Blackbirds & Bourbon

by Heather R. Blair

  I take a breath and reach out my hand. “It’s easy, Jack. Just play normal.”

  Almost warily, his palm brushes mine, rough and warm, the clasp of those strong fingers making me gulp.

  “Play normal? Is that what you do?”

  “All the time, or close enough. Wouldn’t want to be too boring, now would I?”

  “I think boring is probably beyond you.”

  His tone is not in the least ironic. I smile somewhat nervously and lead him down the path. By the time we reach the ice, I’ve conjured him some skates on the sly. Before long, he is betting me that I can’t catch him and of course, I have to take that bet. We’re racing around the rink, dodging kids who look like colorful blurs and couples slowly gliding hand in hand. Going so fast the humans can’t even see us, me keeping up with him by casting, though I have a feeling he could dust me in a heartbeat if he chose to.

  He doesn’t, and before long I’ve got him trapped, my arms outstretched as I back him into one corner of the ice. Raising his hands in surrender, those eyes glinting, Jack laughs.

  Then he goes still, his face utterly blank. As if the sound of his own laughter startled the hell out of him. Jack turns that icy gaze on me, his eyes narrowing, the look in them making me shiver. He smiles a second later and the feeling vanishes. He may be Jack Frost, but that smile could melt the ice under my toes. I feel like someone nailed me over the head with a cartoon anvil.

  “Okay, okay, you win, princess. Let’s go get some coffee, you look cold.”

  I raise my eyebrows despite the delight bubbling up in my throat. He gave me a nickname. A sweet one. Aww. Still… “Aren’t you a little old to be asking me out?”

  “It’s just coffee.” A sidelong look, one that makes my stomach flutter. “And who came up to me bold as brass, begging for a kiss?”

  “I didn’t beg.”

  His eyes are glittering. “Yes, you kind of did.”

  I sigh. He has a point. I may not know what Jack Frost wants with me, but I’m enjoying his company way too much to say no. “Alrighty then. Coffee it is.”

  Minutes later, we’re off the ice, skates in hand, walking next to the harbor, where the lake gleams like a dull iron plate.

  Tourists are sparse this time of year, so it’s just me and him. The silence stretches, the wind and lake ice creaking. He doesn’t attempt to fill it, but I can feel his eyes on me, and the intensity of his scrutiny unnerves me.

  “You’re nothing like I expected,” I blurt out when we’re nearly there.

  “Aren’t I?” Jack follows me down the steps to Amazing Grace, something in his voice that makes me glance at him over my shoulder. Stupid move, because the sight of him makes me stumble. I nearly fall flat on my face. But his fingers wrap around my arm, quick as a flash. God, he’s gorgeous. Dark chestnut hair backlit by the fire of the winter sun, those yummy eyes amused as he steadies me. “What did you expect?”

  “Well, Jack Frost, you know. There’re all these stories about you.”

  He reaches past me to open the door, lips quirking. “Surely not.”

  We get our coffee before I pick up the thread of our conversation again. “Yes, there are. Lots of them. Cold. Emotionless. A man made of ice, inside and out. As ruthless as the north wind.”

  Jack is leading me to an empty table, his fingers lightly brushing the small of my back.

  He pulls out my chair, too. I’m not sure whether to feel awkward or charmed, but finally settle on a bit of both.

  “And you don’t see me like that?” Something in his face hardens ever so slightly as he takes his seat. “Perhaps you haven’t known me long enough.”

  “Bullshit. The guy who skated with me today is not emotionless.”

  “Maybe I don’t know where that guy came from.” Something flickers in his eyes, something I think might be chagrin. “Maybe you brought him out.”

  I snort. “Sure, blame me. A lot of people do.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Shrugging, a little embarrassed to sound so typically adolescent, I grab for the sweeteners in the middle of the table, one white and one pink. “Nothing, really. People seem to either hate me or adore me. There is no middle ground.”

  “Is that so?” He watches me tear the envelopes open with my teeth before pouring them into my coffee. “Well, at least they’re not apathetic, right?”

