was, and yet she seemed to know him completely.
“I don’t read thoughts,” she repeated calmly. “But I can feel and see energy. And there’s a lot that can be surmised by every flicker of an aura.”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Yes. I agree.”
Sasha stepped forward, closing the gap between them, her slim body only a breath from his. He took her hands, surprised at how easily the energy flowed between them. Visible cords of red and white light wound themselves around one another, passing between them.
“We’re the same,” he said. “I never thought I’d meet another.” His voice tightened and he wished he had a drink.
“The same isn’t always good. Think about magnets.” She lowered her eyes and thought for a moment. “There are more of us, scattered across the world, but Dora and I were sent specifically for you.”
“That can’t be right. I’m no good.” He took one tiny step closer, linking his arms loosely around her waist, breathing in her lavender and roses scent.
“I don’t know why you were picked, either,” she sighed. “Dora saw it in her visions, that we were to come here and find our first disciple.” She sighed again, heavier this time. “I never ignore Dora’s visions. Not anymore.”
There was a sadness in her voice that made Armand feel strangely protective. He tightened his embrace.
“You’ll come with us,” she said resolutely. Her body tensed in his arms.
He lifted her pointy chin, staring into her bewitching eyes. He had felt a glimmer of a connection with Isabella, but nothing compared to the way he felt now.
“If I come with you, what will we do?” He brushed her lips with his. Not quite a kiss, but it was enough, for now.
“I’m not sure. I only know that I’m supposed to take you to Dark Root and form The Council.” She gritted her teeth and pulled away. “If only Dora’s visions were clearer. It sounds silly, I know, even to me. I’m sorry I don’t have better answers.”
His abilities alone were proof of that.
Sasha linked arms with him and the two strolled along the stone road that cut through the square. The lights were out in all of the nearby shops and the sun had fully set, yet Armand could still make out every detail of her face.
He leaned against the wall of the bakery, the smell of the day’s bread still strong in the air.
“If I told you that I sleep with women to… ”
He clamped his mouth shut, immediately regretting his words. He hoped that she really couldn’t read minds as a reel of his sexual encounters played through his mind.
Sasha’s energy changed from warmth to ice. He didn’t need to read minds to know that she was jealous.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Sometimes I forget…”
“Don’t be,” she shrugged, her aura pulling in. “I’m no angel myself.”
Now it was Armand who was jealous.
The thought of another man touching her, any man, triggered a strange need to possess her. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands to keep from saying anything.
“Let’s stop this,” she said, shaking her head. “We have no claims on one another. And it is no secret why you seduce women you don’t care about. Just like demons feed off fear, you feed off a woman’s sexual energy. All warlocks do.”
When he didn’t respond, she laughed. “You seem embarrassed. You shouldn’t be. That’s in the past. At least, I hope. But done correctly, sex is a beautiful thing.”
Armand raised an eyebrow. “Not according to my mother.”
“Love and sex are the most powerful forms of connection. It’s great when they go together, but they don’t have to.
“…Still, you must be careful,” she continued. “You can connect too much. It is easy to create false expectations.”
He remembered Isabella.
“Yes,” he nodded, placing his hand over his shirt pocket where her flower had once been.
“Dora doesn’t trust you,” Sasha said, changing the subject. “Doesn’t trust any warlock, in fact. I can’t say that I blame her. Men only care about power. All the wars that have ever been fought can attest to that.”
“That’s not a fair statement. I’m sure there are plenty of men who care about things other than themselves.”
“Like you?” Sasha glided towards a pole where the children hung ribbons and danced. She twirled herself around it, her eyes never leaving Armand’s.
“But you trust me enough to take me to Dark Root?”
She shrugged. “As I’ve said, I have no choice.”
Three white birds gathered at his feet, pecking at the bits of food that had been left behind by bakery customers. They took the last of the crumbs and flew away, small flecks of alabaster against the evening sky. Armand remembered the black bird in his windowsill, and its unholy caw.
The memory still sent shivers down his back.
“I’m here looking for my father,” he confessed as she continued her twirl. “He lived in this village before the revolution.”
Sasha returned to Armand’s side. “What’s his name? I can try to get a read on him, to see if any of his energy still lingers here.”
Armand’s pulse quickened. He had tried to do that himself, but it hadn’t worked. Perhaps she could.
“His name was Sebastian Diaz.”
She raised her hands, her fingers working circles in the air. She spoke to the moon and the winds.
Finally, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. He doesn’t want you to find him.”
Armand pressed his palms into his temples. He had suspected as much. “I could have read my mother’s thoughts to find out more, but I could never bring myself to do it. I was afraid of what I’d discover.”
“I didn’t know my father, either.” Sasha smiled sadly. “My mother says he died before I was born.”
A strong breeze swept through and Sasha shivered, though Armand was not convinced it had to do with her being cold.
