by Patti O'Shea
“Do you have the incantation?” she asked.
“What do you think?” His voice gave nothing away.
Mika hesitated, shrugged. “I think you do, but I could never figure out why you wanted it or what you planned to do with it. I can’t imagine you would want to lower the veil between worlds.”
“I don’t, and I don’t want all of Orcus enslaved to me either.” He paused, and she had a sense that he was deciding whether or not to say more. “The only thing I wanted was to slay the bastard who raped my mother—but I didn’t know his name, and randomly calling demons forward until I was lucky enough to get the right one didn’t seem quite practical.”
“It,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “wouldn’t have called only your fath—Sebastian—forth. It’s not that type of spell.”
“Not the way it’s written,” he agreed.
Mika managed to bite back her gasp. Conor couldn’t possibly mean he planned to alter it, could he? Someone like him, who hadn’t grown up in Orcus, who hadn’t learned even the rudiments of spell creation firsthand, could wreak untold havoc with one wrong word. Again, she had to be cautious with what she said. “You know his name now, you can call him forward using that.”
“I know,” Conor agreed.
Holding his hand more tightly, Mika took a deep breath and decided to chance diving in. “If all you want is Sebastian, you don’t need the incantation any longer, right?”
Conor gave her a hard look. “Stop tiptoeing around and say what you want.”
Mika shifted to face him squarely. “If you offered to hand the spell over to the Council, and gave your oath never to cast it, they might agree to call off their killers.” Then she remembered another piece of information she’d been told to discover. “By the way, did you make copies or tell anyone else about this spell? They’ll want to know that as well.”
Mika grew uneasy when he didn’t answer. She should have remained quiet, or maybe subtly hinted around until the idea occurred to him and he mentioned it. No doubt he believed this was some new tactic to finish her mission, and an ache began to form in her chest. Maybe they’d never be able to get past her lies, and she couldn’t live with him always thinking the worst of her, always examining her words, looking for what she was really saying.
“The only other person who knew is dead,” Conor said. The lack of emotion in his voice tipped her off.
“Ben?”
Conor nodded. Mika longed to comfort him over the loss, but she didn’t dare to put her arms around him. Not after launching this topic of conversation.
“What are the odds your Council would agree to this bargain?” Conor asked.
“I don’t know,” Mika replied with a shrug. “If they were on the level about their reasons for destroying the spell, then I’d say the chances are good.”
“Would they destroy it? It’s a valuable tool.” Conor looked down at his hands for a moment, and hers, then met her gaze again.
Mika took a moment to consider. “Yeah,” she said at last, “I’m sure they would. They told me you’re the only one who can wield it—though they didn’t say why.”
McCabe pulled his hands free and didn’t reply. Mika didn’t think that was a good sign, and her regret grew at bringing this up. At least he didn’t move her from between his legs. She started to run her hand down his thigh—touching him had become as integral as breathing—but froze when it occurred to her that he might take her caress the wrong way. Reluctantly, she withdrew. How long would she second-guess her actions? And how long would she wonder if Conor was second-guessing her too?
“It doesn’t cost you anything to give the spell up—not really,” she said quietly. Mika felt uncomfortable, as if she were trying to sell the idea to him. Of course, convincing McCabe wouldn’t be a walk in the park, and he hadn’t heard the difficult part of the suggestion yet. “You can still summon Sebastian without it, and if you really have no interest in lowering the veil or enslaving the inhabitants of Orcus, why keep it?”
The look she received was stony, but Mika didn’t flinch. Not until he accused, “And then you’ll fulfill your promise.”
“Damn it,” she snapped, “do you think I’m advocating this because of the Council? I don’t really care about them. I don’t love them. My first loyalty is to you, and it always will be. Those guys don’t even make my top-ten list.”
McCabe scrutinized her long and hard, but Mika met his stare. Even if way deep down she was scared. If he couldn’t trust her, they’d never last.
Hell, maybe it wouldn’t work. Conor was so scarred by his past, he might never be able to open himself up enough to love her. And she couldn’t continue to be the only one giving—at some point, she’d have to leave him to save herself.
Mika blinked rapidly a couple of times, and reminded herself not to borrow trouble. This was a problem for the future, not today.
He surprised her by saying, “Let’s say I agree to this, how would we approach the Council? Make an appointment?”
She laughed. “They don’t take appointments. Anyone who wants to meet with them sits in an antechamber and awaits their pleasure. If they decide to see you, great. If not, it’s too bad.”
“They want the spell.”
“Right—I doubt they’d leave me waiting for long.”
His eyes narrowed. “You?”
Mika took a deep breath and prepared to tell him the part of her idea that would make him furious. “Yes. I’d go alone and leave you in Crimson City.”
“No.”
It was exactly the response she’d expected, and she had her argument prepared. “You can’t come to Orcus. They’re used to me. No one even blinks at my odd energy sig anymore, but you’d stand out like a neon sign. I told you before, and it’s true.”
“You can’t think I’d agree to this.”