  “I don’t know.” I think of all those attacks back when I was a kid. And the way so many guys seem to fall over themselves lately, trying to get my attention. Hell, even Georg has been acting weird around me lately. Looking at me like we haven’t known each other since we were both in diapers. I let out a breath. “A little apathy might be nice.”

  “No. It’s really not, I assure you.” His lips curve and my heart does a little dance inside my chest.

  Uh-oh. This guy…there’s something about him.

  He takes the envelopes from my suddenly nerveless fingers, the lean strength of his hands cupping mine briefly before pulling away. Tossing the pieces into the trash, his grin widens. It’s freaking lethal. I feel like one of those simpering girls in an old antebellum-era movie, waving a fan and in need of some smelling salts. Stat. “You want me to get you one of the blue packets, too—just so you can poison yourself properly?”

  “Nah. I—”

  His gaze drops to my mouth. “You got something…right there.”

  My words catch in my throat as Jack leans forward.

  His thumb slides along my lower lip, brushing away a few grains of sugar. I taste the sweetness along with the warm salt of his skin. His eyes are locked on my face, narrowing in sudden decision as his fingers tighten on my chin. Tilting my face up, he leans across the table. I can’t move, frozen in place, stunned as those warm lips brush mine.

  I kissed Jack already. Sorta. But that was on a bet and lasted about a second and a half.

  This is his mouth taking mine, slow and soft as if he has every right to it. Like I’m his. My hand tightens on the table edge as my insides go all melty. The barest flick of his tongue against my lips catches the last of the sugar before he pulls away.

  “What was that for?” I feel woozy, clutching the table edge for support.

  I’ve been kissed before, sure, but never like that.

  “Maybe I wanted to end this little outing on a high note.” Jack gets to his feet, the words light, flirtatious even, but his expression doesn’t match them. Something inside me flutters warily.

  “Is this ended then, Jack?” He looks down at me, the sunlight silhouetting his form, darkening his features.

  “Hell no, princess. It’s just beginning.”

  11

  I open my eyes to sunlight on my pillow and a wicked headache.

  I’d forgotten about that feeling I had that day with Jack. That momentary unease. I don’t think I ever felt it again. I was too busy falling in love. But something, something had tried to warn me.

  Cerunnos said that Jack knew about me before the rest of them. That he’d marked me as the one who would fulfill their damn prophecy. If that’s true, had he known it even then, that day at the rink? It seems likely. He must’ve either suspected or been certain. Why else would he have approached me? I rub at my temples. I still don’t believe that prophecy nonsense. Or maybe I don’t want to. After all, I’ve touched elemental magic now. Or it touched me.

  And I seized it in my desperation to save my sister and brought it down like a hammer to crush our enemies. They could be right.

  Maybe I am the harbinger of doom. Maybe I will go mad and cause the end of the world.

  But not today.

  Today I just want some fucking coffee and a few aspirin.

  I follow my nose, hoping to find them both downstairs. I scrap my hair into a messy bun on the way. A stray strand, the pink one, tickles my nose as I enter the kitchen.

  There’s a monster at the stove cooking breakfast. Otherwise known as Carly’s boyfriend. The Ojibwe know him as Mishipeshu, but around here we c
all him Styx. He turns away from whatever he’s making, frowning when he sees me.

  Styx is easily as tall as the king of the bears, though not quite as wide in the shoulders. He’s got long hair, too, but where Georg’s is a wavy mane of golden-brown, Styx’s is thick, straight and silver, like sunlight when it hits the lake at midday, and almost as bright. I squint and stumble for the coffee-maker. “Tone it down a bit, would you?”

  The shine dims ever so slightly as he presses his lips together and turns back to whatever he’s cooking. It smells heavenly, warm and sweet, reminding me of those pancakes I missed out on at the Den. Was that really only forty-eight hours ago?

  “So, is this gonna be a thing now? You in my house, being all domestic?”

  He shrugs and for the first time I notice how stiffly he’s holding himself. There is a line of red working its way up the back of that tanned neck. I take a step back. Styx and anger are not a good combination. Something rumbles above the house.

  I glance up and feel a shiver go down my spine. “Umm…Styx?”

