“What?” She looked at him, then at Graham, who’d sat on the other end of the sectional.
“Seanair made me the emissary. After he was hit. Four bullets shot from the fireplace when he lit it. Pull up the sleeve on my right arm. It’s midway up.”
She gently touched the material, pushing it all the way up to his bicep when she didn’t feel or see a thing, and frowned.
“I swear it’s there, and apparently I can’t be killed until it comes off. I should be dead. Your protection and this cuff are the only reasons I’m not.”
And she would protect him for as long as she drew breath.
Aleron continued sharing the details he remembered of what happened, and five minutes later, she and Graham knew everything.
She didn’t need her Air to know he hadn’t killed her grandfather. He might have done things he wasn’t proud of, but he wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer. “I already knew you didn’t do it.”
“I had every reason to want to. Kerr’s right.” His fingers threaded though hers.
“Why didn’t you?” Graham’s gaze cut to Aleron’s bare arm.
Aleron’s gaze shifted to Elspeth, his brown eyes deep and weighty and only for her. “Because I love you more than I hated him. I would never hurt you, Elspeth. And I would die before I let you be harmed.”
“I love you.” She brushed his hair off his forehead.
“I love you too.” His eyes took a slow trail over her face. “Nothing’s changed, though. You have Lach to save, and you can’t be with me to do what you need to do.”
Her hands shook. Everything within her screamed to tell him he was wrong. Every fiber but one, the truth an anchor.
“We’ll discuss that later.” She looked to Graham. “Go in the guest room and grab him some clean clothes. Please?”
“I’m glad you’re all right.” She sensed the Fire struggling to rebound inside him, the wisps of Air seeking to swirl.
Like Dorothy, she wasn’t in Kansas anymore, or Oz, or a land close to anything she recognized. She’d landed smack in the middle of acreage for which she had no map, naked and deeply, deeply afraid.
Something cracked inside her. Her heart ached at the loss of the Grandie she’d loved fiercely as a child, but the fracture showed the reality that the man she’d held a secret hope of reconciling with had died long ago. Her Grandie had become a brutal man, a man with enemies she didn’t yet know but who seemed far too close.
Her four energies stirred inside her. Pulses of power under her skin revving for a fight. Fear for Aleron had knocked them down, but she grew stronger with every second, and only a fool would count her out.
Graham returned and handed her a small stack of clothing, pulling his cell from his back pocket. “The doc’s here. He texted from the lobby. I need to get up to the house.”
“All I know about cuffs I learned from my father.” Aleron’s raspy voice cut through the silence. “I don’t know what to look for specifically, but you should have a mark if you’re the true Fire Magnus. Anything weird showing up?”
“No.” Graham’s gaze took a trip around the room. “I’m Air dominant, so it can’t be me.”
“Kazumi’s veins are moving toward the surface of her skin, and they’re a deep blue. Her transition to Water Magnus has started. She may be able to help us find the Fire Magnus.”
“Be careful, Elspeth. I know she’s your best friend, but this is business. Her mother may not be on board with me being the North American president.” Graham raked a hand through his hair. “Hell, I’m not on board. I have no idea what to do or where to start. Seanair planned to train me for two years, but that hadn’t even started. It’ll take more than a village to run this dynasty.” He fiddled with his fake cuff. “I’ll worry about it later. I need to get to Tarrytown and get the human police involved.”
“Graham, one more thing.” Aleron pushed up straighter, ignoring Maylene’s grunt of dissatisfaction. “There was definitely dark magic in your grandfather’s study, and he warned me before he died.” He looked to Elspeth. “I know you’re fond of Egan, but Seanair’s last words to me were ‘watch the witches.’”
Elspeth slid across the back seat of Seanair’s tricked-out Mercedes. Blacked-out glass. Armored doors. Grade A protection for her now-deceased grandfather, protection she only now understood would be required for her as the most powerful of their kind.
