Blackbirds & Bourbon

by Heather R. Blair

  I put my hand to his chest and push. “Yes. It does.”

  He lifts me down at once, but makes sure I slide down his body inch by inch, so I feel exactly what I’m missing. I bite down on a whimper. My only consolation is that he’s being tortured, too. The tissue-thin sweater and snug jeans I’m wearing make it hard to miss even one of my curves. When Jack pulls his hands from me, they’re shaking.

  “I need another drink.” He moves back around the bar to take a stool, scrubbing at his face.

  I raise an eyebrow, still on fire inside, but trying my best to play cool. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? “Who’s hitting the sauce hard now?”

  “You’re not the only one who had a rough week.”

  “Oh, really? Do tell.”

  “I’ve been with the Dark Council, trying to get them to rescind the bounty.”

  I fumble the bottle of Jim. Jack catches it neatly, pouring himself a double before setting it back on the bar, looking at me over the glass with a half-smile.

  “Have you now? Saving me a new hobby of yours?” My words are heavy on the sarcasm, but I can’t help the little skip my heart makes.

  His eyes flicker, then harden. “I’ve got my own agenda here, remember, princess?”

  Whose side are you on, Jack?

  My own.

  Yeah, I fucking remember. “Mind sharing?”

  He smiles again, but it’s a tight, hard smile. Then he looks away, “And ruin the surprise? I think not. “

  “What did they say?”

  “No.”

  I wait for more but he doesn’t elaborate. I watch Jack as he drinks, thinking back. This isn’t new, he’s always been a taciturn kind of guy. We spent a lot of our time together in silence, but it was a good kind of silence. My house has always been so full of noise; laughter, screaming, the cacophony of a home full of women. I loved the craziness, and I still do, but being around Jack was calming to my soul. I craved it, like I craved him in so many damn ways.

  Whatever’s in his eyes right now, though, isn’t calming at all. He looks worried, tired… almost drawn. Like a man with something riding him.

  He’s in trouble, Persephone.

  Rochie’s words. Jack’s annoying fairy best friend. Words I haven’t forgotten. They’ve been twisting in my head with all the other loose threads I’m constantly trying to weave together. Could this be what she meant?

  Is Jack in trouble because of me?

  No way.

  “Jack—”

  Just then the lights dim, giving a few weak pulses before going out altogether. I’ve totally forgotten about the storm raging outside. We wait in the blackness for the generator to kick on.

  And wait.

  “Well, shit.”

  Out of the dark, Jack’s answering laugh makes me shiver.

  One thing about being a witch, you’re never caught without a light. Minutes later, I carry a ball of pretty orange flames in my palm as Jack and I descend down the stairs to the basement so recently used as Tyr’s magical jail cell. My generator is out cold. Even after a few encouraging prods with magic nothing happens.

  I kick the damn thing in frustration. Jack laughs again and I curse, but there’s really nothing to be done. Such is Duluth in winter.

  In the end, we go back upstairs. Jack lays a layer of ice over the food in the freezer at my request, then we’re left staring at each other in the hallway next to my office. His lips twitch in the soft, flickering glow of my conjured light.

  “You’re thinking of kicking me out into the snow, aren’t you?”

  “You love the snow.” At his raised eyebrow, I give in. “Fine. We’ll crash in my office. You on the couch, me in my chair.”

  “Whatever you say, princess.”

  It’s a big comfy couch—for someone my size. Jack’s head hangs over one armrest and his ankles over the other. I smirk as I throw him a blanket from the closet and grab my old lined trench coat from a hanger. “Comfy, Jack?”

  He sighs heavily, watching me with slitted eyes as I slip my bra off under my sweater (I refuse to sleep with the goddamn thing on, Jack or not) and kick off my shoes before settling into my chair. “You could conjure us a mattress or something. In the interest of comfort and conserving heat.”

  I shake my head at him. “Ain’t happening, Jack. I’ve slept in this chair more times than I can count. I’ll be plenty comfy. And it can’t get cold enough in here to make me curl up with you.”

  I hear Jack mutter Wanna bet? under his breath, but I ignore him and snuff out the dancing magical flames in my palm by making a fist. Darkness settles over us. The one high window in my office gives only the hint of a pale blue glow once my eyes adjust.

