Vicious Moon

by Lee Roland

  I nodded.

  He frowned. “You shouldn’t have run. There’s nothing on you.”

  I stretched my legs out and tried to relax. “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. People were yelling and pointing guns.”

  Flynn stared for a moment, then went on. “I have a friend at the FBI. He said Interpol is looking for Durand. I don’t think they’ll send someone to Duivel on the say-so of a rookie cop.” A roguish smile twitched his lips. It made him look much younger. “I’ve heard a lot of rumors. Exactly how much gold did you—did Durand—steal?”

  I sat up straight. Gold. Oh, this was getting interesting.

  Etienne kept a straight face and a level gaze on Flynn. “What gold?”

  “Of course,” Flynn said. “But it was suggested, privately, by certain authorities that if the gold was returned, other things might be overlooked.” Flynn stood. He pulled out a card and laid it on Etienne’s desk. “Call me if you need to make arrangements for a safe delivery of . . . anything. Abby said you should do the right thing.” He paused. His mouth twisted in a mocking grin. “Of course, Abby’s idea of the right thing might not be what you or I would like.”

  He walked out. As soon as he was gone, I moved closer to Etienne’s desk. Consumed with curiosity, I asked, “How much gold is he talking about?”

  Etienne gazed at me with cold eyes. “A ten-wheel truckload. Millions, maybe a billion.”

  My mouth dropped open. I don’t think anything I’d learned here surprised me more. “And where is it?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. The witch I stole it for hid it exceptionally well somewhere in the Barrows. The Barrows is a big place with lots of hiding places.”

  “The witch . . . ?”

  “Is dead. Madeline took her down and one of the Sisters finished the job. It’s been over two years.”

  “Would you give it back? The gold. If I can find it after I find Marisol?”

  “What do you think?” He gave a quick, almost boyish smile.

  “I think I need to be out of here. I’ll go up and get my things. You send for my car. You really don’t want me to start looking for it by myself.”

  “No! You—”

  I jumped up, shoved the door open, and went out and up the stairs. He followed me and walked in before the door closed behind me. I whirled to face him.

  Before I could speak, he laid his hands on my shoulders. I didn’t pull away, mostly because his grip wasn’t tight—and the hungry look on his face interested me.

  “I appreciate what you’ve done,” I said. “You took a hell of a risk going out of the Barrows. You guarded me, but I can’t sit around here, hoping for the best.”

  I knew it was going to happen. Maybe it was destined from that first moment we met. Maybe it was the way so many things about us fit. His hands slid down and caught my waist. His mouth came down on mine. He drew something from me I hadn’t savored in a long time. I’d had lovers, some skilled and quite adept at making sex an incredible experience. None made me feel like he did. Delicious anticipation and slow burning desire filled me, and the taste of him made me cling to him and hunger for more.

  I broke the kiss and realized I was shaking.

  “I don’t have time for this.” I tried to release him, draw away. He grinned at me.

  His smile was that of a man who knew what he wanted—a man who knew what I wanted, too. He drew me closer and I gave in to the warm demand of his mouth.

  I had a few minutes for this, didn’t I? A half hour wouldn’t make . . . oops, my pants were around my knees. Then I was sitting on the couch with him kneeling in front of me. He’d managed to strip off my shoes and pants and his hands slid under my shirt and over my breasts. I tried to touch him, get that leather vest off, but my hand caught on his gun holster.

  “Get that off before one of us gets shot.” Oh, this seemed priceless.

  He laughed again and stripped the vest, T-shirt, and gun. I ran my hand over the bronze skin of his lean, hard chest. Not perfect. There were scars. He was a fighter, after all. I’d seen the masculine arrogance on his face. Given his reputation and my knowledge of the paths he’d walked, he’d earned it. The fact that he was still alive should earn him some kind of medal. Survival of the fittest. This man was the most cunning of his kind, the one who would use all his guile to take what he wanted by right or by force. He kissed me again.

