Witch Blood

by Anya Bast

  Thomas tossed the papers to the table. “Then how helpful is this?”

  Micah shrugged. “It’s better than nothing.”

  He picked the papers up again and scanned the list of names. They couldn’t ignore them. One of the names he looked at now might be the name of the person that Boyle was currently targeting. There was nothing to do for the witches who weren’t registered, but somehow they had to find a way to cover all the witches on the list. “We’ll figure out a way to monitor them.” He scanned the list again. “Anyone we know on here?”

  Micah and Isabelle didn’t answer. Thomas raised his gaze from the sheet and glanced at both of them. Isabelle was looking hard at Micah, who looked guilty. Anger flared. “Tell me.”

  Micah indicated the paper he held. “On that list there? No. There’s no one on that list directly connected to the Coven.”

  Thomas’s fingers tightened on the sheets of paper. He hated it when people tried to conceal things from him. “And on the list before you cut out witches for location?”

  Isabelle glanced at Micah. “My mother was on there.”

  Thomas raised his gaze and studied her. “But you took her off because she’s no longer in the Chicago area?”

  “My mom left for California a couple of days ago.”

  Satisfied, he nodded. Folding the papers and sticking them in his inside suit jacket pocket, he said, “You both did very well to narrow it down to these names. I’m going now to see how we might be able to monitor these people.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” said Isabelle to Thomas, rising. “I need to meet Mira and Jack.”

  Together Thomas and Isabelle left Micah to his books and computers and headed into the corridor.

  Isabelle had leaked away a little the morning after the storm. More and more of her had followed in the days afterward. When she’d refused to continue to sleep in his room, even in the guest room, he’d wanted to push, to force her, but he hadn’t. These nights he slept alone.

  He’d known when he’d admitted his love for her it might scare her away. He’d told her how he felt against his better judgment, but he’d done it anyway because Thomas had sensed she’d needed to hear the truth.

  He’d been right about her fears and now he paid the price.

  She fell into step beside him.

  “What’s going on with you, Isabelle?”

  Isabelle’s steps faltered, but she didn’t reply.

  Thomas stopped in the middle of the corridor, grasped her upper arm and turned her to face him. He knew he wore a stormy expression. A storm had raged in him for weeks because of the demon and now because of Isabelle.

  Now she met his gaze, only because he forced her to. Her big brown eyes were wide and her lips trembled as she parted her lips to speak. “I care deeply about you.”

  “I hear a but coming up.”

  She hesitated. “I don’t want a commitment. You’re a wonderful man and the last thing I want to do is lead you on. This is just…bad timing.” Her voice shook with emotion. “I’m not ready for a relationship right now. You deserve better than what I’m able to give you.”

  “Bullshit. You’re just afraid.”

  “I just want you to move on, please. For your sake. Just forget about me.”

  “I could never forget about you, Isabelle.”

  She glanced down, her eyes sheened with tears. Her voice came out a whisper. “I never wanted to hurt you, Thomas.”

  It wasn’t the answer he wanted. A muscle worked in his jaw. “But you’re going to anyway, aren’t you?” He turned and walked away.

  TWENTY-TWO

  SHARP CLAWS SLICED THROUGH HER SKIN. THE PAIN was nothing compared to the hard suck in the center of her chest, where her power was being pulled from her like roots yanked out of the earth. Blood poured from her body just as she shed it psychically. She could do nothing, think nothing, move no part of her body—caught like a spider’s prey with demon toxin running though her veins.

  Trapped in the demon’s close, dark embrace.

  …clothing brushed her cheek and the musty scent of closet filled her nose…

  Isabelle sat bolt upright in her bed, panting hard. Perspiration covered her. She put a hand to the center of her chest, sensing desperately for the pulse of her magick. She pulled a strand, just a trickle, teasing the slight amount of moisture in the air around her. Her heart pounded so hard she feared an attack and the gentle thrum of her power calmed her.

  Scent tickled her nose—dry, earthy, a little bitter.

  Demon in the room.

  Isabelle went still and silent. Even her breathing stopped, arrested in her chest by perfect shock.