  I pull the coat up to my chin, listening to the soft rasp of Jack’s breathing. I don’t think I’m ever gonna get to sleep with him so close, but I find myself relaxing immediately. As if having him near in the darkness is somehow comforting. Before I know it, I’m sound asleep.

  The crash of thousands of pounds of ice, like a wall of glass exploding, echoes in my ears. Screams and howls fading, the coppery smell of blood in the sharp lake air.

  The beach is littered with bodies, most half shifted, forever stuck somewhere between human and wolf. I don’t want to look, but then my eyes find a familiar face, her dark hair streaked and matted with blood. Syana. No.

  I sway, one hand pressing against my lips as everything starts to spin. Bile rises in my throat as I start to recognize more of the dead. Georg is there, eyes sightless and cloudy. Even Aimee and her kids, tiny bodies facedown in the sand. My stomach roils and I go to my knees as the waves slam into the beach. I didn’t do this. I couldn’t have done this.

  Tears freeze on my cheeks, fear and guilt squeezing my chest. I whimper at the sudden glow of pearlescent white-yellow eyes out of the black night, the gleam of dagger-like teeth as a wolf slinks across the sand. Owen.

  “You’re dead,” I whisper.

  “Well, there’s dead, and then there’s dead, witch.” He shouldn’t be capable of speech, not in his wolf form, but Owen’s words are clear in my head. As clear as the burn of his fangs when they latch onto my skin a second latter, tearing flesh. Panicked, I fight, reaching for my magic, but it won’t come. Above me, Owen’s yellow wolf shifts into Luna’s white one and this time it’s her teeth that clamp around my throat. And her familiar voice in my head, Time to end it, baby witch. End it all before it’s too late.

  I scream, my arms flailing out, striking something painfully solid...solid and hard, but without fur…

  The scent of pinecones and wood smoke surrounds me, chasing away the dregs of the awful dream. “Seph, baby. Wake up, dammit!”

  Sweaty but freezing, shaking in the cold as the old coat falls off of me, I reach for Jack before I’m fully awake, before I remember why I shouldn’t. And before I can take it back, strong, warm arms surround me, lifting me easily from the chair. I can’t help it, I burrow into that strength, needing both it and his heat right now. Needing him. My face buried in his throat as I try to get my shit together.

  He stalks the few steps to the couch without a word. “Jack, it’s not big enough for you,” I protest as he sits down, dashing at the wetness on my cheeks with the back of one trembling hand, “let alone both of us together.”

  “We’ll manage.” He lays back, head and shoulders pushed up awkwardly by the armrest, me curled on top of him.

  “You have to be so uncomfortable.”

  His hand palms my ass and squeezes lightly. “This is me, not complaining.”

  Despite my insides still quivering, I smother a giggle against his chest, then close my eyes as the echoes of those terrified howls ring in my head. I shudder and his arms tighten almost angrily.

  “You have to stop thinking about it.”

  I don’t ask how he knows what my nightmare was about, because he was there. Of course he knows. But he isn’t the one revisiting that godawful beach every fucking night. Without opening my tired eyes, I rub my cheek su
rreptitiously against his shirt, inhaling his woodsy scent. “Forgetting what happened won’t make it go away.”

  “No, it won’t. Neither will guilt. You can’t change the past, Seph.”

  “Not according to my mother.”

  His voice turns sharp. “You’re not Oriane—and even if you could take back what happened at the beach, Seph, would you really? Sacrifice yourself for no point?”

  The silence that follows Jack’s words stretches to the breaking point, but I don’t fill it. Jack wraps his fingers around my chin, forcing my head up.

  “No one would’ve been helped by you dying that night. Styx saved your sister without you, and Owen deserved to die.” Jack’s eyes are cold in the faint light from the window. “If you hadn’t killed him for what he did, I would’ve.”

  “But all those others, the rest of the pack…”

  “They made their choice.”

  “You know it doesn’t work like that, not for wolves.”

  “Even werewolves have free will, Seph. At least a third of the pack was not on that beach.”

  “But the ones that were there, I killed. Doesn’t that make me a monster?”

