Vicious Moon

by Lee Roland

  Hunger abated, I stripped off my soiled and soot-crusted things and threw them in the trash. When I tried to remove the Dragon’s Tears from my arm, it stuck. Nothing I did budged it. Soap, a bottle of Marisol’s bath oil, nothing moved it. Too tired to continue the struggle, I surrendered. I’d try again tomorrow.

  The shower revived me some. While I wasn’t as tired as I was before, I was too tired to hunt up clothing. I crawled naked into Etienne’s bed. If he followed his usual pattern, he wouldn’t show up until morning. I could dress then.

  I slept and woke when Etienne entered the apartment. A surprise—or was it? He crossed the darkened room and headed straight for the shower. He came out wrapped in a towel, carrying his gun and knife. The only light spread softly from the bathroom. The door was partially closed and left the bedroom in shadows. With great care he laid the weapons on the nightstand. He waited for a moment, then lifted the amulet from his neck and laid it beside the gun and knife.

  I lost interest in all his weapons except one when he dropped the towel. This was a magnificent man. He radiated power, purpose, and intensity. He had the hard body of a warrior—a body that seemed to shout with sexual possibilities.

  I’d admired him physically from the beginning. He caught the covers and dragged them off and stared at me. He smiled, so I guess he was pleased. He lay beside me, within reach but not quite touching.

  “Have you decided to trust me?” I had to ask.

  He smiled. “I have decided that your power, no matter what you say, is beyond any protection those trinkets can give me. You’ve been tearing down my defenses since the day I met you.”

  “Etienne, that’s not true. It is possible that those trinkets were what protected you today. When I tried to touch you with magic—”

  He reached out and touched his fingers to my lips to silence me. It did.

  My finger traced a scar that ran across his chest. And another that cut across it. The pinched round circle at his waist, a bullet wound, told of a shot that should have killed him. Scars, straight, even, lay across the tops of his thighs. Burns. At his side, curling around to his back, were the rough lines I’d seen before. Whip marks. When you’ve lived the life I have lived, been the places I have been, you knew the signs of torture.

  “Who hurt you?” My finger traced one of the whip marks.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does.” I found his scars both compelling and exciting. Here was a man who had lived and traveled the same paths, lived some of the same life I had for years. He, however, had lived on the aggressive side and I on the defensive. Each carried its dangers as each carried a reward. He’d paid a far higher price than I had and had achieved more. More wealth, more pain, more abuse, everything that comes to those who live on the edge. I wondered if he had secret death wish, a wish hidden from himself. I laid my hand on the bullet wound. “If I had been with you, I would have fought for you. No one would hurt you.”

  “No. It’s all past now. Let it go, witch, let it go.”

  Witch, witch. Again he reminded me of what I was to him. The protection of the Solaire and Morié was gone, but not far. They were only physical weapons and shields that I had temporarily overcome. He had other defenses, far deeper and stronger, inside.

  My body gave its typical reaction to a man so long, hard, and muscular. A primal desire rose in me. He drew a quick breath as my fingers slid lower. He closed the distance between us in an instant.

  There was a fierce desperate urgency in him and I matched it with ease. This was going to be a delicious but quick experience. It had been some time since I’d allowed myself this kind of pleasure, a long time since I’d met a man I wanted to be with in such an intimate way. This physical craving was so often denied by the more critical things in life. His hand slid between my legs and I realized I was moist and more than ready. My need, his need, filled us to capacity. Later, we could move slowly through the process of exploring how our bodies could feel. We could tease and torment and draw out the hours given to us for being a man and a woman.

  When he moved on top of me, I spread my legs, welcoming him. I gave in to the warm demands of his mouth. As with the events that had plagued me since I arrived in this bizarre place they called the Barrows, the fire started to rise. The ascent of desire created it. It flared and surrounded us. I contained it, held it tight.

  “You have fire in your eyes,” he whispered. His own eyes remained dark and mysterious. “I see you. You burn.”

