by Megan Hart
Annie leaned against the counter and folded her arms. “I think you wanted to keep an eye on me.” She waved a hand around the kitchen. “Go on and look. We’re fresh out of arsenic and eye of newt.”
Tombi squinted at the jars of dried spices and roots lining the countertops, the basket of pink mojo bags she’d assembled earlier that morning and the bunches of dried herbs hanging above on the ceiling. “Unusual, but nothing overtly suspicious, like a box of rat poison.”
Was he serious? Annie frowned. “Now, look here, you can’t just—”
Tombi opened the pantry door, and she drew away from the counter, spine stiffening. “Who said you could go poking about everywhere?” she demanded.
“You said I could look around.” He stepped in the pantry and ran a finger over the shelves. “Ah, now it’s getting interesting. Graveyard dirt, coffin nails and—” he picked up a sealed jar and turned “—swamp juice?” His nose crinkled at the puke-green cloudiness. “Looks like it could kill someone. Bacterial infection would be a gruesome death.”
“Put it back, and mind your own business.”
He returned it to the shelf, and Annie poured steaming tea into two mugs. She lifted the silver ball that held the loose ingredients in the teapot and waggled it. “We’re drinking from the same pot. Just so you know.”
Tombi sank into one of the cane-backed kitchen chairs, and Annie sat across from him at the table. He filled the room with his strong presence, overpowered what was once her peaceful sanctuary. Made it disturbing.
Exciting.
Even the air she breathed reeked of masculinity and testosterone—forceful and heady.
Annie slid the ceramic bowl filled with packets of sugar to the middle of the table. “You’ll want to sweeten up that brew. It’s a bit bitter. If you’d rather use honey, we have some.”
“This will do.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes, instead staring at his lean, muscled forearms and large hands as he ripped open a sugar packet and stirred his tea. What would it be like to have his hands touching her all over? A warm flush blossomed on her cheeks, and she gripped her mug with both hands to steady the turmoil Tombi awoke in her body.
Stop it. He can’t be trusted. So far, he had brought nothing but empty promises and disaster.
* * *
Tombi swallowed a mouthful of the astringent tea and struggled to conceal his revulsion. But if it would help strengthen his aching limbs and exhaustion, he’d drink every drop.
Annie regarded him, lips curled sardonically. “That’s right, my dearie,” she crooned in a crackly, crone voice. “Drink every last drop or the poison is no good.”
He set the mug down with a bang. “You wouldn’t.” A heartbeat. “Would you?”
She folded her arms. “What do you think?”
“You wouldn’t.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t be so sure about me. After all, you might have got my grandma killed today. Things like that tend to piss people off, you know.”
“It’s highly unusual for Nalusa to attack before nightfall. It’s as if he were lying in wait for me. As if someone had tipped him off.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She jumped up, hands gripping the table with white-knuckled anger. “You think I contacted a...a...snake? I never even heard of Nalusa until yesterday.”
“So you say.”
Tombi couldn’t let it go. He’d become a jaded man, not by birth disposition, but because of the deaths and trapped spirits he’d witnessed over the past ten years. He and his tribe tried to release all the ensnared souls, but they kept growing in number. Secretly, he despaired there was no stopping Nalusa’s increasing spread of misery. How was he supposed to trust this girl—this witch who mysteriously appeared in the dead of night in the swamp and claimed to speak to Bo?
Annie made a disgusted clucking noise and noisily set about tidying the kitchen. “Don’t drink the tea, then. Suffer. Means nothing to me.”
She dried some silverware and threw it in a drawer, where it clanged. “If anyone’s scared, it should be me.”
“Scared? I’m not scared.” For spirit’s sake, he faced creatures of the dark on a daily basis.
She stared pointedly at his half-filled mug and raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
Tombi lifted it to his lips and took another experimental sip. The liquid had cooled considerably. He raised the mug in a salutatory gesture. “To good health.” He downed the whole mess in four gulps.
Great Spirits almighty, that was nasty stuff.
Annie threw the dish towel in the sink and stared at him. “Your skin is starting to get a little pale and clammy,” she noted. “Perspiration’s beading on your forehead. You sure you’re okay? Maybe I poisoned you after all.”
Tombi lifted his right arm a few inches, then dropped it by his side. He’d almost given her the satisfaction of touching his forehead to check.
“Your jaw is twitching, too.”
“It tends to do that when I’m annoyed.”
“Better annoyed than worried sick like I am.” Annie glanced out the kitchen window, and her body slumped, as if the fight and anger had melted from her spine and left her in a pool of misery.
Damn. He fought the guilt that pestered his gut. He didn’t ask that old lady to save him. “Look, Annie, I’m sorry about your grandma.”
She waved a hand dismissively, back still toward him.
“Maybe you should go to the hospital,” he drawled, reluctant to encourage her but compelled to show compassion. Tia Henrietta had saved his life; he owed her.
“She’d kill me. She specifically begged me not to.”
“Did she say why?”
Annie sighed. “She seems to think you are some kind of hero or something.”
“I wish she hadn’t taken the poison,” Tombi offered.
