by Cat Adams
He shook his head. “Eye first. It’s swelling enough it’s getting hard to see.”
That was easy, but, “Well, that should take your mind off the leg.” I smiled, but he didn’t. Oh, well. It was the truth, because I was going to have to sit down on the couch next to him and hold the cut together while I poured on the skin-mend powder. Nothing like squeezing an open wound for sheer, raw pain.
Worse, it was a long cut and tricky to hold. I finally wound up positioning John’s fingers on one half. He blistered the air with swearing as I poured, but he didn’t move. Soon enough he had a thin, angry red line over his eyebrow instead of the once-nasty cut.
“Okay, then. So—” Next was his mouth. “Any loose teeth?”
He nodded. “I probably took one or two kicks. One molar and an upper canine are loose. But at least they’re all there.”
It was time to bring it up, while I pulled another package from the stack on the table. “So, what happened? Who messed you up?” He was silent for a long moment while I read the instructions for the charm. I decided to break the silence. “Oh, this is the ‘new and improved’ version. I need water. Hang on while I get a cup.” I paused before I left the room. “You can decide what you want to say, but I think I’ve earned an answer.”
He let out a harsh breath as I walked to the bathroom down the hall for a paper cup and some water.
John was in a sitting position on the couch when I returned. That was probably better for swallowing. The intensity and anger in his eyes was hard to watch, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t directed at me, so I sat down on the couch next to him and handed him the cup before reading through the instructions. “Okay, it looks like I pour in the potion and you hold it in your mouth for thirty seconds, swishing it around.” I did it and watched as it bubbled and frothed. “Save a little and I’ll hold it to your lip from the outside.”
He held the cup for a long moment and looked at me. “I have no idea who jumped me or what they wanted. They hit me from behind, blindfolded me, and took me somewhere in spelled cuffs. They somehow stole my magic before I could even react. I couldn’t cast a single spell. Not even break the emergency spell ball. After that, I don’t remember a damned thing until I came to in the parking lot.”
Ouch. That’s gotta be hard on a mage’s pride. “Pour, swish, and swallow. But save some.”
He poured nearly the entire contents of the cup into his mouth and closed his lips. I tilted the cup against his mouth and let the remaining liquid rest against the damaged skin. I started to stare at my watch to count off the thirty seconds required. But my gaze was pulled back to John’s face when I heard odd noises coming from his throat. His lips were still closed, but I could tell he was close to gagging. His expression was one I’d seen in movies, when a kid took a big spoonful of castor oil. John started to turn to spit it out, but I held his head steady. He raised his hands up to push mine away, but I wouldn’t have any of it. “Hang in there, tough guy. Don’t spit. You need to swallow it in ten … nine—” I kept counting until I reached “zero” and pulled away the cup.
He swallowed, but it was a hard effort. Then he did start gagging and turned on the couch in case he wound up throwing up. It took a few deep breaths before he finally sat up again. “Jesus. That stuff tastes like rotten eggs. What brand is that so I never use it again?”
I showed him the package and he shuddered.
“How are the teeth? Your lip looks great.” It did. The bruising and cut on his lower lip were completely gone and the skin was smooth and new.
He used his tongue to feel around. His face registered wary surprise when he picked up the box again. “The teeth are solid again. Damn it. I hate it when something that crappy tasting actually works.”
I noticed another bolded bit of text on the front. “And apparently it leaves your breath minty fresh. Better than the taste of old blood, I guess. Does your mouth feel minty?” I said it with teasing in my voice and he let out a small chuckle.
“You tell me.” He blew out air softly toward my face.
