Out of Mind

by Stella Cameron

  Slowly, Willow dropped her hand. Her head still felt weird. “I’m glad I could help.”

  “We have no idea what caused all that bedlam in the garden,” Chloe said. “A freak thing is the only answer we can get. It frightened you a lot, didn’t it?”

  This was Willow’s chance to explain her disappearance from the party—if she chose to take it. “I’m not great with storms.” It sounded pretty weak.

  “Neither am I. Val and I hope you’ll give real consideration to working for us. You probably don’t have enough time to do all we’d like to have you do—at least at first—but we’ll take whatever you can give us.”

  We’re getting more openings by the minute. “We’d better make sure you know what’s been happening,” she said. “About the two people who have died and the police thinking Mean ’n Green could be involved in some way.”

  “Yes, but it’s ridiculous,” Chloe said. “Don’t worry about it. The police are desperate for suspects.”

  Willow agreed to return to the Brandts’ home later in the day, but by the time she could sign off with Chloe and turn her phone off completely, she was afraid she might be sick.

  She didn’t know where it came from, but she welcomed a sudden breeze.

  Softly, the curls that always tipped over her brow blew away from her face.

  How could she try to explain all of this to anyone? Ben had looked at her so strangely when she told him about part of it. About feeling things. She closed her eyes and recalled standing with him on the sidewalk. He had gone. Only for an instant, but she was convinced he had not been there all the time.

  But where had he been, and why?

  Or was she imagining everything, including what she thought was going on with Ben? Was that one more part of some delusion?

  The buzzing in her brain gradually shifted, moved outside her head and grew louder. Around and around her it spun. She searched everywhere. There was nothing to see.

  Mario came back across the surface of her desk and sat again, this time looking at her. His ears perked up straight.

  He was guarding her or warning her.

  Delusion.

  Strip lighting made the little room bright white, but while Willow sat there, paralyzed by her own confusion, a vaporous puff pressed down on her and spread. Like a deep purple cloud, the thing swelled to fill all the space around her. She couldn’t see beyond the thick, bruised atmosphere.

  Like clamps, fingers closed on her shoulders. She tried to brush at them, but felt nothing there.

  The squeezing moved to her upper arms and started lifting her. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t scream. With both hands, she clutched the edge of her desk.

  Through the haze she saw someone approaching, a man, a handsome man, tall, with long, dark hair streaked with white. His clothes were from another age, but his face seemed familiar. He didn’t look at her, only past her.

  Unable to resist the pull, Willow began to rise from her chair. Her thighs banged on the underside of her desk.

  “No,” she screamed. “Let me go!” Her hands started to slip and her chair rolled back.

  The man who approached held a book. This he opened, facing Willow, and he pointed at a page. She read,

  The Embran will pursue us until we destroy them all. If we fail, they will destroy us.

  On the facing page was an illustration of a dragon, a distorted, incredibly horrifying dragon with rows of bared and pointed teeth, burning red eyes and vast claws jutting from what looked more like human hands covered with scales, than animal feet.

  Willow couldn’t make a sound.

  The man turned the page and pointed. “Listen to them,” the man said clearly. Pale and faintly glowing, a beautiful face looked back at Willow and the mouth curved slowly into a smile. With the smile came an overwhelming peace that soothed Willow. She became heavy as if falling asleep. Beneath the picture of the woman was the single word, Angelus.

  This, Willow thought, was a perfect angel.

  The eyes in the picture moved and, like the man’s, stared past Willow. Light left those eyes and they darkened with menace.

  Willow’s body shook, but not because she was afraid. Whatever tried to drag her away trembled and gradually began to let go.

  It raised her another inch, and another, while she grew warmer, heavier, and then she dropped, hard, back into her chair.

  Mario leaped onto her lap, and she felt his muzzle pressed into her neck.

  She looked back at the book, only it wasn’t there anymore.

  The man in his old-fashioned clothes receded, and when he was gone, the white light from overhead shone brightly again.