“You’re not taking FDR?” she asked Aleron, who was in the driver’s seat. She smoothed a hand over her black wool slacks, hoping the double-breasted jacket over the white silk turtleneck shell had been the right choice.
“There’s an accident, so we’ll go Second Avenue and hit all nine hundred traffic lights.”
Great. More time to stew over the sit-down. As the presumptive president, Graham would do most of the talking, while she’d star as the entertainment. Not for her new judicial role, but her status as the four-powered freak.
The fact Graham had advised against riding together to Radio City Music Hall had given her pause. He’d said they should travel separately now, vary their movements. She refused to run scared from whoever’d charmed those bullets that had slipped past Seanair’s numerous defenses, but she’d err on the cautious side, especially since her sole interaction with a warlock had been quiet, unassuming Egan.
She moved into the sight line of the rearview mirror. Aleron had been quiet the whole day, having spent the morning on the phone with Graham and working with the interim commander at Elite One. He appeared good as new after the blood transfusion, but he’d been distant and resigned most of the afternoon.
“Any update on Lach?”
Aleron cut a quick gaze to her in the rearview, then returned his focus to the streets, the sidewalk, and the occasional snow flurries. “Isidora confirmed he’s there with her, but that’s all. I know you’re worried, but there’s no way she’d let him melt Antarctica.”
Lach burning down the world around him wasn’t Elspeth’s worry.
“If he goes the way Rob Costa did, we won’t know.”
“You would. If you don’t feel the void from Seanair’s death yet, it’ll come. That trite saying about empty spaces is true for us. The loss of familial strength is real and doesn’t rebuild the same way.” He cut a glance to the side mirror, changing from the center lane to the right one. “Isidora runs a tight continent, and she’s not letting him run amok and chase the penguins. I have zero information on how she manages an island of misfit energies that should already be home, but my guess is she’s put him to work wrangling the ones acting out the most.”
An image of Lach in a cowboy hat and chaps invaded her brain. If anyone could find a way to lasso wild energies, it’d be her oldest brother. He could wrestle the biggest of them until they slapped the mat and admitted defeat.
She sat back hard against the seat, frustrated, but conceding he was right. She’d tackle the mystery of Isidora later but took comfort thinking the woman had to have more patience with Lach and his disease than Seanair ever had, since her brother evidently hadn’t been kicked off glacier island yet. “Do you mind giving me the inside scoop on the families at the meeting?”
“In a minute.” He pulled the car to the right to allow a squawking NYPD cruiser to pass. “I forgot to tell you something important yesterday, and I apologize.”
He pulled back into traffic, only to stop at an intersection congested with cars and pedestrians.
“You were shot, and Seanair’s dead. I can’t think of anything worse, other than Lach succumbing to the disease, and you’ve confirmed he’s still alive.”
She scrubbed her hands over her eyes. Things couldn’t get any more awful.
“Seanair had the tripowered disease.”
“What?” The word came out on a breath.
“He said something about a tonic not working any longer, that the witches knew of his illness.” He glanced over his shoulder and back to the road. “He also admitted the day he killed my father was the first time his power slipped.
”
His assertion mirrored the diary entry she’d read, but her anger boiled over. She did the math from Seanair’s first slip to now, and the sum of the equation twisted her stomach into truth-soaked knots. Her grandfather hadn’t suggested the arrangement with the Russians to help Lach. He’d wanted only to save himself.
“He successfully battled the disease for twelve years and didn’t bother to give the treatment to my brother?” She closed her eyes against the hot fury raging swiftly into molten anger.
“I don’t know anything about the treatment, but Seanair…he seemed frightened. Of the witches.”
Or witch. She recalled the stack of receipts Egan had found. For payments by Seanair to Magdalena Wiedzma.
“I may have something on his source. Seanair was paying big bucks to a bad-news witch.”
“If he had any such dealings, he kept it out of Elite One. We had enough to handle with bad-news Naturas.” His mouth pulled into an almost smile.