“Let’s head back,” he said.
As they walked, she asked, “Your mother was a religious woman?”
“To say the least! I blame communion for my love of wine.” He smiled, remembering all the Sundays they’d spent in church when he wanted to be out playing with his friends.
He’d give anything to have one of those days back with his mother.
Just before they reached her apartment, Sasha halted.
Armand was glad. He wasn’t ready to end the night.
Sasha reached for his hand, her eyes sparkling. “Have you ever made love to a woman without taking from her?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.”
He thought about it. Even with Isabella he had taken. “No, I guess I haven’t.”
She opened her apartment door. Smiling at him over her shoulder, she asked, “Care to give it a try?”
Ten
Armand smiled down at Sasha’s lovely face. His wet hair hung in limp strands that draped her cheeks. They had been going at it for hours now; him on top, then her, then back again. His knees trembled, his heart raced, and his body threatened to give out.
But Sasha wasn’t tired. In fact, she seemed more invigorated with each passing minute.
With what remained of his strength he rolled off of her, soaked in his own perspiration.
“That was nice,” Sasha said, grasping his hand and kissing the tips of his fingers.
“Nice?” He turned his head in her direction, staring at her in disbelief.
“Okay, very nice. How would you describe it?”
The word amazing came to mind, followed by surreal.
He hadn’t siphoned from her, and not because he didn’t try. But knowing that he couldn’t take from her had allowed him to be more present in the experience itself. It was the best sex he’d ever had, but it had left him physically depleted.
She crawled out of her bed and pulled on her blue dress. Checking her reflection in the vanity mirror, she twined her damp curls into a braid.
“Shall we find something to eat?” she said. “Sex always makes me hungry.”
He had thought himself an expert on the subject of making love, but after his round with Sasha he felt like a teenaged boy. A lightning bolt of jealousy shot through him as he imagined how many lovers had helped propel her to mastery in the bedroom.
“Oh, don’t sulk,” she said, sensing the change in his mood. “You knew I wasn’t a virgin.”
Folding his arms behind his head, he watched as she continued to primp. “I don’t care what you’ve done in the past,” he lied.
“Then you’d be the first one.”
Sasha left the room and Armand watched the clock as he dabbed his wet face with her sheet. It smelled of roses. Ten minutes later she returned with a tray of sandwiches cut into small triangles. She sat at the edge of the bed, placing the tray between them.
“We shouldn’t tell Dora.” Sasha finished one sandwich and started on another. “She might not approve, especially since you are coming with us.”
She handed him a sandwich and he pushed it away.
“I still never said I was coming with you.”
“No,” she said, “but you implied it.”
He enjoyed that he was getting to her. He needed to feel in control again.
“Why do women always assume that sex comes with a contract?” For good measure, he glanced at the tray of sandwiches, which was disappearing quickly. “And if you keep eating like that, you’ll get fat.”
Sasha bunched her lips and Armand readied himself for a rebuttal. Instead, she set the tray on the floor and lay down beside him.
“I didn’t assume anything.” She kissed his bare chest, working her way to his navel. “I was referring to what you said before we made love.”
“You can never
believe anything a man says when he’s trying to get in your pants.” He closed his eyes, luxuriating in the feel of her warm lips on his bare skin.
“Oh?”
He could feel the warmth of her breath grazing the tops of his thighs. He arched his hips, willing her lips to make contact, but that only succeeding in making her pull further away.
“You mean you aren’t ready to fall in love and start a family?” she said.
His eyes snapped open. “Ah, hell. When did I say that?”
“Right before you…” She blew across his navel.
“You’re toying with me, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“You keep kissing me like that and I’ll do anything you want.”
“Spoken like a true man.” Her lips wound their way back up his chest, sending pleasurable shivers across his body.
Armand relaxed, immersing himself in the sensation.
“But I will do this.” She directed him to a sitting position against the headboard. She hiked her skirt and straddled him, her bare legs warm and inviting. “I didn’t let you take from me earlier. You must be exhausted.”
She blew on her hands and her fingertips glowed an enticing blue. She placed them on his chest. Armand felt his energy return. In fact, he felt even stronger now than he did before their tryst. She removed her hands and the blue light faded away.
“There, all better.”
He suckled her neck with renewed desire, tasting the salt of her sweat. He was hungry again. Ravenous, in fact. “I think I could love you,” he whispered.
Her body stiffened. The light around her snuffed, like someone had blown out a candle.
She touched his cheek, almost with pity. “You mean it, don’t you?”
He shook his head, about to protest.
Sasha pressed a finger to his lips. “I’m sorry, but I can never love you.” She kissed his hand and left her lips there. “I don’t think I can ever love anyone.”
Armand felt a stabbing sensation in his chest. He lifted her face to meet his.
“I was teasing,” he grinned. “We’re the same, remember? I don’t think I can love anyone, either.”