  Technically, Styx is not an FTC. He’s not even of this world. And when he gets mad, bad things happen. Right now, it appears he’s mad at me. Shit.

  He slams down the plate he’s just filled. Blueberry pancakes. Carly’s favorite. Mine, too. “You almost getting killed upset her, Persephone. That upsets me.” There is a charged feeling in the air, which has gone thick and heavy and smells faintly of ozone. The hair on the back of my neck prickles.

  “Uh-huh. I am getting that loud and clear, big guy. But can you take it down a notch? Ana frowns on lightning in the house. Fair warning.”

  He lets out a breath. The house trembles again, once. Then settles. When Styx turns to me, plate in hand, his golden eyes have darkened to a deep brass. He has his power on a leash, but it’s straining, like a pit bull in need of a good run.

  “Don’t upset Carly like that ever again. Fair warning.”

  I swallow and watch him stomp from the room.

  Once again, no pancakes for me.

  It stings, Styx’s anger. Not just because he’s scary when he’s angry. But because we’re supposed to be friends. And because I know he has every right to be angry. Slipping on a stretchy red sweater dress and black woolen thigh highs in my room minutes later, I avoid my own eyes in the mirror, brushing out my hair to twist it into a better messy bun.

  I wasn’t really thinking of anyone else when I let Ivo and Kevin haul me up the Shore yesterday. And despite the fact I tried to tell myself I had a plan, that was bullshit. Tyr would’ve killed me if it hadn’t been for my sisters.

  I was wrong. And I know I was wrong. I let all the bullshit get to me, and what’s worse, I let it affect those I love. Maybe this will end badly, but I have no right to hurry it along.

  My sisters have been through enough this last month. I may’ve been the center of the maelstrom, but it affects them, too. Hell, Ana got stabbed in the back, literally, because of choices I made. Jett’s also dealing with something on the sly. Related to me or not, her continuing disappearances are becoming more worrisome. Poking my nose in her business has always been a good way to get it busted, but if she doesn’t come clean soon, we may have to stage an intervention. And Carly…

  Carly is in her first real relationship. That I’ve known of, anyway. And how does she get to introduce her new beau to the family? By me getting her kidnapped, forcing Styx to come save her because I couldn’t. Now he’s the one having to warn me not to put her through anything else.

  I need to find my spine because I seem to have misplaced it somewhere between the guilt and fear that has been riding me these last few weeks. Like I told Cerunnos, I wasn’t built to kneel. Not to him and not to fate.

  Feeling like one selfish bitch, I drive down to T&T. My default happy place. Plus, you know, it’s filled with alcohol.

  It’s early, so no Benji and certainly no Jett. I let myself in and head for the bar in the blissful silence.

  When I turn around, Jameson’s in hand, Merry’s on a bar-stool, making me jump half a foot in the air and almost lose my grip on the bottle.

  “Mind the whiskey. I’ll be wanting some.”

  “Who says I’m gonna give you any? We’re not even open yet.”

  “Good thing, ’cause I want a private word about your foolhardy bullshit yesterday.”

  Foolhardy? Who uses that damn word in real life? Gnomes, that’s who. The older FTCs never seem to completely catch up with modern vernacular.

  “I had my reasons. And don’t think I don’t know you called Jack.”

  “Of course I did. Though he would’ve been on his way before long anyway.” Because of the ‘bond’ between us. Apparently Merry knows about that, too.

  There’s nowhere you can hide from me, princess.

  The gnome smiles as I bite my lip, studying him.

  “So, what else do you know about the magic he worked on me?”

  Merry pulls off his hat, running his fingers through his springy curls before looking back at me. “I know it didn’t work like he expected, Persephone. To be honest, I don’t think anything concerning you has gone the way Jack Frost expected. You’ve knocked that son of a bitch for a loop since day one.”

  “Really?” I fold my arms and glare over the bar. “You gonna explain that?”

  “Nope.”

  “You gonna explain why you sent me out to Brighton that night, right into Owen’s path?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then tell me why I shouldn’t light your ass on fire right now. That hat would make one hell of a wick for a gnome candle.”