Agree to handing her the spell and letting her cross over without him? Of course not; he didn’t trust her. But Conor had no reason to fear. She’d bargain hard and carefully with the rulers of Orcus to ensure he remained safe. She wouldn’t let him down, wouldn’t allow him to remain at risk, wouldn’t be rooked a second time. If the Council didn’t accede to her demands, if they didn’t promise straight out that he’d be safe, she wouldn’t give them the incantation—it was that simple.
This wasn’t what she addressed first, however. She knew her vishtau mate well enough to understand it wasn’t about this one thing. “You can’t protect me in the Other World,” she said. It earned her a sharp glance. “It’s true,” she continued, before he could argue. “You don’t understand the culture for one thing, and for another, your powers won’t be as impressive there. Sure, you’ll still have your auric magic, but what good is one blast when we’re surrounded by twenty demons?”
“You could do better?” he asked.
Mika smiled, not at all offended. She knew his Kiverian ego was smarting. “Of course not. But as I said, they’re used to me—I’d never be caught in a situation like that. Your presence would call attention to us and cause a confrontation.”
He grumbled but didn’t question her further, and that was a surprise. She’d thought Conor would doubt her, would think she was making it all up to get her hands on his spell. That he didn’t, made her feel warm inside—maybe he could trust her again. Mika wrapped her arm around his leg and rested her chin on his knee. She was a sorry case, going back and forth between hope and despair like a kid riding a teeter-totter.
“Besides,” she went on after a pause, “I’d need you to stand watch on this side. The portal through the veil is in a dangerous part of Crimson City, and I’d hate to return to face immediate attack.”
She hoped he didn’t question too closely. Yeah, the main portal, the one that was most commonly known, was in a bad part of town, but she was aware of other smaller portals. In fact, she rarely used the main gate because of where it was located. Not only was the area of the city bad, but there were guards stationed on the Orcus side. Mika had never l
iked the thought of anyone realizing how frequently she crossed.
Conor gave a long, long silence, but Mika didn’t say anything, nor did she look away from him. The wait seemed interminable, but she kept herself from fidgeting—barely.
At last, McCabe scowled and said, “Here’s how we’re going to play it. I have a copy of the book. I’ll give pages of it to you, and that’s what you pass to your Council. If they agree to leave both of us alone, I’ll destroy the original as well as all backup copies.”
Mika bent her head and kissed his knee to hide her elation. He was trusting her with something vital to his wellbeing. When she could talk without him realizing how deeply touched she was, she said, “They’ll want to see you destroy the grimoire. If I bring them to the portal, you mustn’t cross, even if they demand it. I will clear the view between worlds long enough for them to watch you carry out your end of the bargain.”
“But what if me crossing over is one of their demands?”
“I won’t agree to it, no matter what.” She waved the possibility aside. “Now, we need a code, something I can say that sounds innocuous, but tips you off if there’s trouble. How about this? If at any point, I say, ‘good news’ or maybe just ‘news,’ then you’ll know things have gone to hell—okay?”
“Not okay.” Conor moved carefully, shifting her. As Mika went boneless, letting him position her beneath him, he asked, “Do you really think I’m going to send you in there alone if you think we need a code like that?”
She nodded. “Yes—because there’s no other choice. I can handle this, I promise, but it doesn’t hurt to have contingency plans.”
His pale green eyes were intensely bright, and damn, how Mika basked in their glow. She knew the timing was inappropriate, but she couldn’t prevent herself from grinning. She loved McCabe so much that it nearly left her reeling. “I won’t let you down, Conor. My word on it.”
There was a long silence as he considered. “I hope I don’t regret this, but we’ll do it your way. If things go to hell, though, you get your ass out of there ASAP. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Fair enough. If the situation deteriorates, I’ll leave.”
He cursed and shook his head. Then Conor lowered his head and kissed her.
She knew where this was leading. Bringing her leg up to cradle him closer, Mika returned the kiss with all the pentup emotion and desire she held for him. The days where he wouldn’t touch her had felt like an eternity, and she urged him on with her mouth, with her body.
Abruptly McCabe pulled away, leaving her on the bed. As he tugged on his jeans Mika sat up and said, “Wha—”
He signaled her to be quiet. Stepping into his shoes, he shrugged into a shirt. Mika went over and held her hands out in a silent question.
Conor leaned forward, put his mouth against her ear, and in a voice softer than a whisper said, “Our watcher’s back.” Then he was gone.
Mika worried as she pulled on her clothes. Sure, Mc-Cabe had that auric shield thing and so was unlikely to be hurt, but that didn’t matter; he was chasing after an unknown. Their spy could be anyone, anything. Of course she was concerned.
But she didn’t get lost in the emotion—wouldn’t let herself become lost. Her human mind realized this watcher could simply be a decoy to lure Conor away, so others could get to her. She had to be ready, just in case.
She felt more prepared once she was fully dressed, but her anxiety over Conor’s absence remained. Her eyes scanned the room, found his weapons, and the knot in her stomach tightened. He’s a demon, she reminded herself, he can take care of himself without a gun or knife. No, he wasn’t invincible, but he was pretty damn close.
Her gaze kept moving, her mind processing details for any upcoming fight and trying to find advantages. A movement in the doorway caught her eye, and her body tensed to attack. It was a relief to see Conor reappear.