The air shifted and glittered in front of her as if someone had tossed gold dust. Flaky shimmers settled on the seats and dashboard, disappearing into the cream leather.
She leaned forward between the front bucket seats.
He tugged up his sleeve. “Well, well. It’s about time. It must feel safe around you.”
There it was. On his right arm. Midway to his elbow.
Line after line of hieroglyphics covered the obviously old, dull gold cuff. When she’d been elementary-school age, Seanair occasionally had allowed her to trace a finger over it, letting her inspect the inscriptions and scolding her with a smile when she’d ask to try it on.
Aleron wheeled around a taxi letting out its passengers. “I thought the thing was determined to make a liar out of me.”
“When’s the last time you saw it?”
“When your grandfather put it on me.”
“How does it open?”
“It doesn’t. Seanair wished, or willed, it on me.” He cut his gaze to her. “It also comes with a ghost bonus.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
“Sorry. There’s no manual, but the cuff comes with a narrator.”
“You’re losing me.” Her stress eased a little at his playful tone. Things had gotten so heavy between them. She longed to go back to her birthday and the lemon cake, before things took a turn for the terrible.
“Mathair’s the Oracle for the cuff. She’s why Seanair wouldn’t relinquish it until now.”
“He could hear her…all this time?”
“Apparently from since around your twelfth birthday.”
She blew out a calming breath and slipped back into her seat. It made sense now. How often he’d commune. His wistful smile the few times they’d discussed her grandmother.
Tension crept across her shoulders. They’d gone a few more blocks with her counting the Duane Reades to distract herself when she remembered her original question.
“You were going to tell me about the meeting attendees.” She shifted her gaze back to the rearview mirror.
“Graham would have invited only those from each family he felt he needed, but you’ll see there’s disagreement even with those Seanair considered allies. Trust is hard-won and quickly lost in our world. I guarantee we’ll have winners for first to lend false support, first to start a territory war, and first to put a hit out on your family. It’ll be a twenty-way tie on best ass-kisser.”
“At least Jon Costa’s with us. He pulls a lot of weight in this region.” She’d appreciated his congratulatory call to Graham. Her brother would need a mentor, and Jon would need a distraction after losing Rob.
“He is an important ally, because it’s not only the Fires who like him. He’s a consensus builder, but don’t give him too much credit yet. He may challenge Graham for the continent presidency.” His brown eyes met hers in the mirror. “This is far from a slam dunk. Both you and Graham have to uphold the utmost illusion of power tonight, or the infighting will start, and this continent will go down. Naturas were afraid of Seanair’s repercussions. When you walk in that room, you’d better reek of power and put everyone on notice, or they’ll pounce.”
His words lingered in the air like smoke after a fire. All this time, she’d put Lach first. The last six months, she’d focused on him and the Russians and the treatment. Turned out she had a whole other sickness to address. Her people suffered from the plague that was the love of money and power and greed, subverting Mother Nature’s mission in their quest for lives that would make Hollywood A-listers look like children playing with board game currency.
“I have to save my people.” The statement sat like lead in her instincts.
“It’s do or die. Seanair held off the war as long as he could, but there’s a power vacuum now, and if you don’t fill it, someone else will. You and Graham are the right people. I know it. But the Lennoxes won’t pull this off alone. You need a powerful partner, someone with some weight from Europe or Asia. No one messes with the African continent leader, and she has two sons. Kickass Earths. You should call her personally and arrange a face-to-face. She doesn’t do online meetings.”
The strangest internal heads-up rang bone-deep inside her, and the back of her neck prickled.
“What’s that?”
His head turned, security-camera slow. Left. Right. The color drained from his cheeks.
The car slowed at a yellow light.
“Aleron?”
Embers of irritation flared at his silence, but she noted his odd stillness. His head did quick, robotic cuts to the side mirrors, the rearview, the windshield, as he searched for the threat.
A loud pop sounded. The cuff vanished.
