A strange smell emanated from the boy as well. Given how attuned I was to smell, I was surprised I hadn’t noticed it sooner. Normally, I’d expect Marco to radiate both a scent and a sound that, given his lack of experience, he wouldn’t have been able to control but would have signaled his wizard status. I wouldn’t have been cognizant of his status, but I would have found it distinctive and unusual. Someone who knew what to look for would have no problem identifying him.
It led me to conclude the drugs provided Marco a mask from someone like me, who might help him. Or from others of his kind, mature wizards such as Anne who would otherwise have intervened.
I opened my eyes as I released my fingers from Marco’s. He withdrew his hand immediately into the tight confines of his body. I let out a deep breath and ran my other hand across my face.
“You’re a palm reader or something?” Aisha’s voice dripped with sarcasm, fear no longer at the forefront of her thoughts. “You going to check my hand, too?”
My patience was running a little thin. I held out my hand to her and raised a brow. Dare issued.
She blanked her expression, but placed her hand in mine slowly. Dare accepted.
I closed my fingers and my eyes again.
She was young, probably in full puberty, though life on the streets may have altered that progress. I expected her readings to be different from her brother’s if only because she wasn’t on drugs. She schooled herself well in guarding her emotions. She’d done it instinctually to keep them alive for the past several years and her strong resistance to my intrusion took me an extra minute of concentration.
I let my focus run through her, not bothering to be particularly gentle. Aisha wanted to challenge me, and I needed her to understand that her life and her brother’s depended on her working with me, not against me. Strength and power she would understand. She’d resent it, but it was part of a hierarchy of survival. A role I continued to feel forced into and regretted. Regret, a predominant emotion these last few days.
These kids should be in some warm, clean home with parents who would sit down to dinner with them and take them to soccer practice. That’s the TV version of life. I didn’t have that. Aisha and Marco didn’t either. So how do I break through a level of distrust for people who have never had the luxury of trust?
She had no veil, but swirls of indigo and violet channeled through her being, darker than they should be, probably due to stress and battle. Her personal vibration was rhythmic, harmonious in contrast to her brother’s. The beat was as challenging as her personality, steady drums of a hidden army in the jungle, dark with implied threat. Her scent, complex and unexpected—sweet musk and light cocoa mixed with spice, ginger, and pine—more easily mistaken for a confection than a human.
Fortunately, she and Anne both diverged from the asphalt scent and harsh vibration of the Consortium’s sorcerers. I couldn’t tell whether it was the result of the female element or the lack of dark power, or perhaps both.
Aisha also didn’t have her brother’s level of power. Even with the drugs still in his system, he’d registered with a stronger surge. However, she’d been using her ability. The drain resulted in a lighter, elastic pulse. Her power lacked the ritual bond I’d executed with Anne, so she had no means to harness her power efficiently or rebound with the help of those who’d gone before.
My guess was that her talent disclosed itself in random unexpected ways, the eruption mistaken for anger, violence. Ways in direct conflict to the essence I could see in Aisha. Her gifts were being twisted and wrenched in a path counter to her true being. I could feel it as well as see her internal battle for self. The need to survive had utilized her senses in the only way it could. The result was a girl who burned through her essence instead of developing it gradually over time.
All this I learned in a second.
And because I needed her to understand sooner rather than later, I sent vibrations to her. I wrapped her swirls of indigo and violet with pure light. I heard the shock of my presence in her gasp, but continued until I reached the sounds within her and forced her rhythm faster, then slower, changing the color within her by shades and increments.
Her awareness of me crystallized, and she was finally aware of herself because I held on so she couldn’t cower or falter. I tied her to me in that space until she reduced her resistance, and then I simply withdrew.
I released her hand, retreating to stand at the counter of the kitchen and leaned back for support against the wall to give myself some much-needed room. It was only then I noticed Ray had one hand on his weapon and the other on the crucifix around his neck.
“That bad?” I asked.
He looked from me to Aisha and back. “You tell me.”
I shrugged, reached back to work the kinks from my neck and looked to Aisha, who, though shaken, had calmly resumed her seat on the other side of her brother. Guess we both needed more space.
“It’s in their blood. The Consortium sacrifices special kids for their blood. And to take over their…” How to put this?
“Souls.” Raymond took his hand slowly away from his weapon and leaned back in his chair.
Yeah, that was a good analogy. Not sure it worked well for Aisha and Marco, but the connection was appropriately threatening to keep Ray’s attention. He lived to save souls.
Aisha reached to comfort her brother, but he recoiled. “Marco?”
“You—glowed.”
With a shake of her head, she attempted denial but slumped in her chair in defeat when he kept his distance.
“So now what?” asked Raymond.
I let out a long, hot breath. Good question. “We need something strong and easily accessible to safeguard these two, some way to keep others from finding them. Got any ideas?”
“Like an anti-hex or something.”
I snorted with a laugh. “Yeah, an anti-hex.”
Raymond frowned and then stared at Aisha’s notepad on the table. He lifted the crucifix from around his neck and laid it on top of the drawing. “Will something like that work?”