  No movement. No sound.

  Oh, Lady, she wasn’t ready.

  She opened her mouth, letting oxygen fill her. “Boyle? Are you there?” Her words fell into the quiet stronger than she expected. No quaver or shake to them. Apparently, all the quavering and shaking was going on inside her stomach.

  “You have hindered my plans.” The voice came from the corner and her gaze flew there to see a hulking shadow. “You guard my keys too closely.”

  The keys. The witches who were to come before her, yes. The ones on the list she and Micah had worked up. Isabelle had slipped her own data into the analysis, tweaking it so that the pattern ended on her exact magickal characteristics. It had narrowed the pool of potential victims between herself and the last two witches Boyle had taken from 375 to 151.

  Micah had discovered her tampering, as she’d been sure he would, and she’d been forced to reveal her secret. For his cousin’s protection, he had agreed to keep Boyle’s ultimatum between them, although she’d had to argue with him loudly and at length to get his promise. He’d also agreed to remove her name from the pool. She and her mother had both shown up on the victim’s list.

  Thomas had made good on his vow to protect those on the roster. He’d brought all those into the Coven who would come, set guards on the rest. Isabelle imagined that Boyle was finding his pickings to be more challenging.

  “But you have not stopped me,” Boyle continued. “Your head mage cannot protect all the possible keys.” His voice lowered ominously when he spoke next. “And he had better not try to protect you.”

  The shadow darted away. Boyle was gone. A soft rustling sound came from the direction of the window. The curtains moved a little from the breeze that blew. Isabelle hadn’t left the window open before she’d gone to bed. It was Boyle’s little way of letting her know he’d been in the room, watching her sleep…manipulating her dreams.

  “I knew you weren’t dead, you bastard!” she screamed toward the window. Her voice sounded harsh and filled with despair. A part of her had hoped so very hard that Thomas had killed him.

  Isabelle pushed the blankets back, rose, and slammed the window closed, locking it. For a moment she stood, staring out into the early morning, across the front lawn of the Coven.

  Soon.

  Boyle would be coming for her any night now, any day. He would come and trap her, take away her freedom, render her mute, motionless, helpless. Put her in a small, dark place. All her biggest fears.

  She closed her eyes. Lady, she didn’t want to die that way.

  Nausea rose up. She put a hand to her mouth and ran to the bathroom. After she’d finished, she sat on the floor and leaned her cheek against the cool porcelain of the bathtub, breathing heavily.

  All she wanted was Thomas. She wanted to leave right now and go to his room, crawl into his bed and let him comfort her. But what if tonight was the night? If Boyle came back, then she would be putting Thomas in harm’s way for her own selfish desires.

  That was the problem.

  The point was moot anyway. She’d burned that bridge. She’d done such a good job of putting distance between herself and Thomas, it was like an ice pick through her solar plexus every time he looked at her now. Sometimes her skills in empathy were not her friend.

  It was time to return to her apartment in the city. If she lef
t now, in the middle of the night, Thomas wouldn’t even know she was gone. When Boyle came for her, she wanted Thomas as far from her as possible. Even though it killed her to keep him at arm’s length, she did it for his protection.

  Ironic, that.

  Ironic that the man who wanted to protect everyone else was now the one she protected.

  Isabelle dropped her hand to her thigh, where she kept the syringe filled with the spelled liquid copper sheathed at all times. At the very least, maybe she could take the demon with her.

  She pushed up from the bathroom floor, brushed her teeth, and packed a bag. She’d been putting this off because, greedily, she didn’t want to put this much distance between herself and Thomas. This was the second irony of the night since just a couple of weeks ago the very idea of Thomas made her feel trapped. Now all she wanted was to stay with him. But the time had come. This little visit from Boyle made that fact clear.

  Apparently, settling in one place with one man simply wasn’t in the cards for her. Maybe if she could defeat the demon. Maybe…

  She shouldn’t consider maybes at this point. They were dangerous.

  She closed the door of her room at the Coven behind her and stepped into the corridor, bag in hand and copper knife in place in her wrist sheath. She didn’t go anywhere without that or the syringe these days.

