by Moira Rogers
“Morning, Mackenzie.” The older woman stirred a bowl of what looked like batter. “Do you like buttermilk pancakes? How about some orange juice? I made Steven squeeze it fresh this morning.”
“Really?” Mackenzie leaned against the counter and watched as Mahalia moved efficiently around her kitchen. “I’ve never had fresh-squeezed orange juice.”
“What?” One perfectly groomed eyebrow rose in surprise. “Now, that just isn’t right. You like sausage or bacon, honey?”
“Either’s fine. Can I help you with anything?”
Mahalia waved her away. “Sit down and rest. You’ve been through a lot, and it isn’t over yet.”
“I suppose it isn’t.” Mackenzie took a seat and drummed her fingers absently on the smooth wood of the table. “Jackson said Steven had to go. That Talbot could find him?”
“Mm-hmm.” Mahalia began to pour the batter on a heated griddle.
“I don’t really understand. But I guess there’s a lot of stuff I don’t understand.” She still wasn’t sure she wanted to, if she was going to be perfectly honest with herself.
Mahalia hesitated as she reached for a spatula. “That part, at least, isn’t complicated,” she admitted. “Talbot will always be able to find Steven because he’s Steven’s uncle.”
“He’s—” She stopped. “Oh. That’s why Steven knows so much about him?”
“That’s why,” she confirmed. “Before you were born, Steven was helping Charles. He thought… Well, he believed his uncle when he said this scheme was the only thing that would save the cougars.” She stared at the griddle, her amber eyes unseeing. “It took him a while to figure out how far Charles would go, though. The things he would do to ensure the ritual’s success.”
Mackenzie considered that as she watched tiny holes appear in the top of the pancakes. “What about Marcus? Is he like me? A kid someone had to…to further this cause?”
“His parents were killed.”
She pulled her gaze away from the pancakes and studied Mahalia, whose tone made it clear she knew more than she’d said. “Who killed them?”
Mahalia glanced away. “They wanted out, I suppose.”
It wasn’t much of an answer, but it was enough. Whoever his parents had been, they hadn’t agreed with Charles’s plan, and Charles had killed them. Just like her parents. Maybe Marcus hadn’t been lying when he’d said they had more in common than she could ever guess. “So Steven warned my parents, and they left?”
“He had to do more than warn them,” Mahalia corrected. “He got them out, got them away.” The faraway look came back into her eyes. “Brought them to New Orleans. To me.”
Mackenzie had never wondered much about her birth parents, but now she couldn’t stop thinking about them. What sort of people they’d been, why they’d decided to throw in with Charles’s plans. Mahalia obviously didn’t like talking about it, but Mackenzie couldn’t stop her questions. “What were they like?”
At first, she wasn’t sure if Mahalia had heard her. The older woman reached into a drawer and drew out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, sighing as she pulled one from the pack and struck a lighter. “Young. Disappointed. Scared.”
“Oh.” She could imagine that easily enough, all things considered. “I guess it wasn’t really a time for social chats.”
“Simon and Janice were very nice. They were just like Steven, and Marcus’s parents. They bought into Charles’s assertions that their race was dying out, because it’s true. Then they found out he was a fanatic. One apparently willing to kill a couple and take their child to raise as his own.” Mahalia took a drag from the cigarette. “Saying it wasn’t exactly a social situation is a bit of an understatement.”
Mackenzie felt color come to her cheeks as she looked at the table. “It’s hard to imagine it. A few days ago, I thought my parents had died in a car crash when I was four. I didn’t remember much of anything from before my adopted parents brought me home. Sometimes I’d have dreams…” A fire, a woman with dark hair and terrified eyes dragging her by the hand, screaming that they had to run faster. The nightmares had plagued her until her parents had taken her to a therapist in the fourth grade.
The dreams hadn’t gone away, not completely. She’d had trouble sleeping most of her life, between the dreams of running through fields and the dreams of running from fire. When she’d gotten older she’d gone through all the usual remedies—special teas, pills, relaxation tapes. Nothing had ever worked. Not until she’d started dreaming about Jackson every time she closed her eyes.