I had to lean down to catch the scent and closed my eyes to identify it. “Actually, it does. Peppermint.” I opened my eyes to find I’d leaned startlingly close to his face. His hazel eyes stared deep into mine. He didn’t say a word. Just stared, and before I even realized I’d done it, I pressed my mouth against his so-soft healed lips. Firm, full, and … damn. He let me, relaxed his jaw so that my mouth partially fell into his. His peppermint-flavored tongue touched mine, toyed with me, passed along the potion’s tingle to my mouth, and sped my pulse. Slow, so slow and sweet. His hand rose and touched the braid tight against my head, stroking the twists until he reached my bare neck. My own hands were busy exploring his neck and shoulders. I’d heard his shallow breathing and didn’t want to put any pressure on his chest. Well, actually, I did. Wanted to put pressure in a number of places. But I didn’t.
He didn’t have any supernatural energy to rush over my skin, but I shivered nonetheless as his fingers drew patterns on my neck. I pulled back from the kiss with a nearly violent shudder that raised all the hair on my body. “How do you do that?” My words were breathless, nearly panicked.
“Do what?” he whispered.
“Make me tingle like this without any magic.”
He didn’t answer right away … only offered a quirk of a smile while running his thumb along the line of my jaw. “You tell me.”
I pulled back from him, trying to find my focus again. “I should help you up so you can get that passport to show the doctor.”
He was amused now and continued to tease. “Y’know, not all of my body parts were injured.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me while still stroking a finger down my cheek. I wasn’t sure if he was joking but decided to treat it that way.
“Keep it up, buddy. I can fix that.” Now he did laugh and it sounded good. Relaxed. But there was still a haunted look at the back of his eyes. It sucked not remembering. “I’ve been there … the not remembering part. It’s hard.”
He nodded. “I think I need to find out somehow. It’ll bug me forever otherwise.”
“Okay, then how about focusing on something else. What did you find out about the spell on me? I got your messages but then … well, you know. Why does my head hurt so much?”
He sighed and leaned back into the pillow. “They were right. It’s a memory-wipe spell. It’s trying to rewrite your past, like it changed the memories of the others so they forgot about the bomb. But the vampire healing has been fighting the spell. That’s where the headaches come from. And I bet you’ve been having more trouble with the vamp side of your nature as well. The reason it was so hard to work with is that someone went to a lot of trouble to make it untraceable and difficult to unwind. I managed to get to the bottom of it before … well, before. Now that I know what it is, it will be a simple matter to remove. I can do it when my power is back, or you can go to Jean-Baptiste.”
“Oh, thank God.” I didn’t bother to hide my relief. “I was afraid…” I stopped before I could finish admitting that I was terrified I was actually becoming a vampire. The very first thing the magic that creates a vampire does is erase all memories of the bat’s human life and personality.
“It’s okay to be afraid, Celia.”
I frowned because of the way he sounded. “What’s wrong?”
I could tell he didn’t want to answer, but he finally sighed. “I can’t feel my magic. It’s like your foot going to sleep. It’s just … numb. I’m hoping it’s temporary.”
Crap. I didn’t know what to say about that. I touched his cheek and couldn’t fix what was in his eyes. “John, I—”
Another male voice sounded from downstairs. “Celia? You up there?”
It was Bruno. “Up here!” He started to bound up the stairs and I realized at the last second how it would look. Sitting next to John, my hands on his face and his fingers stroking my shoulder. I stood up and John’s face took on a flat, emotionless expression.
Damn i
t. I couldn’t win.
Bruno started talking before he reached the entry. “Are you okay? The front door was wide open. Your purse is still in the car and there’s blood on the sidewal—” His heavy footsteps came to a stuttering stop when he could see inside the room. His eyes flicked from me to John to the open med kit and the charm on John’s bare leg. He fixed his fellow mage with a steady stare. “You look like shit. What happened?”
John shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” I whispered, and started to clean up the empty boxes scattered on the floor. Putting them in the trash can, I could only shake my head at the rising level of testosterone in the room. It was better if I stayed out of the line of fire.
“Mm-hmm.” Bruno’s voice was understandably skeptical as he tossed my purse on the desk and turned one of the wing chairs around with his free hand and sat down. He didn’t take his eyes off John. A long pause was filled with tension before Bruno asked again, “So. What happened?”