  Just as soon as she’d heard the latch snick into place, the phone in the room rang. She stared at the door, wondering if she should answer it and decided against it. The ringing stopped, but in her pocket, her cell phone vibrated.

  It was three in the morning! Frowning, she fished it out and looked at the caller ID. It was Adam.

  She flipped it open. “Hello?”

  “Isabelle.” His breathing sounded exerted, like he was running while he spoke. “We need you. Boyle is in Gribben. He’s going after Stefan.” Click.

  Isabelle dropped her bag and ran. Boyle was here. That meant she had another shot at killing him before her time was up. She would grab on to that chance with both hands.

  Gribben sucked the magick out of her as soon as she crossed the threshold, making her lose a step and trip. She caught herself at the last moment and, dragging air into her suddenly starved lungs, righted herself and continued on. The guards recognized her and let her through without comment, telling her Thomas was in the bowels of the building.

  They didn’t have to tell her; she could feel Boyle. His very presence raised the hair on her body, and some kind of strange mixture of dread, terror, apprehension, and hope twisted her stomach. Lady, she hoped Boyle was as magickally hamstrung as they were in this place.

  She was about to find out.

  Isabelle reached the floor Stefan’s cell was on, slammed the door open, and continued to run. She turned a corner and caught sight of Thomas and Adam. Thomas turned toward her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Adam called me.”

  He turned and skewered Adam with his gaze. “Fuck, Adam! What are you thinking? Boyle gets her alone twice and that’s not enough for you?” Thomas rounded on her and snarled, “Get out of here, Isabelle.”

  “You asked me to help hunt Boyle, Thomas. Remember? That’s my job as defined by you at the beginning of this mess. I’m staying.” She walked toward him, voice and steps steady. “Where’s Boyle?” She noticed Stefan’s cell door was open. Alarmed, she gaped for a moment before exclaiming, “Hell, where’s Stefan?”

  Thomas moved to the side and let her peer into the padded suicide cell. Stefan sat on the floor, head bowed. Blood pooled at his feet, dripping from a wound in his head. Rips in his gray prison-issued clothing exposed his leg and chest.

  Why did Boyle want Stefan? Stefan hadn’t been on the potential victims list, unless they’d done their analysis wrong. But with her plugged in as the last victim, there was little chance of that.

  “We fought the demon off,” answered Adam. “Boyle has disappeared and Jack, Ingrid, Theo, and the others went after him. We’re guarding Stefan against his return.”

  Isabelle gave a short, bitter laugh. “We’re guarding Stefan?” Then she yelled, “The Duskoff are the reason Boyle is here!”

  “We have an agreement.” Thomas’s words whipped like a lash and made her wince. “He stays alive until Boyle is dead.”

  A roar from down the corridor behind her cut off Isabelle’s reply. It sent a shiver up her spine and reminded her of all those horror stories Angela used to tell her when they were kids. The monster in the basement was real and coming straight at her.

  Thomas took a couple of steps toward her, terror for her safety clear on his face. Another roar erupted behind her, closer this time. Thomas reached for her, but she pulled away from him. Boyle couldn’t kill her. Not yet. She was the safest of all of them at the moment.

  At the same time, Boyle appeared around the corner, radiating threat. Isabelle stared for a full moment, the stench of demon magick heavy in her nose. That answered whether or not he had magickical capabilities in Gribben.

  She felt naked without her magick, stripped to the bone. Even though their power wasn’t effective on Boyle, not having access to it at all in this place made her feel like tinfoil, easily crumpled.

  Blood coursed from the demon’s side, where someone had taken a sword to him. He looked at Thomas, but his gaze fixed on Isabelle, his massive chest heaving and his eyes red. “Stand aside. I have come for the warlock.”

  “You can’t have him, Boyle,” Isabelle said, her hand going to her sleeve, where her knife was secreted. She couldn’t believe those words had just come out of her mouth.

  He cocked his head to the side. “I don’t understand. I’m killing him for you. You tried to kill Stefan, ergo you want the warlock dead. This is a gift.”

