The wine revealed no encursement or poison, magical or otherwise.
Zinnia rubbed her temples and checked her phone again. The screen blurred. She rubbed her eyes. Still blurry.
She jumped off the stool and headed for the door.
Jesse moved, blocking the exit with his body. “Zinnia? Are you feeling okay?”
“I'm fine. I just need some fresh air.”
“With your phone?”
“Yes. I also need to make a call, and I wouldn't want to be rude.”
“Make your call here from the kitchen. I don't mind.”
She kept her gaze down, not meeting his eyes. “But I would mind.” She took a step to the side, dodging him, but he moved and blocked her way.
“What's wrong?” There was a cruel, taunting tone to his voice. “Do you think it was the wine?”
“Why? Did you put something in the wine?”
“Of course not.”
She shoved him, but her arms were weak, and he was so big. He barely swayed. He laughed, sounding more cruel by the second.
“I didn't put anything in your wine, Zinnia,” he said.
“You didn't?” Now she looked up at him. His blue eyes were bright and wide. Not fearful. Excited.
“I put it in the cheese, which you put on the crackers.” He grinned. “You served it to yourself.”
“What did you put in the cheese? All I tasted was dill.”
“The dill was to cover something that you and your people don't like. A little something called witchbane.”
Witchbane! That explained the blurred vision, the weakness. The thickness of her tongue. How could she have been so cavalier? How had she walked right into his house, even when she knew that he knew she had powers? He had felt the lightning blast at the swamp. And of course his kind knew of witches. Had she really expected him to keep bluffing, not letting on that he knew what she was? Had she believed his personal feelings toward her were some kind of protection? Yes, she had. And now she was going to pay the price.
She tried to pool lightning in her hands. Nothing came. Just as she'd expected as soon as he'd uttered the terrible word. Witchbane. The filthy weed.
Her thoughts scrambled for a solution. At least Fung would be coming soon. Fung would be more prepared. He wouldn't make the mistake of believing that sharing a bed with someone meant anything at all. What could she do now? She could play dumb, stalling for time.
“Witchbane?” She blinked up at Jesse. “You're being so strange tonight. Now get out of my way so I can get some fresh air outside.”
“Make me.”
Through gritted teeth, she said, “Step aside. Now. I'm not joking.”
He laughed, mocking her. “You redheads are so cute when you're angry. It's a shame you're a witch. Why'd you have to go and be a witch, Zinnia? We could have had a great time together.”
Together? Her vision was narrowing, shrinking to a circle of light. Her magic was gone, but the herb hadn't stopped there. The dose must have been very strong. Why did she have to eat all those crackers? She was about to lose consciousness. The witchbane, powerful as it was at that dose, might even kill her.
She backed toward the stove and prep area, grabbed a sharp knife from the counter, and lunged forward, slashing at the man who threatened her.
Jesse hadn't been expecting a physical attack. Blood sprayed from his forearm before he'd even moved a muscle.
Zinnia stepped back and licked the tip of the blade. Jesse's blood was spicy. It matched the blood she tasted from the cougar. Her hunch had been correct. Jesse Berman was a shifter. He was the cougar she'd seen at Towhee Swamp. And she'd only figured it out thanks to Carrot Greyson's visions. Carrot had dreamed about seeing Zinnia nude. Who else had been seeing Zinnia that way except Jesse? The nude painting at Gavin's apartment had jarred the facts into place in her mind. Carrot must have formed a bond, a psychic link, with Jesse during their brief romance. And he didn't even know his ex had been watching his every move in her dreams. He should have been more careful about who he took to bed. And he shouldn't have messed around with Zinnia Riddle.
“Step aside,” she said, brandishing the knife.
Jesse slowly wrapped a tea towel around his cut forearm. “You barely scratched me,” he said. “I'll give you one point for catching me by surprise, but I assure you, witch, it will not happen again.”
She kept waving the knife. “Step aside now, or you'll be sorry.”