  And I did. I was no virgin. I had cared for and loved men before—but I had never burned for one. I burned now, knowing that this man, above all others who had briefly passed through my life, was beyond hope, beyond expectation, created for me. My gift. The Earth Mother had chosen him and I should accept him. I would not be the first woman who had accepted a man she could not trust, praying all the while for a miracle.

  Earth magic. Nothing was more fundamental in the realm of natural things than the binding between a man and a woman when they made love. In those minutes we bathed in the splendor of living emotions and exquisite physical touch of a man and a woman. His skin against mine, they rhythm of bodies, it didn’t last long. In a sudden rolling release, my mind went blank with pleasure. Again, the fire came. This time, I couldn’t control it. It was a priceless experience as white-hot flames surrounded us, but did not burn. He shuddered and groaned. He whispered words I couldn’t hear. The fire faded to the darkness of a simple room, a simple bed.

  We lay there, holding on tight, allowing the warmth, the satisfaction of release, flood through our bodies.

  “Witch,” he murmured against my throat. For the first time, he said that single word without making it a curse. “Earth, water, wind, and fire. Elemental. You are fire.”

  “Witch I am, Etienne. Witch I will always be. And the fire lives in me. You’ll have to accept me or let me go.”

  He rolled over and lay at my side. I didn’t speak again. Disappointment filled me. What had I wanted? What had I expected? A declaration of true love? Not that, but I wished he’d say he trusted me now. Trusted me not to control him, not to hurt him. He might not call me my love, but I wished he would at least call me my witch.

  By the Earth Mother’s grace, I was there with him. But he didn’t know that. She left it up to me to enlighten him. She charged me with creating a relationship. That seemed so unfair. She could see into his heart, his mind, but she left me blind and struggling. Whimper, whine, and complain was all I could do.

  His forearm was so close I could see the solid ebony tattoos clearly.

  The fireworks faded, but in that final glow, I made an astounding discovery. The tattoos on his arms writhed and their purpose became unmistakable.

  Earth magic had Etienne firmly in its grip. Like me, he’d been born with it in every molecule of his body. I had seen the tattoos, but never thought of their meaning. I’d not felt a hint of magic in him. But why should I? The tattoos, the symbols on his arms, were like padlocks. They were a potent and effective ward like the Earth Mother’s ward around the Barrows. Gran told me that the few men who can use earth magic are vastly different from us. She only knew of one, and she did not often speak of him, her own brother. Would the Solaire have burned Etienne as it had burned me if he hadn’t had those tattoo guards? Or were they created only for women, the vast majority of witches? The vision faded. Another Barrows mystery rose to the top of the pile.

  Etienne groaned softly. It trailed off to a sigh. I didn’t groan, but I did suck in a deep breath of oxygen. I laughed breathlessly. “You sound like Herschel when he’s eaten something he shouldn’t.”

  “Do not compare me to that dog.”

  I rolled over and rose up on my elbows. “Oh, I think you’re pretty much incomparable.”

  He chuckled. “Flattery will get you a reward.” He raised his head for a moment, then dropped it back down. “In a little bit. Your reward needs a little power nap.”

  “I think a nap is justified.” From me, though
, Etienne needed more than to be told he was a great lover.

  I pitched my voice to speak true words. “I swear, in the Earth Mother’s name, no matter what happens, I will never use magic to harm you.” I kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Please, will you tell me why you hate witches?”

  He didn’t speak for a moment. Then he said, “Oonagh. She . . . I was in South Africa. We’d tried to rob a diamond convoy and it went wrong. I took one here.” He laid his own hand over the bullet scar. “We were hiding out. No doctors. Pain was pretty bad and the guys kept me full of alcohol. I was dying and I knew it. They knew it, too. They were standing a death watch. It was night . . . everything quiet, she just walked in. She got past my men on guard and walked in. Apparently she’d seen me days before. I don’t know where. Or how. She asked if I wanted to live. I did, but deep inside I knew something was wrong.”