I considered one and then the other for potential. Aisha’s creations carried reflections of her power. A suitable foundation with the pieces Ray and I could add. “Yeah, with maybe just a little alteration. We’re going to need a bowl, some holy water, some ink, and maybe a…feather or some writing instrument?” I took the folded cloth I’d brought from the cabin out of my jacket pocket and withdrew the small blade. The eyes on both kids grew huge, and Aisha and Marco shot out of their chairs.
“You promised no one would hurt us.”
“Sit down. Not one word.” A single breath would sever my patience right now, and the tone of my voice must have said it all. Both kids sat down without a peep.
Raymond dropped a bowl on the table from the counter behind him and then rolled into the living room and back with the rest of the items. I ran the blade across my hand for the second time today and squeezed my fist into the bowl. Then, snapping the ink cartridge, I dribbled several drops onto my blood and tilted several drops of holy water to top off the mixture. After wiping the blade, I sliced the end of the feather diagonally and slid it with the cross to Aisha.
“Can you draw this?” I asked, pointing to her design.
She seemed surprised. “Well…sure.”
I waved the feather toward her brother. “On him?”
Her eyes widened. “Yuck.”
My face must have matched my anger, because she snatched the feather. “Sure, not a problem.”
“You’ll need to draw one on yourself, too.”
She looked at the bowl reluctantly but only said, “Okay.”
“I need you to bless the bowl, Reverend.”
Raymond scowled as he plucked his Bible from one of the many pouches on his chair and with reverence even the kids acknowledged in silence, concluded the process.
Both kids were calmer once they realized no one was going to be subjected to the blade, and even the grossness of the blood mixture seeme
d lost on them once Aisha started to draw.
“How long do you think this protection is going to last?” asked Ray.
“This should ward them until the tattoo fades. Maybe we can get one done for them professionally after that.” Aisha glanced up with a frown. I rolled my eyes. Everyone’s a critic. “Or maybe I can think of something else by then.”
My phone buzzed. A text message from Decibel: Home. Now.
Aisha paused in her work to look to me for any sign of new issues.
“You guys hang out here and keep a really low profile.”
“Or bad guys like you are going to get us?” Marco’s sarcasm made Ray’s frown deepen, but the snark was the first sign the boy might be recovering and he offered no censure.
“The guys who are after you are a hundred times worse than me, kid.”
There was no comment from Aisha. She just shook her head and continued with the tattoo on her brother’s arm.
Ray let me out his fortress of a front door, and I headed back to town.
***
I rested my head against the bars of the elevator cage and stretched my neck. I had kinks in my kinks, but at least I hadn’t seen any sign of the organism in either Marco or his sister. Since I didn’t really know the origins and behavior of the creature, that information wasn’t as consoling as I would have liked.
Decibel hadn’t given me any context in her message so my expectations weren’t set for good news.
The elevator lurched to a halt, and I slid the grate to the side, glancing across the room. Decibel sat on the edge of the couch with a satisfied smile, her amber eyes sparkling. It made me feel like a dark-chocolate morsel and not in a good way.
I paused and looked again around the loft. Everything appeared pretty much the way I’d left it, though the last time I’d been here, Sol was still alive and I hadn’t had to work protection detail on three wizards. Life on my toes back in Shalim’s camp seemed downright peaceful by comparison.
“What’s up?” I made it to the coffee table, intending to sit, when I collided with a solid, translucent form and staggered back a step or two. “What the…”
I reached out to get definition of the form and felt the force before it connected with my chest. There was no time to get out of the way before a blip of energy knocked my shoulder and sent me careening into the wall behind me. My Ansel Adams print of El Capitan and the Merced River slid down the wall in a crash of glass and metal, looking as if the picture had spilled out onto my hardwood floor. I rolled to my hands and knees to gauge the direction of the next attack.
“Jez?” I didn’t see her, but the hit I’d taken had a distinctive flair and scent. “I thought we were on the same side,” I said as Decibel’s laugh jarred the ache in my head and reverberated through my tendons. Her wider smile confirmed the game was under way. I’d asked her to train Jez, and she’d created a monster.
“Look, I don’t want to hurt you. Just come out.”
Jez flickered into view and then out again. The air stirred to my right. I surged left as energy whipped by me and knocked several books off the shelf behind me.
“Whoops.” Jez flickered back into view. “I didn’t mean to do that. I was only aiming for you.”
I lifted my hand at the same time Decibel cried out a sharp warning to her. Too late. I’d focused tendrils of white power. The vines of light encircled Jez so she could neither move nor shield. “Silence is always your best defense.” I pulled her closer despite the mutinous look on her face and the jerk of her body as she struggled.
I glanced at Decibel. “So I’m the sparring buddy? How about we call a truce?”
Jez nodded a reluctant assent. I slowly released the tendrils, and she shook off the residual hold.
“I’m not ready to call it quits.” She spat the words at me. The bright anger in her eyes had little to do with a practice fight session. She actually still believed that Shalim’s clan, my clan, had betrayed her and removed her beloved protector.
“Fine.” I flexed the muscles in my shoulder, prepared for more battle.