Mahalia finished her cigarette and extinguished it in a weak stream of water from the kitchen tap. “It was a rough time for all three of you.”
“I guess it was.” Determined to change the subject, she rose to her feet again. “I think I’d like some of that juice. Where can I get a glass?”
Mahalia didn’t answer, just stared at the water trickling into the sink. The cigarette butt fell from her hand, and she started to shake.
“Mahalia?” Mackenzie reached out a hand to her shoulder. “What’s—”
She jerked as if burned, scrambled to shut off the stove’s burners and grabbed her keys from the counter. “Get into the garage. Jack!”
Mackenzie didn’t argue. She hurried to the door on the other side of the kitchen, so panicked she twisted the knob without bothering to unlock the door first. She swore and reached for the latch, but a soft gasp behind her made her turn.
Mahalia’s dark skin had taken on an alarming pallor, and her eyes rolled back in her head. Mackenzie stared in horror as Mahalia fell, her head impacting the counter with a sickening thud.
Time slowed to a crawl as Mahalia crumpled. Mackenzie lunged toward her, hitting the floor on her knees and sliding a few inches. She screamed Jackson’s name as she pushed Mahalia’s hair back from her face. There seemed to be blood everywhere, so much that, at first, Mackenzie couldn’t tell where the wound was.
“Mahalia!” She swore fiercely under her breath as she tore her shirt over her head, balled it up and pressed it against the wound. Shit, shit, shit—it was all she could think as panic made her heart race and she screamed again. “Jackson!”
Somewhere down the hall, Jackson’s strangled voice called out her name.
His voice cut off abruptly as a shiver claimed her, the same feeling she’d had in Memphis that had prompted her to abandon her car. Something bad was coming. Something dangerous. Her instincts screamed it, and now she knew them for what they were. Some bit of supernatural heritage, telling her the only way to save herself. Run, run, run.
But she couldn’t run, not with Mahalia on the floor, bleeding. Not with Jackson somewhere in the house, hurt or injured or under some kind of magical attack.
Steven. She needed Steven—someone who knew what was going on, who might still be close enough to help. She held her shirt to Mahalia’s head with one hand while she groped on the counter with the other, finally finding Mahalia’s cell phone. She fumbled and flipped open the phone, her hand shaking so badly she could barely read the display.
Fear for Jackson intruded again, and something feral inside screamed for her to abandon Mahalia and find Jackson, to curl around him and protect him. But, whatever had happened, Jackson would never forgive her for letting his mentor bleed to death on the floor.
And there was probably nothing she could do anyway.
Nothing but get help. Mackenzie took a deep breath and let it out before focusing on the phone again. “Steven,” she whispered as she found the address book. “Steven.”
The phone flew from her hand, skittering across the floor until it bumped into a polished black shoe. Her gaze jerked upward, and she found herself staring into a pair of ice blue eyes surrounded by wrinkles. She took in the man’s snowy white hair and neat suit.
Charles.
It had to be. The knowledge must have shown on her face, because he smiled and nodded. “Hello, Jessica. I see they’ve told you about me. That’s a shame, since I’m sure it was
nothing flattering.”
She said the only thing she could think of, the only thing she could manage. “My name isn’t Jessica.”
Charles nodded. “Mackenzie, then. Marcus, please check on Ms. Tate and make sure she isn’t badly injured.”
“Sure, Dad.” Marcus moved around him and knelt next to Mackenzie. “Can I see?” He indicated the shirt she held to Mahalia’s head.
The entire situation was so surreal that she obeyed, pulling the shirt away before she remembered it was Marcus next to her, the man who had chased her across the country and destroyed her life. The man who thought they were destined to be lovers and have magical children.
The worst part was that the same voice that had told her to run was quiet now. Peaceful, as if maybe Marcus wasn’t wrong about their destiny and belonging together. The feeling made no sense, felt more animal than human, and she fought it with the memory of Jackson smiling at her, of the way her body thrilled when he touched her. That’s real, Mackenzie.