  “You’re asking my opinion?” He sounds mildly incredulous, releasing my chin and looking away. “My moral compass is shot. Has been for centuries.” He has a point. Still…

  “You’re not a monster, Jack.”

  “You honestly believe that,” he says quietly, “after what I did to you?”

  Maybe it’s the dark heightening my senses, but I swear there’s a tinge of self-loathing in his voice. It never occurred to me that Jack might feel bad about what he did—that he might’ve had regrets. Since he’s been back, though, the way he’s behaved… I’m no longer sure of anything.

  Not being sure rattles me. When rattled I get flippant.

  “Being an asshole doesn’t qualify you for monster status, Jack. Sorry. You’ll have to try harder.”

  His arms tighten, almost cutting off my air. “Be careful what you wish for, princess.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I choke.

  His grip loosens, allowing me to breathe, but he’s silent for so long a chill settles over me. Finally Jack sighs, settling deeper into the couch, tucking my head under his chin. “Never mind. Just shut up and go to sleep.”

  I want to argue, but he’s so deliciously warm my eyelids are getting heavy. Before I go under completely, his whisper ruffles my hair. “Looks like we’re sleeping together after all, princess.”

  With a sleepy laugh, I snuggle in closer. “Enjoy it while you can, smart ass.”

  “Oh, I am,” he says, with a rough laugh of his own. “I am.”

  Just before I fall asleep I realize Jack never answered my question, about whether he thinks I’m a monster or not. That might be an answer in and of itself. But I’m too worn out to fuss. Jack’s heat has stolen into my bones and his smell surrounds me. In seconds, I’m down for the count.

  When I wake up, he’s gone. I expected that. What I didn’t expect was the note, by way of a tiny scroll tucked into one of my iron bracelets. Jack’s fancy, old school script at odds with the terse message.

  Be careful. They’ll be coming soon.

  By soon, I wonder if he meant right the fuck now. Because when I raise my eyes, there’s a vampire and a satyr leaning against my desk, both of them wearing business-like frowns that look decidedly bounty-hunterish.

  6

  The vampire is everything a vampire should be—tall, thin and elegant, with long blond hair, aristocratic features and light grey eyes, dressed in a well-cut dark grey suit and scarlet-flecked tie. The satyr is his opposite, just over my height, thick, muscular and seriously cut. It’s easy to tell because he’s totally naked. Satyrs never do clothes. When they venture into human territory—not often—they glamor heavily, or carry scrollwork if they don’t want to bother keeping up the constant illusion themselves.

  This one hasn’t bothered with either. He has rough-cut reddish-brown hair and two grey and black-striped horns curling above his slightly pointed ears. A long tail that matches the hair on his head and the thick fur that covers his flanks (and keeps certain parts somewhat private) tapers to a tufted auburn point that brushes the floor as it flicks back and forth around glossy black hooves.

  “How’d you get in here?” I address the vampire, who smiles tightly.

  “Public place, Persephone. Invitation is implied by the Welcome My Pretties, We’re Open sign. Adorable addition, by the way. Is it new?”

  “Early Christmas present from Syana. Glad you approve, Ivo.”

  “Wait.” The satyr looks from me to the vamp. “You know the mark? You didn’t tell me that when we hooked up.” From his tone, ‘hooked-up’ implies more than let’s work together to bring down the scary witch.

  I raise an eyebrow. Admittedly, Ivo Grant’s sexuality has always been somewhat fluid, but a satyr? Not that I’m judging, but the logistics of that tail have my mind wandering for a long moment. Ivo finally clears his throat, bringing me back to the present. I shoot him a glare.

  “Isn’t it a little late in the day for you to be out and about?”

  He shrugs. “Your lovely Minnesota weather seems to have delayed sunrise indefinitely.” Meaning the storm must still be going strong, or at least strong enough Ivo isn’t worried about getting blasted by a stray sunbeam.

  “So let me guess, you’re not here for one of my mean bourbon fizzes?”

  Ivo has the grace to look sheepish.

  “It’s a lot of money, Seph.”