  “You were in pain and full of booze. That doesn’t make for rational decisions.”

  “No. Is that in the rules? For witches? To ask if someone wants to be healed.”

  “It is.” Surprising, that she asked, but maybe a tiny bit of conscience remained in her. I knew nothing of her life. Oonagh, as we all did, had served the Mother at one time.

  “I would probably have made the same decision, even if I knew the consequences. I wanted to live. I don’t remember much after that,” Etienne said. “I woke up the next morning, feeling tired but okay.” He reached out and brushed a hand over my hair. “A lot of my men deserted me that day. They were a superstitious bunch and seeing a dying man heal overnight spooked them. When they came in expecting to take me out and bury me, she was sitting by my bed. They marked her for the evil creature she was.

  “My life seemed easier after that, the stealing, whatever she wanted I got for her. Money in the bank. There were few obstacles. Then I got nervous—and bored because it was so undemanding. I wanted to get away.”

  I understood. “You couldn’t. She’d bound you to her service when she healed you.”

  “I fought.” He stopped speaking for a moment. His fingers trailed along my arm to my hand. “I fought for a long time. Do you know what it’s like to want to leave, but be frozen, unable to move? I became a trapped animal. She won, of course. She trained me well.”

  I did understand his despair at being caged. That had happened to me a couple of times, physically, not magically. Physically was bad enough. “Etienne, that spell she used on you is called a Soul Binding. It’s powerful. Like everything else, it’s okay for us to use it as defense, but not to make people slaves. It broke when she died. I’m surprised you didn’t die when she did. That’s one of the violations that get the Sisters of Justice called in. I told you, a witch who binds and controls another without cause receives an automatic death sentence.”

  “Could you do it? Make someone a slave? She had control over even my mind. Could you?”

  “No. I really am an incompetent witch. I can toss you across the room, burn the room around you. Bind your soul? No way. Things like that take years of training, the thing I’ve always rejected. Much to my dismay, I can’t heal, either. Abigail can. And Oonagh might not have had as much power as you or others believed. The artifacts on that list could possibly help even a poor witch become a strong witch. If she had them . . .”

  “I learned the futility of fighting. I wanted to kill myself and couldn’t.” Etienne sighed and kissed me on the ear. “It got worse. After she got that thing she wore around her neck, the thing Madeline called the Portal, she changed. She was okay at first. She seemed . . . healthy. Then she started to . . . decay. Her body . . . I can’t explain it.” His voice went low and strained. “We came here and she sent me to serve and spy on Aiakós—and betray him. It all ended when Madeline defeated her and one of the Sisters of Justice killed her. If Madeline hadn’t come, looking for the Portal . . .” He shuddered.

  “I thought Aiakós would kill me then. I had built his army, much as it is now—and used it against him. I got men who trusted me killed. He . . .” He stopped and drew a breath. “He was unhappy, but you understand how he has limited options. So he agreed I could live. After he hurt me to show that he could hurt me. He owns me now, too. Just not in the same way she did. I have more autonomy. I could run if I wanted to. But where would I go? That’s often the fate of a successful criminal. Eventually, everyone knows you. My world, thanks to Oonagh, is much smaller. But Aiakós lets Michael run things. Michael is reasonable.”

  Etienne had one long arm stretched across me. I snuggled close to him and relaxed. This man had strength and power. He had the strength to mold soldiers, to guide an army. Though he didn’t know it, he had power to manipulate earth magic, the magic he had every reason to hate. I didn’t understand it, but I had to try. Now I could actually feel the magic under the tattoos binding it. What would happen if those bindings broke and he suddenly became filled with something he could neither understand nor control?

  “Where did you get these?” I touched the stark midnight tattoo on his arm.

  “Don’t know,” he murmured, seeming contented. “Always had them.”

  “Always?”

  “Adoption people told my mother I came in that way. I never looked for my biological parents. I figured they dumped me for a reason. I had a good mother and father.” He shifted and held me closer still. His breathing slowed and I knew he’d fallen asleep.