Marcus took the bloodied shirt from her and blotted at the cut just above Mahalia’s brow. “It looks bad. She needs help.”
Charles stepped close and bent down, brushing his fingers lightly along the top of Mahalia’s head. Mackenzie felt the prickling feeling again, like pins and needles from sitting still too long. A warm, tangible pressure grew slowly until Charles murmured a few words under his breath.
When he stood again, the cut on Mahalia’s forehead was gone. Mackenzie stared blankly before taking the shirt from Marcus and wiping the blood away. Underneath was smooth, unblemished skin, without even a faint scar to show the injury had ever been there.
“We don’t mean anyone harm, Mackenzie,” Charles told her quietly. “We will do violence if we must, to keep our kind from dying, but we don’t want to. Now if you’ll just—”
“What about Jackson? What did you do to him?”
Charles glanced at Marcus. “Jackson?”
“The spell caster who was helping her.”
“Ah.” Charles focused on Mackenzie again. “If he’s in the house, he was probably rendered unconscious by the backlash of Ms. Tate’s wards falling. I’m sure it will cause him no permanent damage. If you come with us now, we’ll explain everything.”
“No,” she whispered, her shaking fingers feeling at Mahalia’s neck for a pulse. It was there, weak but steady. “No. I’m not leaving them.”
Charles smiled gently at her, and it was more terrifying than if he’d been angry or cold. “Mackenzie, I’m afraid I can’t give you a choice. If you don’t come with us now, Marcus will bring you.”
She considered fighting. Swinging out, hitting them with something, trying to escape. But she could remember the implied threat under Charles’s words. He didn’t want to hurt anyone…but he would. If she tried to escape, she would be leaving Mahalia and Jackson at his mercy. Two perfect hostages.
She shook her head again and wrapped her hand around Mahalia’s. “I can’t leave her like this. I’m not going to come with you and leave her on the floor, and I’m not going anywhere until I check on Jackson.”
“He’s fine, Mackenzie. I can sense his magic. But you do have a point about leaving them here… Marcus, retrieve her cellular phone, please. We’ll call my nephew once we’re on our way so Mackenzie won’t need to worry herself with Ms. Tate and Mr. Holt’s well-being.”
“Holt is an investigator,” Marcus reminded him, though already moving to obey. “They’ll be able to track the GPS chip in the phone.”
“Ah, yes. Sometimes I fall behind the times, though it hardly matters. Steven knows how to find us, for all the good it will do him.” Charles held out a hand, his steady gaze still on Mackenzie. “Now, my dear. Are you going to walk with us, or must Marcus carry you?”
Mackenzie wasn’t sure she could have stood even if she’d wanted to. She was frozen to the spot, so terrified she could barely think. She could only shake her head again.
Charles sighed. “Marcus? Be gentle with her.”
He lifted her as if she weighed nothing, shifting her just enough to tuck her face into his neck. It was a surprisingly trusting gesture, since she could have easily sank her teeth into the tender flesh there. “It’ll be all right, Mackenzie,” he whispered. “You’ll feel better once we get home.”
“No—” It was too much. Frantic, she began to struggle, forgetting all about Mahalia and Jackson and the reasons she was trapped. The instinctive urge to curl against Marcus made it worse, turning her panic to mindless terror as she shoved at his chest and kicked at him, managing to knock her heel into his hip. “No!” The word came out as a snarl this time, and she did dig her teeth into his neck as she kicked again.
He barely reacted to the bite, just hissed softly and tightened his arms around her. “He can make you sleep. Even make you catatonic.” He pulled her head back and looked at her, his expression soft and pleading. “He won’t like it, but he will.”
Mackenzie spat in his face and redoubled her struggles.
“Enough.” Charles stepped over Mahalia as if she weren’t even there. Mackenzie felt his hand on her forehead and tried to jerk away, but Marcus held her steady.
With Jackson it had been a slow, easy feeling, a gentle drifting into sleep, as if she’d simply grown tired. Charles was far more powerful—or far less careful. She was still struggling frantically, her heart pounding in terror, when the world went black.