  “How much?” I’m curious, plus trying to buy time to consider the situation. Neither seems to be carrying much in the way of weapons, but of course, they don’t need to. As a vamp, Ivo’s got all kinds of preternatural advantage on me: speed, strength and the whole bitey thing. Vampires don’t just drink blood, they drink magic too. They can temporarily steal any elemental’s or witch’s powers if they get a good bite in. It’s the only way bloodsuckers can wield magic, but it’s an effective one. And besides the sun and the wasting sickness that occasionally plagues their kind, vampires have precious few weaknesses. I can’t access the sun in here, and Ivo looks damn healthy for a vamp.

  The satyr’s almost as bad. Satyrs are the best fighters in the FTC world, even more kick-ass than shifters. Plus, he’ll have some magic of his own. The primal kind unique to satyrs and nymphs. Still, these two are planning on going up against me, a supposedly deadly witch—which after the whole beach thing, should be more fact than supposition. But no hardware. That means they’re underestimating me. Probably because Ivo thinks he knows me and what I’m capable of. Good.

  “Two mill.”

  “Seriously?” I sit back at Ivo’s words, stunned.

  “It was a million even, but after the whole werewolf thing, they doubled it.” He sounds apologetic. As he should. I like Ivo. And I thought he liked me. He’s been a somewhat regular customer over the years, when he was traveling through Duluth every fall on his way north.

  One thing Twilight nailed was vampires’ penchant for certain climates. Fog and rain works, sure, but so does anywhere with long winters full of short days. You can’t walk two blocks in Minnesota after Samhain without running into a bloodsucker. Birds fly south for the winter, vampires flock north.

  “Yeah,” I muse, giving him a pointed look. “Bringing in the harbinger of the apocalypse should set one up for life. If you survive it, of course.”

  Ivo clears his throat, but both he and his companion look unimpressed. “We’ll survive it,” the satyr sneers. “I wouldn’t put odds on you.”

  “Your fuck buddy is rude.” I fold my arms and glare at the vampire. “Maybe I should give him a lesson in manners, Ivo. What’s goat boy’s name anyway?

  Ivo gives me a pained look and clears his throat over the satyr’s growl. “Kevin.”

  I cough, then sputter, before laughing out loud. “A satyr named Kevin—seriously?”

  The satyr bares his teeth, and that g
lossy russet tail twitches. “I don’t like the human.”

  “That’s witch, Kevin dear, and as you’re a dick who’s planning to give me over to the Dark Council, the not-liking thing is totally mutual.”

  As I’m gathering breath to launch my rhyme, my hands tighten in my old coat which Jack must’ve draped over me before he left, and a half-forgotten piece of spellwork crunches in a pocket. It gives me a thought. An admittedly insane one.

  Why not let them take me in?

  I consider the idea, poking at it in my mind. Except for that twisted prophecy Jack told me, I’m still in the dark where the Dark Council is concerned, hardy fucking har har. Maybe it’s time for a little light. Sure, this amount of light could fry me. I’m well aware that the bounty is dead or alive, Owen said as much. But I’m pretty sure Ivo, at least, prefers delivering me alive— if I don’t make too much trouble. Others might not be so picky.

  And one way or the other, they aren’t going to stop. I’m tired of looking over my shoulder, tired of the nonstop nightmares, the endless worry—about who gets hurt next, what I might do next and how to keep those I love safe.

  I think of Tyr and the set up at the mall. In less than a few days, I could very well be magic-less. Why put off the inevitable, and get more people I love hurt? Or, almost worse, become the harbinger of death the Dark Council believes me to be. I know damn well my battered soul can’t take another night like that one at the beach.

  Telling myself my sudden urge to see the Dark Council has nothing to do with dream-Luna’s words echoing in my head, I get to my feet and hold out my wrists.

  “Okay, boys. I’m all yours.”

  The satyr looks at Ivo. Ivo looks at me, his pale grey eyes narrowing. “What’s this, Persephone?”

  I give him a big smile, ignoring the cold weight in my stomach. “Two million dollars. Going once, going twice…”

  Minutes later, I’m in the back of a silver Lexus GX, being driven up the Shore. Between my willingness to play along and his superiority complex, Ivo doesn’t bother to tie me up or even search me, something I was counting on. Though the vampire underestimating me is kind of pissing me off. Hasn’t he gotten the memo that I’m dangerous?