  I slept a little then, but near dawn I had to rise. Etienne continued to rest. He’d been out last night long after I’d gone to bed. My usually depleted witch strength seemed to be full force now. Maybe sex did that. I quietly dug out panties and a T-shirt, dressed, and went into the kitchen.

  My sister needed to be found and I was close. My gut told me I was close. Or maybe it was desperation, the knowledge that she might be dying every minute I delayed.

  Chapter 29

  I’d just put the coffee on when a tap came at the door. I only opened it a crack, then opened it wider to let Darrow in.

  “You dig out many creepy-crawlies last night?” I asked.

  “A few. Etienne said you probably frightened the survivors enough they went out and drowned themselves in the Bog. He didn’t give details, but he was pretty surprised. I saw where you burned. That’s a little bigger fire than you usually toss around, girl.”

  “Yeah. I’ll admit to being nervous. Got a little wild. I was scared. But don’t tell anyone.”

  Darrow chuckled. “A little wild? So, if you get totally terrified, I should look for you to blow up half the Barrows.”

  “Probably. Is that really a bad idea? Blowing up the Barrows?”

  “No. I thought about it a time or two myself.” Darrow went to sit on one of the barstools. He was actually one of the few people to have seen me throw fire. I tried to be discreet. Discreet with the throwing thing. Fire itself is rarely discreet.

  I’d left the bedroom door open and he could see Etienne sprawled on the bed, facedown and minus clothing. I doubt Darrow was impressed, but it was a fine sight to me. If Darrow hadn’t come, I’d probably have sucked down a cup of coffee and gone back to bed myself.

  “You sure about that?” Darrow spoke softly and nodded at Etienne.

  “Sure of what? True love? No. Or a one-night stand? Definitely. He’s . . . talented.”

  “I’d advise sticking to the one night. That’s because I know both of you. An oil-water thing.” He mouthed the next words. “Nyx, be careful. He’s . . . different.”

  I nodded, accepting his words. I wanted to say he was right. Odds were good he was right, since he was a very wise man. But he didn’t understand the forces involved. Etienne and I were the Earth Mother’s children. We belonged to the same club. In her wisdom, she’d pushed us together. I had to keep reminding myself that she said I should get him to trust me, not necessarily that I could trust him. It might end in tragedy, regardless of my patroness’s platitudes.

  “Nicky, honey, I thought when you left Africa . . .” The worry lines between his brows deep
ened.

  “What? You thought I’d go home, find a man, have a two-car garage, couple of kids, live in a subdivision?” I stared at the slow, thin stream of coffee gliding into the pot. “I did try to be normal. Not the husband-kid type normal. That isn’t me. I had a life in SF, a job, not typical, but no danger I couldn’t handle. I’m different. You’ve heard the saying, ‘out of step, out of time.’”

  “That’s exactly how I’d describe the Barrows. Out of step, out of time. It called you, didn’t it? This place.”

  I shook my head. “No. It called my sister.” I’d heard of Duivel, of course, in association with the High Witch Abigail. I hadn’t known about the Barrows. “How did you end up here, buddy?”

  “My network jobber, Karawoski, you remember him? Etienne worked for him some, too. Etienne sent out a call for men. You hire locally, you get political issues and family connections—and lots of questions. Those of us out of the country a long time have fewer complications. And there isn’t much that surprises us. The Barrows is a good sanctuary for criminals. If you can keep your head down and survive. Money is good, too.”

  I remembered Karawoski. I met the highly successful war contractor once. He sat in a fine office in Paris and directed the hiring of mercenary soldiers and guards around North and Central Africa. He also managed certain loathsome business and directed billions of dollars in blood money between Swiss and Caribbean island banks.

  The coffee finally finished its drip and I poured us each a cup. We carried them into the living room. “Did you get a chance to see those spider-crab thingies close-up?” I asked. “Or did the troops just blast everything in front of them?”