“What are you going to do? I'm bigger and stronger. You can't zap me. You're all out of witch juice.”
She dropped the knife, grabbed the pot of bubbling stew from the stove, and flung it at him. He screamed as the boiling mass struck him. He buckled, flailing both hands at the boiling stew on his clothes as he crumpled to the floor.
The only way out of the kitchen was through Jesse or over him. As soon as he hit the ground, she started running. She was jumping over him when she felt a strong hand clamp on her ankle. So close.
He yanked her feet out from under her violently. She used her arms to protect her head from hitting the stone floor. Distantly, she noted a shooting pain in her wrist and elbow.
Jesse snarled, “Not so fast, witch.”
“I'm Zinnia,” she said, panting. “Jesse, it's still me. I'm just Zinnia. I'm not your enemy.”
But he wasn't listening. He dragged her to the center of the kitchen and straddled her, locking her arms down with his knees. He leaned forward, his face inches above hers. His face was contorted with rage. Half of it was red, burned by the stew. He would heal by magic and bear no scars, but it had to hurt like hell. And over his face there was something else. Another layer. His father. What was this magic? Was Jesse possessed?
Annette had been wrong about Jesse. Zinnia had read through the original handwritten draft earlier that day, after leaving Gavin's place and before coming to Jesse's. Annette had originally cast Jesse as a selkie named Sej. Sej was a creature who could shift at will into the form of a seal. Sej had been sired by an evil man, but then he turned away from his evil father, away from the dark side of magic. Sej had been good. Pure of heart. But the magic pen only wrote from Annette's rose-tinted version of the truth. She'd been wrong about Jesse Berman. He was nothing like Sej. Even the love of his mother couldn't save his soul. In her dying moments, Annette must have realized how wrong she'd been.
Pain ripped through Zinnia, pinning her to the present.
Jesse's upper lip twisted up in a catlike snarl. “You tasted my blood last night in the swamp,” he said. “I was hurt, and you didn't even try to help me. You just licked my blood from your lips.”
“But I didn't know it was you,” she said, her voice pleading. “It was Xavier who cut you on the top of your head. Xavier Batista. From City Hall.”
“You liked it,” Jesse snarled. “You're a demon spawn. Since you like the taste of my blood so much, here. Get your fill.” He ripped off the blood-stained tea towel and shoved his forearm into her mouth.
She did the only thing she could. She bit him with all her strength.
He laughed. “That barely tickles.”
He was right. Her bite was weak. The witchbane was draining away even her human strength. It was only the flood of fight-or-flight adrenaline coursing through her veins, keeping her conscious. And that wouldn't last forever.
She bit him again anyway.
“Isn't that cute,” he teased. “You've been defanged. You're like a kitten with no teeth.”
He pulled his arm from her mouth and looked down at her. His expression softened to something like pity.
She said nothing.
“Ah, peace and quiet,” he said. “I don't know why shifters hate witches so much. A witch isn't a problem if you feed her enough witchbane.” He leaned forward again, sticking his face in hers. “You're not much of a threat, are you?”
She spat a mouthful of his own blood back in his face.
He recoiled.
She said, “What about you? You're not much of a man,
Jesse. You turn into a cougar and you attack innocent women. You're a coward. You're a filthy, nasty creature who slinks around at night.”
“I wasn't going to hurt that stupid girl. Xavier's girlfriend, whoever she was.”
“Then what were you doing at the swamp?”
He made his eyes wide and innocent. “Getting some fresh air. Stretching all four legs.”
“I don't believe you.”
“Such a suspicious little witch you are.”
The ceiling above Jesse's leering face blurred. Her vision was closing off again, the white ceiling becoming blue. Zinnia closed her eyes, just to rest them for a moment. She thought of the blue painting that hung in Detective Fung's office behind his head. Sea. And sailboats. Were there sailboats in the painting? It didn't matter. With the right tactics, sailboats could sail against the wind. She stopped struggling under Jesse's grip and took another direction. She opened her eyes and faced her fears.