She faced him and tilted her head to one side. “Did she say something to you right before the ambulance came? I saw you lean over the couch where she lay.”
He shuffled in his seat and shrugged his shoulders. “She moaned, and I got closer to see if she was trying to talk. But she was mostly incoherent.”
Mostly.
The word and its meaning seemed to slip by Annie. Thank the spirits.
“She has a weak heart. I don’t see how she can recover from this.” Her eyes were a reproach.
Tombi frowned, hardening his heart. He couldn’t let his resolve to mistrust all strangers end. He had a mission. His people depended on him. Should he fail... No, he couldn’t go down that dark corridor of possibility in his mind. Bad enough the worry haunted his dreams.
Her voice rose an octave. “And to top it off, you seem to believe I brought all this on myself and my grandma.”
Tombi pursed his lips. “You could have set a trap, not knowing your grandmother would come swooping in to save me at the last possible second.”
“Of all the ungrateful...” she sputtered. “If not for us, you’d be dead or ate up with fever.”
He paused, struck by the fact that he was ready to return to the hunt, full of vigor. “That tea actually helped,” he let slip in surprise.
“Of course it did. You...you...” Again, she was so angry that words failed. She planted her hands on her hip and glared.
He smiled, and she stepped close to him.
“Stop smirking.” Annie pushed against his chest. She was so small, so petite, the top of her head hit him only chest-high.
Instinctively, he grabbed her arms and pulled her closer into him. She smelled mysterious—like herbs and musk and a touch of some flowery scent that was deliciously, dangerously feminine.
He remembered their kiss. Would she ever want to kiss him again—now that she held him responsible for Tia’s illness? Loss and regret swept through him l
ike an errant breeze.
If circumstances were different. If there wasn’t so much at stake. If only... But it did no good to wallow in “ifs.” It wasn’t as if he’d had any choice in the matter of his destiny and duty. His hands still held her forearms, but they loosened—and she didn’t pull away. He hardly dared move for fear of shattering the magic.
The only sound in the room was their joined breathing, hers lighter and more rapid than his. Her chest gently expanded and contracted. And then, oh-so-slowly, they eased their bodies together, and her cheek lay on his chest. Tombi leaned down and rested his chin on the cinnamon warmth of her dark hair.
Outside, the sky darkened. Leaves and moss would begin to rustle in the ancient oaks. Soon, birds of the night would swoop from branch to branch, screeching and spying and reporting back to Nalusa on the hunters’ movements. Ishkitini, the horned owl, was the most ominous bird of prey, because his screech foretold a sudden death or murder. Will-o’-the-wisps would glow and skitter about with the energy of the trapped deceased.
The windowpane’s reflection captured their joined silhouette like a flickering trick of the eye. Nebulous and passing, a fragile thing of impermanence. Tombi closed his eyes and stroked her arms. They were as soft and slender as a robin’s wing.
The phone rang, and she jerked and wiggled out of his embrace, returning to the table to pick up her cell phone.
“How is she?” Annie asked, face set in tense worry. “Uh-huh. That’s good...right?”
Reassured the call wasn’t death news, Tombi let himself out the front door and stood on the porch. She’d appreciate her privacy. The heat and the night pressed down on him, cloying and heavy.
He had to return to the others. His duty was clear. Somehow, he must convince Annie to come with him. This cottage wasn’t safe for a young woman alone. She’d been lured once by a will-o’-the-wisp. It could happen again. Their call was almost impossible to ignore.
And then there were Tia Henrietta’s words. Annie is your destiny. Without her, you fail. And as he’d started to straighten, the old woman’s hand had gripped his with surprising strength. Take care of my granddaughter.
Destiny? Destiny be damned. It was enough that the gods had placed this duty on him, this infernal battle with Nalusa and his shadows. No doubt Annie could prove useful with her extraordinary hearing. But that tiny woman wasn’t a key to battling evil. She didn’t stand a chance against dark forces she’d never before encountered. If she was an innocent, he reminded himself grimly. And as far as taking care of Annie...wasn’t it enough that his fellow hunters depended on him as their leader? He didn’t need another burden.
The door creaked open, and she stood beside him.
“How’s your grandmother?”
“Miss Verbena says her vital signs are stabilized, but she’s in a coma.”
He tried to find comforting words. “Her brain just needs a rest while she battles the poison.”
“I don’t like it.” Her voice was small, weak.
He should say something sweet, something comforting. But he didn’t know how. Even his twin, Tallulah, wasn’t much good at sweet-talking. If Hanan were here, he would know. His friend was always quick with the comebacks and the right, appropriate thing to say. A real asset in his job as the county sheriff. Tombi stiffened, feeling awkward. “Come with me. Stay with my people.”
She shot him a sideways glance. “Why?”
“So you can help us.”
She sniffed and turned for the door.
He’d said the wrong thing.
“And because we could use your gift. We...apparently, need you.”
“Well, I don’t need you. Grandma made me promise not to go to the hospital, but she can’t make me leave this house. I’m staying here in case Miss Verbena calls with more news.”
“You can take your phone with you.”