  Passion makes normally sane people act like rutting monkeys. I’m not immune. I didn’t even think when I laid my palm on the amulet hanging from a chain around his neck. If I’d looked at it instead of gazing stupidly into his eyes, I’d have seen the markings and known not to touch.

  Searing pain tore through my wrist. It blazed up my elbow before my mind could register it and jerk my hand away. I shrieked, fought blindly. He instantly moved, so I doubled over, trying to breathe. The carpeted floor loomed as I collapsed. The world around me blurred, blinding me.

  I could vaguely hear Etienne calling my name over the roaring in my ears. Unable to get enough air to scream, all I could do was ride a giant wave of agony and pray for release. It rolled on, like a giant wave that would never crest and fall.

  It did come, just as I thought I could bear no more and would lose consciousness. Each beat of my heart sent agony racing along my nerves. Pain has a tendency to slow the perception of time. After what seemed like an hour, sounds became more distinct and my vision went from fuzziness to moderately clear.

  Etienne had picked me up, taken me to the bedroom, and laid me on the bed. I drew deep breaths. At least he didn’t hover over me, didn’t press me. Neither had he called for help.

  My heart rate slowed, but a few muscles still twitched. My nose was running and I fought nausea. Great Mother, nothing in my life prepared me for that. I’d endured broken bones, being sliced by shrapnel, but this went beyond even that agony. I sucked in deep breaths, desperate for oxygen.

  “What happened?” Etienne asked. He sounded concerned, but his face betrayed no emotion.

  My body still jerked with the occasional spasm, but my vision had cleared and my mind started working again. It didn’t take long to figure things out. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. Etienne’s little amulet was a Solaire and the source of his immunity to magic. Gran had told me about them. The Solaires—there are rumored to be three of them—were created by the Earth Mother and given to the Sisters of Justice to protect themselves, make them immune to magic, when they had to execute a witch. I’d never seen one, but it could be nothing else. As I’d grown up, we young witches had chattered and speculated, but the adults wouldn’t speak of any witch that might have been condemned. The Solaire and the Morié, the bronze execution blade, were a complete shield. The outlawed witch could not use magic to defend herself when the Sisters finally ran her down. I’d bet that knife on Etienne’s belt was also the Morié. We witches were absolutely forbidden to touch either Solaire or Morié. I now knew why.

  Etienne brought me a glass of water. I was able to sit up, but I cringed away from him. He set the glass on the nightstand beside the bed and stepped back. A guarded look, eyes narrow with speculation, remained on his face as he waited for me to explain. I needed answers first.

  “Where did you get that amulet?” I managed to ask after a couple of tries. My voice wasn’t working right.

  He brushed it with his hand. “It was a gift.”

  “From who?”

  “Not your business.” His guarded expression told me nothing.

  “Not my business!” I shouted, and pain spread from my hand again. I held it close and waited for it to ease. “You almost killed me, Etienne.”

  “I didn’t want to kill you. I wanted to fuck you.”

  “Well, you’re not going to as long as you wear that thing around your neck.”

  The room grew still. The only sound came from outside where men and vehicles moved briefly. They always moved fast because of the rule that all things remained inside. Finally, he said, “I�
��ll tell you where I got it if you’ll tell me what it is.”

  I gritted my teeth and tried to straighten from my hunched-over position. My fingers still curled tight in an instinctive need to protect the injured palm. The pain had eased, but I was not in a gentle state of mind. Certainly not gentle enough to talk. I wasn’t going to give in to him and blab about the thing. I was the injured party here.

  “Abigail,” he suddenly spoke. “There was a fight. A battle, actually. I was dying and she healed me. After she did, she had me remove the amulet and knife from one of the Sisters of Justice who was knocked unconscious. She said . . .” He paused, then continued. “She said that as long as I wore them, I didn’t have to fear magical traps again.”

  “Again? Some witch trapped you.” Well, that made sense of things.