“What happened?” she asked.
He gave a few heated curses. “He had enough of a headstart that he got away. I couldn’t chase him as hard or as far as I wanted, though—not with the house unprotected.”
Mika nodded, unsurprised. She knew his vigilance was unswerving.
“But I did find out one thing about our watcher,” Conor said.
He sounded so self-satisfied that Mika smiled and went to him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she bit his chin and, when she withdrew, asked, “What did you discover?”
“The bastard’s a vampire.”
Chapter Eighteen
With Mika slightly in front of him, Conor kept his weapons within easy reach. She hadn’t exaggerated how bad this area of L.A. was, and even if they were cloaked, he wasn’t going to be caught unprepared. This place made where he’d met her look like Beverly Hills. But was she worried? Hell, no.
Mika was alert, she followed his orders, and she showed no more concern than she had while they’d walked the length of Venice Beach. But he could sense that she was nervous about facing the Council. There were layers and layers here, and just when he thought he knew her, she revealed another.
He didn’t like the idea of her going into Orcus alone. Even if he hadn’t made a promise to protect her, he wouldn’t like it. And while Mika believed her arguments had convinced him to let her go by herself, that wasn’t entirely true. The real reason he hadn’t fought her on this was guilt.
He didn’t trust her completely, and she’d picked up on that.
She’d been willing to die for him, and at a gut level he still didn’t wholly believe in her. Conor understood she’d been trapped by her vow, and he was able to forgive her lies, but he couldn’t forget them—and his first instinct was always to take care of things himself. Remorse regarding that had compelled him to agree to her scheme. Almost immediately he’d regretted it, but if he changed his mind, that wounded look would reappear in her eyes. He was in bad shape when his first concern was whether or not he hurt a woman’s feelings.
A rat scurried in front of them, and Mika sucked in a nearly inaudible breath as she jumped back. Reflexively, Conor’s arm went around her as she collided with him. Shit, the rat was big. Conor scowled, but despite its size, the animal was frightened of them and quickly disappeared.
“I hate those things,” Mika whispered.
So did he. Memories of the time he’d lived on the streets after his mother kicked him out swamped Conor before he could put them aside. “Come on, I don’t like standing here,” he said.
“It’s not far now,” she assured him.
The only light was from the moon and a few stars visible through the smog of the city, but with the superior night vision Conor’s demon genes gave him, that was enough. There were some things he liked about being half Kiverian, and until meeting Mika, he never would have been able to confess that—not even to himself. He’d done some hard thinking while she slept, and sometime during those hours, Conor had admitted something else: If someone invented a magic pill that would make him totally human, he would no longer take it.
That thought shamed him almost as much as his distrust of Mika.
“This is it,” she said, and he put aside his thoughts to study their location.
He wasn’t surprised to see the CONDEMNED notice; the building should have been razed years ago. Hell, every structure in the area should have been. This had to be the worst area of the city that he’d ever seen. Or smelled.
“You know it’s bad,” Mika said, laughter in her voice, “when even the condemned sign is broken.”
She turned her head and grinned at Conor over her shoulder, and he felt his heart start to race. Faint traces of moonlight illuminated her face, highlighting the gleam in her eyes and the impishness of her smile. He should tell her to get serious, that this was no time for levity, but he didn’t. This was Mika, and he’d missed her like hell. The past few days, she’d been too damn solemn, too circumspect. Maybe she thought he liked her better that way, but it wasn’t true. He was grim enough for both of them, and needed her laughter.
In spite of his better judgment, Conor reached out and pulled her to him. He managed to keep the kiss short, cognizant of the danger they were in, but he craved her in a way that went beyond physical.
“Where’s the portal?” he asked. Reluctantly, he released her.
“Inside. This way,” she said.
She led him around the side of the building and through an opening in the chain-link fence. As they entered, he heard the telltale scuttling of rats. Conor battled his revulsion. Meeting one on the street was bad enough, but dozens—hundreds—inside a confined space made his flesh crawl. Taking a deep breath to calm down was a mistake; the stench nearly overwhelmed him.
“Shit,” he muttered, and that was definitely some of what he smelled—along with vomit and the strong scent of werewolf. The last odor made Conor scan more closely, but he didn’t pick up any living creature beyond the rats and a cat or two. Good. He didn’t want to deal with anyone else.
Mika didn’t stop until they stood before a wooden door with damaged hinges. Light was visible through the cracks. Aside from that, nothing was remarkable, but he could sense otherworldly power. Was the door an illusion, or something else? Whatever he saw, Conor doubted this was the true appearance of the gate.
“I don’t like this,” he said.
“I know, but I won’t let you down, I swear!”
Mika sounded so fierce, Conor couldn’t help but smile.
“That isn’t what I meant, honey,” he said. He decided not to take time to explain. “I just never realized there was a portal here.”
“That’s the idea.” After a pause she added, “Remember, don’t cross, okay? I know you’ll be tempted, but there are guards on the other side, and we don’t know what your powers will be like in Orcus. Finding out during a fight isn’t smart.”