“You don’t pack much of a punch,” she said smugly.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” I circled around Jez. “But you, on the other hand…”
“Come on, bring it.”
She flew at me with all of her hot built-up anger. She brought the loss of her family, the isolation of living under Sol’s rules, the hole left from not knowing her real parents. I let her take her shots.
Her arms flew, and her legs kicked with bursts of energy. The minutes passed, while her frustration and fatigue increased. All the attacks in the world weren’t going to bring Sol back, and they weren’t going to absolve her of her own self-imposed guilt.
I blocked her shots with my hands, arms, and spins. I watched her energy flag and grabbed her, both arms captured within my hold as I took her to her knees and then face down on the floor. Her face twisted away from me as I pinned her wrists above her head.
“I didn’t kill Sol. I did promise him I’d look out for you. So go ahead and fight. But do it for him, not for some misguided suicide attempt. Or because you can’t see the truth through your anger.” I held her there as her frenzied movements shifted to stillness, then her shivers transitioned to deep, dry sobs. When the sobs racked her whole body, I rolled from her and left her to purge her misery as I sat up and wiped at the blood from a crack in my lip where she’d managed to get in a good strike to my face.
“She isn’t half bad.” Decibel came forward to look at my face but didn’t offer help to Jez or me.
Her comment brought Jez back to earth. She reined in her grief and crawled to prop herself against the chair opposite me.
“He’s right,” Decibel continued, not missing her opportunity to extend the lesson. “Given the chance, he, or any demon, would be more than you could hold off. But battling him isn’t the point.”
Elbows on her knees, Jez lowered her head to rest on the heels of her hands. “Keep shielded and keep my mouth shut.”
Decibel gave a satisfied nod. “Correct. It’s about survival, not self-defense.” She turned to look back at my face. “Or revenge. When you turn of age, it will be different, but even then there will be those more powerful than you. Practicality should always win out.”
I walked the long way around the two to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Decibel raised an eyebrow as the bottle almost reached my lips. I reached in for another and tossed it to her. She pursed her lips at the inevitable explosion of foam but opened the bottle and held it over my hardwood floor out of spite. I tossed the whole paper towel roll to her, which she promptly dropped and moved around with the toe of her foot in a less than helpful manner.
We weren’t the best role models for Jez, but we’d all had a long day.
“What about me?” asked Jez. Evidently we were okay to drink together even if she wanted to kill me.
“Underage. I won’t add abetting underage drinking to my list of sins.”
“I’m old enough to be killed by humans, demons, and sorcerers, but I can’t have a beer?”
I thought about it for a minute and shrugged. “My house, my rules. So it seems you’ve been busy since the diner.”
Decibel swung the neck of the bottle between her fingers and sat on the coffee table, spiky heels on my leather couch. I waved my bottle at her feet. She snorted but pulled her legs beneath her on the table to sit cross-legged. No attempt at a sensual exhibition, since she’d changed to a tightly fitted pantsuit.
“Were you able to find out more about who staged the attack?” I asked.
Jez levered herself up into the overstuffed chair behind Decibel. “We went through the messages that alerted us to the boy. Dec found a discrepancy in the boy’s background data. It had been altered to reflect the adoption.”
“The boy wasn’t one of the Irin,” said Decibel.
“Were you able to tell if he was something else?”
She gave me a strange look.
/> “When you helped Jez escape, did you notice anything unexpected?” I persisted. “Could he have been a demon or something else?”
“You think the other children they use aren’t human.”
Okay, that had been a little too quick delivery of detail on my part. Decibel was an unpredictable commodity and I didn’t need her to catch on to my thoughts too soon. “Just thinking out loud.”
The look in her eyes implied calculation of how she could get more information. “I may be able to find the boy.”
Shit. She was gone before I could stop her. I hadn’t been forthcoming so she’d opted for her own reconnaissance.
Jez leaned forward and grasped Decibel’s beer. “Guess that just leaves you and me.” She smiled over the top of the bottle. Her brown eyes were still mutinous, but she squelched the outward show of animosity and poured all the allure she could into her smile for a sexy moment. Then her tongue rimmed the head of the bottle and licked at the foam.
I froze. A new ploy—damn Decibel. This tactic was so like her. If a first approach failed, try the reverse. The strategy was sound. I just regretted my position as the training dummy. And the approach was more dangerous than a full-on battle, at least to me. Straightforward or dirty, fights I could handle. No problem. It’s not that I’m not attracted to beautiful women, and I’m certainly not immune to nineteen-year-old hotness, but it’s an area where I tread very carefully. Bad history. That said, I’m also too old to be conned by false seduction, usually.
Another good thing about Shalim’s group, I don’t get this kind of trouble, or experience, from my clan of demons. At least not the males. In Shalim’s clan, females were few and far between, seriously predatory, and sort of nomadic by nature. Sex among demons is not the same as with humans, and that wasn’t a tidbit that Decibel had passed on to this unsuspecting Irin. She was in way over her head.
“I’m not up for any more battles, so just forget it.”
The Mark of Kane Page 18