  Etienne shrugged. It looked casual but was filled with determination. “Your turn.”

  I gave him a brief explanation of the Morié and Solaire—and I warned him. “Those objects of power, artifacts infused with earth magic, are powerful things. I’m told the Mother created them herself, thousands of years ago. The Earth Mother’s High Priestess may have given them to you, but she doesn’t control the Sisters. If a Sister of Justice catches you with them, she won’t need magic to get them back. You better hope Abigail is around to protect you. The Sister will carve you to pieces.”

  I realized that he had not intended to hurt me. He’d wanted sex as much as I did. I also realized that he was not prepared to trust me, a witch, enough to remove them. I’d have to work to earn that. Did I want to? His kisses had been sweet—a disaster—but sweet. The question would be, could I spare time from my search for Marisol to deal with a complicated love affair?

  Chapter 19

  I had to get up and move on. Etienne ignored me and I ignored him as I struggled to stand. I staggered to the bathroom. I held my hand under the stream of cool water. I’d expected a burn or some other mark on my palm, but there was none. The chill of the water helped and I could move my fingers again. I splashed my ravaged face, too, trying to forget the pain.

  I’m not a deep philosophical thinker. I rarely have stunning mental revelations. Most enlightenment comes when someone or something slaps me up the side of the head. So, as I stared in the mirror at my red-eyed face, it came in utter shock that I realized I knew a place where Marisol might have left me some clues. I had only to find it. Had I stayed at Laudine’s, I might have thought of it sooner.

  I went back into the bedroom. Etienne was there, waiting, as if to see what I was going to do. At that moment, he seemed a complicated mix of a proud warrior and a wounded conscript. I couldn’t change that. But he hadn’t left. I didn’t know why. For now, I was going to pretend nothing had happened between us.

  “I need to find Marisol’s Grimoire,” I said.

  “Grimoire?” He stepped back as if I’d suddenly pushed him off-balance.

  “It’s like a diary. Some witches keep them, some don’t. Marisol always did. She put in spells she used, told about things that happened. She may have left me a clue to what she was doing here.”

  “If it wasn’t with her when she went missing, Laudine probably has it. Will she give it to you?”

  “Laudine won’t give me shit, but I bet Marisol hid it. If I find the location, Laudine won’t stop me from getting it. Marisol’s spells are like size twelve boots and Laudine a cockroach to be stepped on. No way could Laudine find or open it if she did.”

  “So, you can’t find it, either. Or open it.” He had his T-shirt in his hand. The amulet, the destructor of what would have been a pleasant few hours, still hung around his neck.

  I had my tank and panties on, but would need to find my pants. Oh, yeah, he pulled them off in the living room. I forced myself to my feet and swayed a bit. A sudden memory of pain made my fingers curl into a fist.

  “Marisol may have left some key, some mark on it, for me,” I said. Or for Gran, who wasn’t here. At least I could try. Witches who kept Grimoires guarded them well. A Grimoire could be used to injure or kill its creator if it fell in the hands of an enemy. I could only hope my sister trusted me enough to leave a marker that would allow me to find it.

  I had to rest for a while, and eat again to regain strength. Etienne made a call and ordered sandwiches brought up when I mentioned food. He remained with me. He didn’t talk. He didn’t leave. He merely watched me, seemingly interested but at the same time not giving a shit. For some ungodly reason he was still committed to following me around.

  Eventually we were in Etienne’s SUV and headed for the cul-de-sac in front of Laudine’s. Neither of us spoke of the aborted sexual encounter.

  I went to Laudine’s because the Grimoire was most likely in that vicinity. I didn’t need to do a physical search.

  Herschel, not surprisingly, wasn’t around. My familiar, who stood between me and Aiakós and threatened to take Etienne’s head off when I had my blowback of magic, had disappeared again. He hadn’t even shown up when I’d been mad with pain. If I thought it would do any good, I’d sit down and have a long talk with him. We weren’t communicating very well at the moment.