“Coverage is spotty in the woods. I can’t chance it.”
“But even if there’s news, good or bad, there’s nothing you can do,” he pointed out.
She gave him a look that would surely curdle even Nalusa’s milky venom. “I want to know everything the moment it happens.” Her words were slow and deliberate, as if she were talking to a not-so-bright child.
An unexpected warmth flushed Tombi’s cheeks at her condescending tone. He scowled to cover his embarrassment. Time to show his ace in the hole. “Your grandmother asked me to take care of you.”
“When?” Her eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.
“That time you saw me bending over her before the ambulance came.”
“You said she was incoherent.”
“I was trying to save your pride.”
They glared at one another. In the distance, an owl screeched. A bad sign.
Very bad.
CHAPTER 5
Annie shivered, breaking the tension. “That owl sounds creepy.”
“Ishkitini,” Tombi grumbled. No good ever came of the horned owl’s cry. It often foretold death. But no sense troubling Annie with that information. She’d assume it was an omen about her grandmother, and then she’d never agree to go with him. Plus, he had to admit, he didn’t want to upset Annie.
“A dangerous night to be alone. You’d be safer on the hunt with me,” he said.
Her eyes shifted to the woods and back to him.
She was weakening.
“Besides, you shouldn’t be here alone tonight worrying about your grandmother. Go on the hunt with us. It will take your mind off your problems.”
“Why should I go? It’s obvious your friends don’t want me around. At least at home, I won’t be insulted.”
Damn Tallulah and the others for their hostility. It had been a mistake to tell them he’d brought Annie to possibly find a traitor. Nobody appreciated a messenger with bad news. “You’ll be by my side during the hunt,” Tombi promised. “The others follow their own path in the night darkness.”
She glanced over to the woods again. “I have to admit I’m curious about your hunt.” Her eyes met his. “Does what you do involve anything gruesome? You know, like, bloody stuff?”
“Not usually.”
“Good.” She pinned him with a hard look. “And in return for going tonight, you’ll teach me how to control my hearing?”
“For one night’s work?” The words tumbled out, unfiltered. Oh, hell. By the look on her face, he’d lost any chance of getting her cooperation.
Annie marched back into the cottage, slamming the door shut.
He opened it and followed her inside. At least she hadn’t locked him out. “How about this? Spend time with us, and let me know if you have suspicions about anyone. In return, I’ll teach you what I can.”
Anger twisted her delicate features. “Teach me? I didn’t think I’d need lessons.”
“How else did you expect to learn to control your gift?”
“I thought... I thought...” She sputtered to a stop.
“I never said it would be easy.”
“You never said it would be hard, either.” She rubbed her temples. “Just how long will these lessons take?”
“Hard to say.” He folded his arms and considered. “Could take weeks, could take months. That is, if you can follow my teachings. Not everyone can control their energy.”
Annie sat on the sofa and took a deep breath. “Okay, there are a couple of things troubling me about what you just said.” She held up an index finger. “One, your people can guard against leaking their energy, making it difficult for me to hear their auras. So I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to pinpoint this person.”
She held up a second finger, but Tombi interrupted, “Let me take your objections one at a time.” He sat across from Annie, their knees almost touching. Warmth radiated from her slight body, and he clamped down the
passion she aroused as he cleared his throat. “After a night chasing shadows, we gather back at the campsite and fill each other in on the night’s events. We’ll eat a light meal and then go to our tents and sleep until the heat of the day drives us out. Usually about noon.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with—”
“I’m getting to that,” Tombi promised. “Stay alert while they sleep and walk around the camp. See if you hear anything suspicious then.”
Her brow creased and then cleared. She nodded. “They must let down their guard during sleep.”
“Exactly. Now what’s your next objection?”
“You said you would teach me what you could. What the hell does that mean exactly? First you claimed you could cure me of this gift. Now it sounds like you’re waffling.”
“No waffling.”
“Then are you saying I’m unteachable? I can assure you, that’s not true. Not at all. There’s nothing wrong with my intelligence.”
Tombi raised a brow and regarded her silently.
She had the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry. Touchy point with me. I was teased unmercifully in grade school because I had to be taught in a separate room one-on-one with a teacher’s aide. The music from all the other students made it impossible for me to concentrate in a regular classroom.” She took a shuddering breath. “They used to call me Crazy Annie.”
That must have been tough for a sensitive girl. “Kids can be cruel. I promise I wasn’t making a comment on your intelligence. What I meant was that I’ll show you how I block my energy. It’s a skill my parents taught me, so it stands to reason that, with the right training, you can do the same.”
A wistful sadness shadowed her eyes.
“You don’t think you can do it?” he asked gently.
She bit her lip. “Oh, it’s silly. But what I was really hoping is that you’d arrange for a shaman to remove it. You know, something quick and easy.”
He fixed her with a hard stare.
Annie flushed. “I know. That’s awful of me. I just want to get on with my life.”
“Meaning what? What would you do without your special hearing ability that you can’t do now?” Annie was hard to understand. He could control his senses to some degree, yet it didn’t change who he was, or his purpose in life.