Her instincts screamed, Get out. Get out, get out, get out.
A musty incense filled the car. An element signature, brutally strong, but ripe with decay.
She tugged at the door handle. Nothing. Punched the button for the window. Dead. The surrounding cars pulled forward, and the Mercedes moved with the rest of the traffic.
“Aleron?” She leaned forward, shaking his shoulder.
He stared straight ahead and turned the knob for the heat to high.
A thick curl of smoke spooled from the vents, pouring into the back, circling into a cylindrical mass on the seat beside her. The swirl slowed, the obscure mass glittering, and black particles like dark shiny diamonds moved, mutated, morphed into—
A man.
She jammed herself against the door.
Pitch-black hair swept back from his forehead. He stared for a moment, as if composing himself. His aristocratic nose, jutted chin, and full mouth formed before her. A dark dress shirt open at the collar revealed a strong neck and hinted at a muscular build. Charcoal slacks. Black shoes. Mid-forties?
A new scent filled her, her eyes watering at its pungency. Trees. He smelled of human Christmas trees. Fraser firs.
“Hello, Elspeth.” He turned his head, his indiscernible accent thick, his voice deep and strong.
Coal eyes. Goddess, they were mesmerizing. No, beautiful. A velvety, dark gray with filament-like threads of emerald green.
Power shot from her body like fighter-jet countermeasures and walled her inside a tight fortress. Earth, Air, Water, and Fire locked, loaded, and aimed.
He waved a hand, and moss crept across the ceiling, floor, and panels. The aroma of freshly turned soil blanketed the car. “I’m getting so good at being a Natura.”
“What are you?” Her Earth energy’s impostor siren blared.
“Ah, my first disappointment in you. You don’t even recognize one of your own people. I’m Samael.” He pegged her with his stony eyes, his smile a wicked white. “A warlock.”
Her gaze shot to Aleron, and the car jerked to a stop. His dull gaze and machine-like movements scared her more than watching the smoke that had become Samael coming through the vents. Naturas couldn’t take pure element form anymore. Through the millennia, they’d evolved, taking a hybridized human form to blend in. She’d never even hear
d fantasy stories of someone being able to move as vapor.
She returned her focus to the threat beside her, silent and intense like a black widow spider waiting to pounce. “You attacked us in the alley.” She put a hand to her chest, determined to keep her pounding heart from breaking through her ribs.
“I did. I meant to kill you before you came into your power, but I failed, as I didn’t know how to disarm a two-mantled Fire.” He showed no emotion, no concern, like killing was as normal as taking a shower. “I know now. And it appears he’s down to one Fire mantle anyway.”
“How could you know what I’d be before anyone else?”
He shook his head like she’d never learn. “Just like your grandfather, discounting the covens.”
His power filled the car, the element’s signature off-kilter, though one thing was certain—his Earth was stronger than hers.
She didn’t dare shift her gaze to Aleron, nor did she…want to. Samael had presence, a charisma capable of holding an audience of willing captives. Confident. Regal, commanding, and…nearly pure in Earth form.
That couldn’t be right. His energy read as virgin pure, the first turn of terrain. Her Earth pushed against the constraints of her body, seeking the friction of a slow slide with him, element to element. The newness of her Earth craved the power pulsating in his.
“What do you want?” She had to keep him talking, curling her hands to fists in her lap, and demanding they stay put. The Fire mantle Aleron had given her squeezed around her. She’d become so used to the support of his mantle as she trained to control her own Fire, she’d forgotten it was there. Goddess, she’d left Aleron exposed. Why hadn’t she given it back to him?
“Stop thinking about how you can best me or save him. You can’t.” Samael nodded toward Aleron. “I’ll pose the same question I asked of your grandfather.”
Aleron’s breaths came harsh through his nose. She engaged her senses and struck some sort of bubble encapsulating his Fire and Air.
The Call of Fire: A Natura Elementals Novel Page 30