  The sun stood just above the western horizon when we arrived, sliding orange light across the silent water of Sullen Bog. Another day had passed and darkness would fall within minutes.

  If Marisol’s Grimoire was hidden inside of Laudine’s building, I might have to mount an all-out assault. I’d thought all the way there about how to do it. Go in and ask Laudine or start spinning a spell, calling for the book to tell me where it was. I chose the spell. I stood facing the Bog, leaning against the flimsy protective railing. The section I’d burned off had not been replaced.

  Each witch’s Grimoire was different. Each had its own personality, a bit like a summer dress. Dresses came in different colors, styles, and Marisol’s book had its own look, its own feel. At least I’d seen that in the days before I’d left home and swamp. I’d never read it, but I knew what it looked like.

  I called my favorite magic. Fire. Not literal fire, but I let the image burn low in my mind. Then I pictured her Grimoire as I’d last seen it. Details: a leather cover, the size of a magazine, hand bound with thread. Then came the hard part. A flower, a perfect swamp lily, had been cut into the leather by Marisol’s own artistic hand. I had to come up with a clear image to project through the magic. While I worked, I also touched it with memories, not just of her, but of us together.

  Unlike my previous powerful sending, I carefully spread it out over the larger area including Laudine’s store, calling it, searching for it. Theoretically, if I touched the Grimoire, I would know where it was.

  As with all things magic and me, disaster struck.

  I heard Etienne speak. When I glanced his way, he had moved into position, gun drawn, facing Laudine, who had come out of her storefront. She appeared to have no weapons. But again, he stood between us, again protecting. Then one of the massive events that filled my life commanded my attention.

  A water dragon lifted its immense body from Sullen Bog. Its thick black head rose twenty feet in the air over me. Muddy water dripped from it and it swayed like a cobra ready to strike. Sleek, with midnight scales, it was far larger than Penrod.

  I stared up, mouth open, in total awe. I’d taken Penrod, my friend in the swamp, for granted. This dangerous stranger had to be faced. I swallowed hard. I stared up at it, into its reptilian eyes. As I had with Penrod, I sent a message with magic.

  I am Nyx. I pictured Penrod. This is my friend.

  The dragon swayed. Nyx, the dragon answered. I am Chalice.

  I probably should have seen it coming, but facing a sixty-foot serpentlike creature with a mouth full of big sharp teeth tends to require a serious quantity of mental capacity. The dragon dropped something from its mouth. I had the impression of a rectangular shape. Impression only because it hit me smack on the head. A flash of white light blasted before my eyes—and I crashed to the ground.

  Chapter 20

&nb
sp; I woke lying on a stretcher, surrounded by men dressed in black fatigues. Someone was applying pressure to my head and speaking firmly. “She needs a doctor. A hospital. I’m just a medic.”

  “Get her there.” That was Etienne. Why did he sound so distressed?

  I wanted to shout no. It came out as a wheeze. My head throbbed.

  Etienne leaned over me. “You’ll be okay.”

  “Grimoire? Thing. Dropped. Where?” I could only manage single words.

  “Your dog has it.”

  “Herschel?” My mind could not comprehend his words. Why would . . . ?

  I heard the siren, wailing, coming closer. Etienne had disappeared. The next minutes dissolved into shouts about a head injury. Yes, my head was injured. When they asked what happened, I didn’t answer. The Mother knows what I might have said. Nothing they would have believed. Then I fell asleep.

  I woke in a hospital bed hooked up to various machines. I choked on a paper-dry mouth. After a moment of pure panic, I relaxed. At least I didn’t hurt anymore. Not until next time. Damn this place. What had happened? Memory, often a casualty in head injuries, seemed intact. Water dragon, something rectangular and solid, crashing down on my equally solid head. That just about covered it.

  A nurse with some experience came to stand by me. I knew she was experienced because she immediately stuck a straw in my mouth and I sucked down some precious liquid. She knew what I needed. I sighed in relief.