  15

  Ben had almost dragged Willow out of her office. She seemed zombielike at the time and didn’t say a word to the staring group they had passed in the tattoo parlor. He told the woman, whom he remembered as someone employed at Mean ’n Green, that he was taking Willow home. With a vacant smile on her face, the woman had only nodded.

  They were in luck when the policeman outside seemed to pay no attention to them.

  Bringing Willow to Fortunes had been Sykes’s idea. Neither of them wanted her back in Royal Street until she had settled down enough to deal with the anger she would face—and the demands Pascal would make. Ben had a feeling Willow could forget trying to hold on to any of her protests about being “normal.” They were outrageous anyway.

  Also, by now Nat would have had a few not-so-kind words with the laid-back cop outside the tattoo parlor, and the first place he’d go looking for Willow was Millet’s.

  Sykes hovered nearby. He had shifted irritably from the opposite end of the blue leather couch where Willow sat with Mario at her feet, to the raised bar and Poppy, who hung out there. Preoccupied, Poppy cast anxious glances in Ben’s direction.

  “Chris has been gone almost twenty-four hours,” Willow said faintly.

  Ben didn’t think it wise to tell her she’d said the same thing a few minutes earlier. “Are you sure he’s not the type to take off? Some people aren’t into anything heavy—that’s why they like to live light and alone.”

  “He didn’t take off,” Willow said, and he watched, actually watched her fold inside her own mind. Automatically, he began to follow her, but stopped. He might be able to listen to her thoughts easily as long as she wasn’t consciously shutting him out, but when they had been dating, he had promised not to do that—even though she had never actually admitted it could happen.

  Expressions flitted across her features. He could swear she was seeing something, and it alternately scared and angered her. All he could do was hope she would share whatever it was, and soon.

  Ben kept quiet, although there was enough noise at Fortunes to vibrate the average listener’s eardrums.

  The club was closed, but a jam session blasted from the stage in bursts. Gabby LaHane, diamonds glinting in heavy gold jewelry, ground out a gritty chorus of “You Held Me Tight,” while his fingers drummed rapidly over the piano keys—big, stubby fingers as agile as a breeze through new grass.

  “Why are you so sure Chris didn’t pack up and leave?” Ben said, shifting to the edge of his own blue-covered chair. The club was just about all blue, including the walls and floor, and eerie, the way the Fortune siblings liked it. “If he didn’t, where is he?”

  Blinking slowly, Willow looked at him. “There is so much anger,” she said. “Everywhere. Anger. Revenge. They want revenge. I don’t know why they’ve taken the others. What do they want them for?”

  She wasn’t really asking questions of anyone but herself.

  He didn’t make any sudden moves and shot approaching Sykes a warning glance. If he weren’t trying to keep his physical reactions to Willow under control, he would sit by her. The closer he was, the more successful he seemed at keeping her interacting with him.

  Ben waited, and so did Sykes, who braced his feet apart and crossed his arms, his eyes unreadable.

  “If we don’t destroy them, they will destroy us,”
Willow muttered. “The Embran.”

  The movement Ben saw from the edge of his vision was Sykes’s arms dropping to his sides. The two men met each other’s eyes. Ben sensed that Sykes had heard what Willow said and its meaning had shocked him. He padded toward them, as graceful as ever, but giving off waves of antagonism.

  “Listen to them,” Willow said, very quietly. “They are beautiful, especially when they smile.”

  “The Embran?”

  Willow startled, her eyes coming into focus. But she didn’t give him an answer.

  “Who is beautiful when they smile?” he pressed.

  “I don’t know!” Willow spoke so loudly that Sykes came at a run and the dog jumped on her lap. “No, I don’t know, I tell you. I want it all to stop. I don’t like any of it.”

  Poppy started to leave the bar, but Sykes looked back and shook his head.