Softly, she said, “Jesse, I'm sure you didn't plan to kill Annette. I know how sweet and good you are. It was probably an accident, right?”
He seemed surprised. “It was an accident,” he said agreeably. “I only wanted to talk to her.”
“About what?”
“About her past. My father used to tell me about a woman named Annette. She was a friend of my mother's.”
“Annette knew your parents?”
“Yes, but she wasn't a very good friend. That's why my dad warned me about her. Annette tried to take me away from my father after my mother died.”
“She did? I had no idea.”
“My father always told me to be on the lookout. I forgot about it until last week, when Annette asked me about things that happened when I was a little kid.”
That was what Carrot had overheard him talking to Annette about. “So, you went to the office on Monday night just to talk to her?”
“That's right. I only wanted to talk. But then...” His blue eyes took on a malevolent gleam. “She said terrible things.”
“Like what?”
“Lies,” he seethed through gritted teeth. “Villobek is supposed to be my father. She rearranged the letters of his name.”
“Viktor Oliver Berman is Villobek.”
“No, he isn't,” Jesse growled.
“Villobek kidnapped his wife when she tried to get away from him. He made her bear his son, and then he left her for dead.”
“My father didn't do that. He would never. He was a man of honor.”
“But Annette...” She chose her words carefully, delicately sidestepping the truth. “Annette knew your parents. Like the narrator in her book.”
“Maybe she knew them, maybe she didn't. Annette was a storyteller. A liar. My father was a good man. He's the one who raised me by himself after my mother ran off.”
“Your mother ran off? But you always tell people she died.”
He seized her shoulders and shook her against the floor, slamming her skull hard enough to make her see stars.
“Don't put words in my mouth! You're trying to trick me, witch!”
“No, no. Jesse, I'm just trying to get everything straight in my head.”
“This is a trick. I don't feel right.” His face flickered, becoming another face. That of his father, Viktor. He said, “You're doing something to me right now. My father always said, if a witch can talk, she's a threat. I should have given you something stronger.”
“Calm down and take a deep breath. We can get through this together.”
“Don't pretend you care about me, witch. You don't love me. You never loved me. I gave you my heart and you threw it away. You threw me away.”
“What are you talking about? Of course I care about you. Jesse, I—”
Her words were choked off. He had his hands around her throat.
Jesse grinned. “Your boyfriend's not coming for you, by the way.”
Fung? He wasn't coming?
Jesse smiled with more cruelty than seemed possible for a human—but then, he wasn't exactly human. He was two people, possessed by his father's spirit. And he was part demon, like all shifters. His kind looked down on witches for being part demon, yet they were all cut from the same cloth.
Jesse said, “I'm afraid the detective is a bit tied up at the moment. He didn't send you that last text message, Zinnia. I did.”
The world turned red.
Zinnia fought him with all her remaining human strength, but the high dose of witchbane took away her consciousness before the strangling could.
Chapter 27
Zinnia Riddle had never liked Jesse's basement. Not when she helped him fold laundry and got the heebie-jeebies, and certainly not now, when she found herself a prisoner there, bound and aching on the cold cement floor. The basement was chilly, damp, and nearly pitch black. A couple of green and orange lights on the washer and dryer were the only source of light.
With a hopeful heart, she flexed her swollen tongue and cast a spell for light. It didn't work. Her mouth tasted sour. She tried again. Sourness. And again. No light. If anything, the darkness around her seemed to grow darker with the failure.
Her magic was still snuffed out, thanks to the witchbane. Her throat ached as though it was on fire. She could still feel Jesse's hands around her neck, choking her. She could still see the raw hatred in his eyes. Or was that his father Viktor's hatred? Her head throbbed. Did it matter? Jesse could have resisted his father's influence, if he wanted to. If the old man's ghost had been attached to the son after his death, it had been there for two years. Viktor had little power over Jesse, unless Jesse gave it up willingly.