  He gives me a look from under bushy brows, setting said hat on the bar. “Seph, we both know you ain’t got the chops to take me out—not yet anyway. So give it a rest, pour me a jigger of that whiskey, and maybe I’ll tell you something worth hearing, even if it’s not what you had in mind.”

  “Pour it your own damn self. And this better be good, Merry. I’m not in the mood for more bullshit. From anyone.”

  Merry reaches for the whiskey, splashing a heavy measure into his glass. “I think it’s about time you heard how the Dark Council started and why.” He drinks before raising his eyes to mine. “It’s ugly, Seph.”

  “Like I was expecting pretty.”

  “You know how a lot of FTCs view witches, right?”

  “Sure. That crap about us stealing magic and all.” Cerunnos and his true magic bullshit.

  “It’s not exactly crap, Seph. And it’s not just witches.” He settles back on the stool, staring at the bottle. “It really starts with the vampires. They originated in Ireland. Had nothing to do with Vlad the freaking Impaler. Just some fool human, one that was sick and desperate. They believed in bleeding bad blood back then, you know. Ignorant fools, but this one got the idea to try the opposite. Ingesting new blood. He’d already killed dozens before managing to trap a young girl. The madman didn’t know it, but she was half elemental, a maenad. Her blood changed something inside him, leaving him always thirsty and never satisfied. And over time, the magic expanded, morphed and took over. Vampires were born.”

  I’ve heard this legend before. Not in exactly this way, but I don’t get where he is going with this. “Merry—”

  He pours another drink, studiously ignoring me.

  “Then you got your werewolves. Now, shifters have been around since the beginning. Your bruins, selkies and the like. They’re elementals without magic, at least the kind that can be used offensively. But they don’t need it; they’ve always existed as part of nature and her cycles. Guardians of the land for the most part, like your bruin buddies watching out for the forests over in Wisconsin. But werewolves, now… another bastard race. Very similar story to the bloodsuckers. This one starts in your mom’s old neck of the woods,” he says, side-eying me as he sips his drink. “Old Normandy. Woman and her kids are starving, she manages to net herself a minor forest goddess, an elemental called Vila, whose powers waxed and waned with the moon. This goddess could take
the form of many forest creatures, but when she was caught, she was in the shape of a wolf. They cut bits off her for weeks, an arm here, a leg there.”

  Merry gives a grim smile at my wince.

  “The goddess could regenerate, of course. So, by eating her flesh the little family got through the winter. In the spring, the woman let Vila go, but first she managed to extort a vow that the goddess could never take revenge. The family survived and multiplied. The magic lengthened their lives and their strength and forever tied them to the moon cycle.”

  He lifts his head and stares at me. “Then along came witches. First witch, they say she trapped a demon by accident. One of the ancient elementals that no longer exist on this plane—well, except one, our mutual friend.” I nod. I know who he’s talking about—Styx. “So this demon—some say they were lovers, too—taught her how to see the magic between all living things. It was a weak and temperamental magic, one elementals and the rest never bothered to learn, thinking it simple and useless, not to mention beneath them. But once she could see the energy, this human figured out how to harness it with her rhymes. And this ‘lesser’ magic came with a gift the demon hadn’t seen coming. The ability to eat souls.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re telling me my own family history here, Merry.” The witch he is talking about it is my mom. She tells it differently, but whatever. I’ve always wondered if that demon might’ve been our dad, but for all her flightiness, Mom has a talent for keeping secrets. She passed the knowledge of her magic to her own sisters and a few close friends, and to us, of course. Given the centuries that have passed, that means there are an awful lot of witches running around.

  “I get it, Merry. None of those races were born naturally of magic. It’s the old argument. That we stole it. But it’s not as if we can just give it back now.”

  “No, but some, like most of the Dark Council, say we should take it back.”

  “Take it back, how?”

  “Cerunnos wants to eradicate the new races.”

  “You can’t be serious.” A muscle twitches in his jaw. I guess he is. Racial cleansing? I guess after all that bullshit about true magic in the cavern, I shouldn’t be surprised. I did compare them to the KKK after all. Looks like I was more right than I knew. “Why have I never heard of any of this before now?”