  Ben couldn’t hold back; he went to sit beside Willow at once and pulled her into his arms. A new reaction, pain, at the bottom of his spine, shot through his pelvis, and he tried to not acknowledge that he was erect. This seemed purely sexual, but his overwhelming feeling was the need to protect Willow. He couldn’t bear her to be afraid, and she was deeply afraid now.

  Taking the arm of the sofa on Willow’s opposite side, Sykes looked into her face. “Take some deep breaths,” he told her. “And quit worrying.”

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” Ben said. “Not ever.”

  She opened her mouth, but her breathing stayed shallow. The hand she closed just above Ben’s knee jolted her. It doubled Ben over, and there was nothing he could do to stop himself.

  Through waves of excruciatingly perfect pain he heard Sykes’s soft laughter and it gave him the strength to straighten up. Gradually he was left with edgy, demanding awareness, and he could hold Willow even closer while he glared at Sykes.

  “All over between the two of you, huh?” Sykes said. “It’s a good job you found that out before it was too late.”

  “Quit it,” Willow told him. “This isn’t a joke.”

  “I’m sure it’s not,” Sykes said, struggling for a straight face. “Never having experienced what goes with, er, it, myself, I can only guess about that.”

  What amazed Ben was that Willow didn’t try to push him away.

  “I never wanted any of this,” she said.

  “Can you explain exactly what you mean by this?” Ben asked. “Who have they taken? You said you don’t know why they took them. Was it the Embran who did that?”

  She shook her head repeatedly, from side to side. “I don’t know anymore. But some have been taken. The Embran, yes, they’ve started taking people.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know.” Willow looked sideways at him, and everything she really thought about what might or might not be true about herself, showed in her eyes. “I’m not normal, am I?” she whispered.

  “Depends on your interpretation of normal,” Sykes said. “Feels normal to me and Ben—and all the other members of our families, and some other families we know about.”

  “You didn’t need me, too,” Willow said. “Why did I have to be dragged in?”

  “I need you,” Ben said quietly, not caring if Sykes heard.

  “Something tried to lift me up and take me away,” Willow said, still staring at Ben’s face. “At my office. I thought it was going to. I couldn’t see it or feel it with my hands—only its hold on me and the way I started being dragged out of my chair.”

  Horror gripped Ben. She couldn’t be left alone—ever—not as long as she was vulnerable enough to…to die for someone else’s fight.

  “Whose fight is it?” he asked Sykes silently.

  His old friend raised a brow. They hadn’t communicated telepathically since they were kids in school and did it to amuse themselves. “Willow told you more about the Embran than I thought she knew. I believe there really was a visitation at her office—from someone on our side, probably Jude. He went to save her from whatever was trying to take her away.”

  “Yes. But why is she the focus? What she’s talking about is a kidnap attempt, but why her? And I think she’s getting hints of someone, or more than one, who have already been taken.”

  “We’ve got more than that to figure out,” Sykes said. “Someone’s dumped a jigsaw puzzle on the floor for us.”

  “I never liked jigsaws. Chess is my game.” Ben heard Sykes laugh behind his serious face. “Next time we play I’ll bet you the same as usual,” Ben told him. The last game they played, Sykes won. The record tended to even out, though.

  “We’ll need to work together with her,” Sykes said. “I’ll get Marley on board, too. And Gray. He’s coming along nicely.”

  “Good idea. They’ll jump at the chance—once Marley stops being mad that this isn’t all over. She’s very protective of Willow.”

  Ben caught Willow frowning at him. She hugged Mario, who looked smug, yes, smug. The dog had a whole range of annoying expressions.

  “What is it?” he asked Willow.

  She kept staring at him, then turned in Sykes’s direction.

  “Watch out or she may hear us,” Ben heard Sykes tell him. “She’s giving in to what she is, and her talents are taking over. I want to know how developed her powers are.”

  She turned her attention to a glass ball in the middle of the nearest table. Each table in the place had a similar ball. “They’re hokey,” she said, and he saw her shoulders heave a little. “Crystal balls in a club called Fortunes—awful.”