Zinnia allowed herself to feel every ache and pain in her body as punishment. How could she have walked into this house with only a few supplies in her purse? Jesse knew she was a witch, even if he didn't know that she knew he knew. He had been aware of her magical status for nearly twenty-four hours. He had prepared. Of course he had prepared. Jesse was a be-prepared sort of guy. He'd gotten witchbane from some unethical dealer, and then he had, to use his own hateful words, defanged her.
She tasted her regrets, rank and acidic in her mouth. And then she tasted something new. White-hot rage, pure and clean. Anger was growing inside her, fiery and ancient and demonic. Yes, she was demon spawn. And Jesse would pay for his crimes against his fellow demon-spawned family member.
Careful, she told herself. One moment at a time. Keep your wits about you. A mad witch is no good to anyone, especially herself.
She let her mortal senses expand. She couldn't see much, but there was something to hear. Someone was breathing right behind her. Jesse? Was he waiting for her to regain consciousness? And then what?
She lay still in the dark with only her human senses. She pulled her rage into a compact ball, just below her solar plexus. One moment at a time. Her internal warnings took on the voice of her mentor. Zinnia, what do you know to be true?
What did she know to be true?
For starters, her tongue was still badly swollen from the witchbane. Next, she wasn't dead. What else? Nobody besides Ethan Fung knew she was in Jesse Berman's basement because few people knew they were dating. Well, Margaret Mills knew. That was one good thing. But Margaret wouldn't notice Zinnia's absence until Monday morning at work, and that was at least thirty-six hours in the future. Zinnia's mouth turned even more sour.
What did she know to be true? Here was the big one. Her lover was a murderer. And a monster. Zinnia Riddle, who'd always tried to be a good witch, had shared a bed with evil. And now, if she survived this basement, she would forever be tainted by it. She shouldn't have been so careless. This predicament, this being tied up, helpless and defanged, in a basement, was what she'd brought upon herself. She knew it was no time for a pity party, but what the heck. Bring on the parade, with all its floats and streamers, and the marching band booming out the chorus of YOU DID THIS TO YOURSELF.
Meanwhile, the breathing behind her continued, louder than her own.
On some level, she knew exactly
who the other person was, but she delayed rolling over. She didn't want to confirm even more of her worst fears. She closed her eyes and allowed the marching band of the pity parade to stomp all over her.
The person behind her coughed between labored breaths.
Zinnia finally put the parade on pause and wriggled from her side onto her back. The ties around her wrists chafed, especially on the wrist that had been injured in the kitchen. It might have been a sprain or a break. Her body was working hard to repair the bones, but it would take time. Riddle women were tougher than they looked, but they couldn't mend broken bones instantly.
In addition to having her wrists tied with something hard and plastic, she'd been bound with duct tape from shoulder to toes. She probably resembled a lumpy gray bookwyrm. Something flashed in her mind's eye: herself, making bookwyrm dough in her kitchen. She had made the compound a few times over the years, so the flash might have been a memory, but she hoped it was a premonition. If she was still getting future flashes, it meant she might survive this basement.
The other person coughed again. This cough sounded wet. Not a good cough.
Zinnia wriggled toward to her other side. Her arm twisted unnaturally under the thick layers of tape. Her wrist screamed in pain, the healing bonds breaking again before they could solidify. She caught another flash, this time of a woman with Zinnia's face snapping her forearm. A compound fracture. Bloody as hell. Oh, good. She might survive this basement only to get herself broken again.
Zinnia came to a stop on her side, staring into the darkness. Slowly, a face formed in the dim light. He was further away than she'd expected. His breathing was even more labored than she'd imagined.
“Fung,” she said.
He didn't open his eyes. The last vestiges of her pity party abruptly flung away. All she cared about was him. Forget herself and her regrets. Her friend was in trouble.
Detective Ethan Fung's face was shiny in the dark. His sweaty nose had a spot of orange and a spot of green from the laundry station's lights.
Wolves of Wisteria Page 24