“Fell down a flight of stairs.” I raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Maybe this was what it would take to get him to talk.
“Really.” Bruno kept a straight face and leaned back into the cushions before raising his coffee cup to his lips to take a sip. Once it was down, he remarked drily, “That’s a damned long flight of stairs. How’d you make it around the corners?”
I snorted while John glared at him. I couldn’t help it. “Just tell him, John. He might be able to help.”
John looked my way. “Celia, could you go get my passport from my office?”
“I thought it was in your safe. And besides, I don’t have a key.”
“There’s one in Dawna’s desk and I just remembered the passport is in my center desk drawer. Bad of me to forget to put it in the safe, but there you go.” He gave me a serious look. “If you don’t mind.”
Ah. Guy talk. The best part was that I could probably hear it if I listened close.
But by the time I reached the front desk I hadn’t heard anything new. Bruno asked a couple of good questions about sounds or smells John remembered before he blacked out, but the memory was just gone. John’s voice was frustration personified. “It’s starting to drive me nuts.”
I really did know how he felt and that made me realize there might be a solution to his problem—the same solution I’d used. I wouldn’t call her today, but Dottie might be able to help. We’d met when a friendly cop had asked her to help restore my missing memories.
When I reached the third floor again, they stopped talking until I passed by. “Got the key. Be right back.”
As I opened the door to John’s office, I realized I wasn’t sure what to expect. When I flipped on the light I was taken aback at the massive casting circle that practically filled the space. It was set up on the equivalent of a portable dance floor. All there was room for outside of the circle was a desk and a single armchair that matched the ones in Bubba’s room. Heck, maybe it was one of those from Bubba’s office.
The safe in the corner wasn’t as big as mine, but it was equally well protected by magic wards if the energy surge that hit me when I got too close was any indication. The power crawled along my skin like biting ants and I was forced to hop to the side before the sensation dug any farther down inside my arm.
The desk wasn’t what I expected. I’d always imagined John as a clean-line, Architectural Digest kind of guy who would have a glass and chrome look. But this desk was hand-carved of heavy, knotty wood and had a … country feel that screamed “home on the range.”
Interesting.
I opened the middle desk drawer and right on top was his passport. It was well used and about to expire. His photo inside was nearly a decade old and a seal identified him as a licensed mage at level 8.5. The intense, dangerously competent look he gave to the camera in his photo made me shiver. I flipped through the pages. He really had been all over the world. Stamps and stickers from countries I’d barely heard of filled nearly every sheet and he wasn’t kidding that the back page listed a host of weird vaccinations—one of which was for M. Necrose. Who’da thunk?
The built-in bookcases along the wall were identical to mine and he’d filled them with a variety of leather-bound texts–magical volumes, given the crawling sensation on my arm when I passed by. I had just cleared the books when I noticed the line of framed photos on the shelf next to his desk. I couldn’t resist and backtracked to look.
One shelf was a tribute to the wine he’d helped develop. Witches’ Brew was the world’s first magical wine. It tasted exactly like the best wine you ever had. If you like cherries, it tastes like cherries. I’d been to the wine’s debut party and had a very good time. Right up until the rift tried to destroy the world.
On the next shelf, was a photo of John and George Miller in younger days—standing in front of the dilapidated building that would become the home of their business and one of the most recognizable addresses in L.A.
There was another photo of John in a family setting, like a studio shot, showing him along with three women and a man who had an older version of John’s strong features. I was betting one of the women was Gillian, but I had no idea which. And I had no idea who the other, younger woman might be.
But it was the last photo, shaded partially in darkness, that made me gasp and stare as the passport fluttered to the carpeting from my suddenly limp hand.
Fuck a duck.
A familiar face smiled out at me from the silver frame and it made my blood run cold.
John Creede had a framed photo of the woman who’d bombed six grade schools and had tried to kill me twice … that I knew of.