  Ben chuckled. “Thank you. They’re snow globes with fiber-optic lights.” She chose odd times to notice decor. “They’ve got motion sensors.”

  Sykes bent to pass a hand over the glass ball near them. Blue light zipped around inside like skinny shards of lightning—and snow whirled.

  “Still hokey,” she said. “All you need is fake thunder booming overhead.”

  Ben was tempted, but controlled the urge to oblige.

  “You’re changing the subject,” Sykes said. “Let’s get back to what happened at your office. It’s easy to gloss over something important, and we need to know it all.”

  Her face set and she sat even closer to Ben of her own accord. “Okay, I’ll say it again,” she said in a monotone, a white line forming around her lips. “An attempt was made to kidnap me—I think. I don’t know who or what did it. And a man came to show me a book. He was handsome, with white streaks in his long, black hair. His clothes were old-fashioned. And purple smoke filled everything up. Smoke. Haze. A cloud. I don’t know. It all sounds stupid.”

  Ben wouldn’t let her jerk free of his arms, which was what she immediately tried to do.

  “Back up,” he said. “A man with a book and purple smoke? Very normal, Willow—happens to people all the time.”

  He felt her shudder. “You called before anything happened,” she said. “Why did you come rushing over to get me?”

  “That can wait. What man? What book?” Sykes had hinted at the things she was talking about.

  “I already know,” Sykes said. “At least, I think the man could be Jude Millet.”

  Willow sat up straighter and craned to see her brother. “That Jude? The Mentor? The one who reminds us about following the—”

  “That one,” Sykes said rapidly.

  Ben got the impression his friend didn’t want all of his family’s business aired. That would change once Willow gave in and let Ben back into her life for good. Covertly, he looked at her profile. He had never seen or met another woman who pleased him as Willow did, or one he wanted with even a fraction of the desire he had for her.

  She would be his—unless he had somehow hurt her too deeply and without knowing. He would find out what had made her drive him away before and deal with it.

  “Jude was the first male Millet born with dark hair and blue eyes,” Willow told him, apparently oblivious to Sykes’s desire to keep this information to themselves. “He was the one in charge of the family’s aff
airs at the time, in Bruges—that’s Belgium.”

  “I know,” Ben said.

  “His fiancée had died and he was desolate, so he married another woman—to ease the pain, I suppose. This one ruined the family. Just about. I think she must have had something to do with these Embran people…things, or whatever they are…if they’re anything. She was evil, and the people there thought she was a witch. Anyway, because of her, everything fell apart in Belgium and the family had to escape to London, then here to New Orleans. With each move they lost things they treasured.

  “That’s who Jude was…is. He’s our Mentor. He guards the Book of Rules. Our parents are supposedly looking for the book to help them get rid of a curse. I don’t understand it when we know it’s with Jude. Wherever he is…or…” She looked troubled and confused.

  Sykes’s expression was blank.

  “And it’s why Sykes isn’t looking after the family instead of Pascal now our parents have taken off,” Willow continued, raising her voice to compete with a drum solo. “Sykes is the second male Millet heir—after Jude—with dark hair and blue eyes. Our folks decided to go look for a way to break the curse—that’s the dark-haired, blue-eyed curse like Sykes has got—and because Sykes is so cursed, Uncle Pascal had to take over. He never wanted to and he shaved off all his red hair because he was mad at getting saddled with the responsibility for the family and everything else that should still be my dad’s. Uncle Pascal’s the younger brother, see, and he should never have had to look after things.”

  “Cursed, are you, Sykes?” Ben said. “I could have told you that before.”

  “Sure you could.” Sykes had the grace to grin. “I guess all this revelation means Willow is welcoming you into the family—just like you’ll be welcoming her into yours. I look forward to hearing all your secrets.”

  “We don’t have any,” Ben said, attempting complacency. He had no intention of sharing anything secretive about the Fortunes—other than with Willow when the time came.

  Unfortunately, Willow didn’t show signs of announcing that they were a couple again.