Chapter 13
Jackson swam his way up through the darkness for what felt like forever. He spent far too long in the shadows between unconsciousness and waking, knowing he needed to open his eyes and move, because there was something…
Mackenzie.
His head pounded, even as he dragged himself to his feet and stumbled down the hall. Steven burst through the back door and into the kitchen just as Jackson caught himself on the edge of the doorframe. “Shit. Fuck.”
Mahalia lay on the floor, her car keys mere inches from her open hand. Though there was an alarming amount of blood on the floor, including a copious amount soaked into the shirt he recognized as Mackenzie’s, there was no evidence of a wound anywhere on his mentor’s body.
Mackenzie was gone. “They came here. They took her.”
“He called me. My uncle.” Steven dropped to his knees and gathered Mahalia into his arms. “We should put her on the bed.”
Jackson’s jaw dropped. “No, you should get her to a hospital while I look for Talbot.”
“No,” Steven snapped. “You don’t need to look for him. I know where he’s going, and it’s suicide to go there by yourself.”
“We can’t just sit here. Mahalia needs a doctor, and I need—” I need to find Mackenzie before Talbot decides she’s too much trouble.
Mahalia stirred in Steven’s arms. “Charles.”
“May.” Steven touched her cheek. “It’s Steven and Jack. Are you all right?”
She opened her eyes and struggled, pushing against Steven’s chest. “Where is she? Is she gone?”
“Shh, May—” Steven helped her sit. “The Peytons and Jackson’s partner will be here by the end of the day, with any luck. We’ll get her back.”
Her reddened eyes welled with tears. “No. Not again, Steven. I did it again…” She pressed her face against his neck and began to sob.
“No.” Steven’s expression was pained as he cradled Mahalia against his chest. “It was too much to ask of you. Too much to ask of anyone. I’m sorry, May.”
Jackson started to reach out, but stopped and averted his eyes. Steven was far better suited to the task of comforting Mahalia than he was. “You said you knew where he was taking her.”
“Charles owns land in Coos County, New Hampshire, near the Vermont border. It’s remote, wrapped in protective spells, and he’s untouchable when he’s there.” Steven’s sudden smile was vicious. “Unless you’re his nephew and have a Seer with you. For once, the fact that we’re related just may do some good.”
Jackson felt equally vicious as he
stared at the pool of blood on the floor, Mackenzie’s shirt in the middle of it. “If you and Nick’s sister can get me and Alec within a hundred yards of him, we’ll do the rest.”
Steven opened his mouth, obviously intending to give him another warning on how dangerous Charles was. Instead, he nodded shortly as he rose, Mahalia still held against his chest. “I’m going to get her cleaned up and settled down. We’ll talk about it when we’re all together.”
Jackson stared after them. His mind whirled as he picked up Mackenzie’s shirt, dropped it into the sink and turned the water on. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he pushed every thought he could from his mind as he located a dish towel, dampened it, and started cleaning the kitchen floor.
Mahalia glanced at Jackson’s hand on her elbow as they walked across the tarmac to the waiting jet. “I’m fine, Jack. You don’t have to treat me like an old lady.”
“I’m treating you like a lady who got her head whacked to hell and back a couple of hours ago.” He eyed the jet with a whistle. “Must be nice to own half of New York.”
“I doubt this is Peyton’s. Probably just one of hundreds he has at his ready disposal.” Mahalia smiled a little. “Have Nick and Alec made it in yet?”
“They should be waiting for us.”
Alec and Nick were, indeed, waiting inside the jet. Both were seated in luxurious seats on opposite sides of the plane, and Alec sported a prominent black eye.
Jackson’s eyebrows shot up. “What the hell happened to you?”
Alec slanted a look at Nick. “Little friendly disagreement.”
The look Nick shot him in return could have set his hair aflame. “And if you ever lump my sister in with the likes of Charles Talbot again, I’ll blacken more than your eye, you ridiculous, ignorant bastard.”
“I wasn’t—” Alec snapped his mouth shut and turned to Jackson. “She’s your best friend. Calm her down, would you?”