What the hell?
22
I picked up the frame, half-expecting it to burn my hand. But the silver frame was cool to the touch and the figure in the picture didn’t move or reach out to grab my throat. I retrieved the passport from the floor and carried both items down to my office.
I threw the frame down on John’s lap hard enough to make him wince. “How in the hell do you know Linda Jamisyn?”
He picked up the frame and stared at the woman’s face. Then he looked up at me with confusion and a healthy dose of wariness. “Who? And why do you care if I know Glinda?”
I stood there with my mouth suddenly open because it occurred to me that he thought I was flying into a jealous rage. Bruno’s expression was … odd and it made me blush furiously. “No! That’s not what I … oh for the love of heaven.” I took two steps and poked my finger at the picture. “This is her. This is the witch who’s been trying to kill me and bombed those schools. Wait. Why did you call her Glinda?”
The expressions of both men suddenly changed. Bruno leapt to his feet to come closer to the couch and John handed the photo to him with a weary sigh. “Because that’s her name. Glinda Miller. She’s George’s daughter and she isn’t a bomber. Far from it. But I stand by what I said on the phone. She’s a scapegoat. There’s no other explanation.” He met my eyes, trying to convince me of her innocence by sheer force of will.
What he said on the phone to who? He never mentioned that name. I interrupted before he could go any further. George Miller’s daughter? Great. The whole family was evil. “Look, John. I saw her yesterday—she attacked me with powerful magic in a bar. Tried to kill me with billiard balls and wooden pool cues through the heart. I got a good look at her from five feet away.”
He shook his head “Not possible. Glinda lives on the East Coast. If she was in town, she’d have called me. She’s like family, Celia. I’ve known her for more than ten years. Besides, she’s only a level four. She wouldn’t have the oomph to pull off an attack with multiple objects.”
“I’m not the one who’s confused, John. She’s freaking powerful, and she’s nuts. She slammed me with a spell that had everything in the bar trying to kill me. I also didn’t imagine the blast of power that picked me up off a pool table and threw me into the wall a dozen feet away. No, this is her.”
He hadn’t liked my t
one, or the fact I’d called her crazy. His eyes were narrowed down to slits. His voice was low, and carefully controlled when he warned me, “Be very careful what you say, Celia. Remember, she’s George’s daughter.”
Fine. If we were going to escalate, let’s remind him of some facts. “Let’s also remember that George was trafficking with demons, John. Siren influence or no, who knows what bargains he … or his family made with them. Have you seen her since his funeral?”
Bruno interrupted before Creede and I could go any further with our argument. He was shaking his head. “I don’t recognize her, Celia, and I know most of the upper-level witches.”
John raised his hand, slowly, carefully, and stared from me to Bruno. “Exactly. She’s a four. She works as a secretary for a boring company in a boring town, and not even in a magical capacity. She doesn’t have alias names or hang out in bars. Maybe you saw someone who looks like her. I know this woman. Trust me. And while there were traces of her magical signature in the spell used to attack your memories, I’d swear there were traces from me and at least twelve others who couldn’t possibly have been involved.”
He seemed so confident that it made me wonder if he was right. Could it be a different woman? I mean, they always say everyone has a double somewhere in the world, and there are plenty of lesser demons—who can shape-shift—that were trapped on earth after the rift closed. I let out a slow breath. “I really think it’s her. But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. You. Not her.”
Creede dipped his head, acknowledging my effort. “I was trying to reach her before I was attacked. When she calls back I’ll find out if she’s been visiting here. But I doubt it. Since George died, she hasn’t had much to do with me or the company. She wanted to work for one of our companies a few years ago, but George and I both knew she couldn’t command the loyalty of the employees, so he said no. She took it gracefully, took the money he gave her, and went back home. Of course, when he died, she inherited his money, but he left the company to me. She said she was fine with that and I believe her. It’s a demanding business and she doesn’t like working long hours.”