  Shock shot through her and her mind sputtered to a halt before revving into thought overdrive. A gift? He was trying to kill Stefan as a gift? For her?

  “Where’s Jack?” Thomas demanded from his position beside and a little in front of her. “Where are the others?”

  “I came for Stefan. Not the aeamon who chased me.”

  “Where are they?”

  Boyle didn’t answer; he only raised a blast of demon magick and centered it at Thomas.

  Isabelle screamed as power rocketed through the air. Thomas flew backward into the wall behind him and hit with a sick sounding thump. Dread pulled an icy knot in her stomach as he crumpled to the floor.

  Boyle raised his power again and Isabelle whirled, screaming Adam’s name. Surely Boyle meant to hit him next. But it was too late. Demon magick arced through the air, saturating her nostrils with the scent of old other-Earth. Adam went down, sprawled in an unnatural position on the concrete floor, while Isabelle watched.

  “I do this for you, Isabelle Novak.” The demon almost sounded hurt. As if he’d given her a gift that she’d thrown back in his face.

  Her eyes wide and her chest heaving—how much stress could one take before one broke?—she glanced at Adam and then at Thomas. They both still appeared to be breathing, thank the Lord and Lady.

  She turned her attention back to Boyle. “I did want to kill Stefan, Boyle. I wanted to kill him at first because I couldn’t find you. I want to kill you, don’t you understand? You killed my sister!” She screamed the last sentence.

  The demon shook his head. “No, I don’t understand. I have lived in your home for all these years. I have lived among you, passed for one of you, but I still don’t understand you, aeamon.” He looked off into the distance and almost seemed…sad. “I want to go home.”

  Isabelle remained unmoved. However, she did move.

  Taking advantage of his distraction, she reached down, pulled the syringe free and rushed him. All she had to do was get the needle in him somewhere. Anywhere.

  She’d taken him by surprise and managed to sink the needle through the fabric of his shirt and hit flesh, piercing his chest. Before she could press the plunger down and shoot the liquid in, Boyle roared, raised his arm and knocked her backward.<
br />
  She went sprawling onto her ass. Her elbows hit hard. Pain exploded. She struggled to stare up at the demon, knowing that to take her gaze from him now meant lots of agony for her later.

  The demon stared down at the syringe poking out of his chest, reached down and pulled it out. All of Isabelle’s hopes crashed as Boyle tossed it to the side, like a piece of refuse. Involuntarily, she lurched forward and reached out as if to catch it and then collapsed in a heap at Boyle’s feet.

  Boyle stared down at her for a moment, his lips parted so she could see the tips of his double row of pointed teeth. His eyes blazed red. He raised his hand and magick pulsed through the air, coating the back of her throat with the dry, bitter flavor of it.

  Staring up at Boyle, Isabelle could see her impending death. Inwardly, she groped for power and came up empty, all of it stripped away by Gribben. But these walls didn’t affect Boyle. His magick remained strong, vibrant. His desire to use it with killing force now stood clearly on his face.

  Magick rippled and Isabelle felt something warm running over her upper lip—her nose had begun to bleed.

  The demon moved his hand and she cringed, waiting for the blast that would end her life. Then he hesitated, lowered his hand. “I can’t kill you now. Later. Soon.”

  He stepped over her, leaving her sprawled on the ground, and headed into Stefan’s cell.

  Isabelle lay for a moment, overwhelmed with relief that she’d dodged Boyle’s temper…for the moment. Then she pushed up, hardly believing what she was about to do. How the hell had she’d gone from trying to kill the head of the Duskoff to trying to save his miserable life? She lunged after Boyle.

  Isabelle careened through the space the demon had just occupied and slammed into the doorjamb of Stefan’s cell, breathing heavy. Raising her gaze, she stared into the empty room. Boyle was gone.

  So was Stefan.

  TWENTY-THREE

  ISABELLE WHIRLED TOWARD THE TWO FALLEN MEN, but her thoughts whirled faster. Had Boyle pulled Stefan through a doorway to kill him at his leisure elsewhere? Or had Stefan taken the opportunity to flee while she’d feared for her life at Boyle’s feet?