Bebe smiled faintly, leaning against the refrigerator and crossing her arms. “Who called?”
“Isela,” Evie said, her soundless entry into the kitchen making Bebe jump. “What trouble has she managed to get into now?”
Bebe always felt like toadstool, caught between Evie’s ethereal beauty and Isela’s athletic grace. She stood up a little straighter. Evie poured another cup of tea, a line forming between her brows. The note of affection was unusually absent from Evie’s voice. Beryl frowned.
“There’s so much at stake,” Evie said. “I just worry about what she’s gotten us all into. And what with the new witches coming into the city…”
“Our sisters deserve their freedom to practice, to exist in peace,” Bebe said stubbornly. “We’re safe here—”
“Are we?” Evie sighed before Bebe could respond to the anxious challenge in her voice, waving a hand. “Just ignore me. Someone has to be the voice of doom, right?”
Beryl crossed the kitchen to rest a hand on her shoulder. She squeezed gently, and Bebe watched all the resistance go out of Evie in a breath. She softened, and Beryl slid an arm around her as they rested temple to temple.
“No, Evelia,” Beryl said. “You are no Cassandra. Your concern is heard. But we must keep moving toward the world we want to live in. There is no other way.”
She opened her other arm, and Bebe went gratefully, finding her place. “Isela is bringing a new ally. A necromancer, one of Azrael’s progeny. They need our assistance, and we are going to give it to them.”
Evie bit her lip.
“It would be good for you take the little ones out for a few hours,” Beryl said before she could argue.
“I’ll pack the car,” Bebe began.
“I need you here, Barbara,” Beryl cut her off. “Call Ofelia. She’s bound to need a break from Chris.”
Bebe could hear the relief in their newest sister-in-law’s voice as Evie held the phone away from her ear, wincing. A few moments later, Ofelia tromped up the stairs from the flat two floors below. She and Chris, the youngest Vogel brother, were hurrying to finish renovations before the baby came. Fifi’s beauty was eclipsed only by her vibrant personality. She freed her tightly wrapped hair from the bun on the top of her head, fluffing the strands to form a round ball of dark brown coils.
“So, Issy’s in trouble again eh?” Ofelia avoided Evie’s glare as she poured herself a cup of coffee while rubbing her low back with her knuckles. “It’s my first cup today. I promise.”
“She’s found a phoenix,” Beryl said.
Ofelia’s eyes widened, and she paused midswallow.
“It found her,” Evie said, uncannily certain. “It has a message for her, but it’s been— Something is wrong with it.”
Bebe looked at her, dumbfounded. “How did you know all that?”
“I dreamed of a firebird at Issy’s feet last night.” Evie shrugged. “I thought it was a metaphor. You know—transformation. It didn’t occur to me that it was actually literal.”
Precognition wasn’t common among witches. Evie’s ability was stronger than most. Bebe didn’t envy her sight. It was the kind of gift that too often brought pain.
On instinct, she hugged Evie. Evie stiffened at first—she always did—but Bebe knew she had the woman’s trust. Witches needed physical contact often. Especially after any use of their power. It was comfort but also restoration. That need had been difficult for Evie because after losing her family, her life had gotten brutally hard, and touch became something she learned to fear. She had been isolated for so long her power had begun to corrupt. Only Beryl and Markus had been strong enough to pull her back. Now she trusted them all to serve that purpose.
She held on until Evie softened and returned the hug with a long sigh. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Bebe said, drawing away only when Evie let her go.
Beryl smiled at them all. Impulsively, Bebe took her hand and Ofelia’s. Ofelia grabbed Evie. Beryl completed the circle. The energy sparked between them immediately. It was as if the past few weeks had brought them all to new power. Now that they no longer had to practice in secret, it felt more solid and grew stronger with exercise.
“Guide, protect, love,” Bebe said quietly. “Defend. These are our vows.”
“Let none stand against us.” Ofelia was firm.
When they released one another, Beryl looked lighter and happier than she had in weeks.
“Boy or girl?” Ofelia asked, furrowed brow and rubbed the rounding mound of her own belly.
Beryl shook her head with a little smile. “You wanted a surprise, and I promised I would not tell you.”
Ofelia sucked her teeth. “Can’t a girl have a change of heart? I gotta pee, Evie. I’ll be ready in two minutes.”
When she was gone, Evie and Beryl’s eyes met with shared humor.
Bebe looked between them. “What?”
Evie began to laugh, pressing her fingers to her lips. Beryl shook her head, chuckling to herself.
“Do we tell her?” Evie asked when she could catch her breath.
Beryl’s hands rose as she backed away. “I made my promise.”
“What!” Bebe hissed, stomping her foot.
Beryl had always accurately predicted the sexes of their babies. But if Evie also had a precognition, it was certain. Beryl went about refilling the water kettle, ignoring Bebe’s plea.
As Evie turned, she flashed two fingers.
Bebe gasped. “No!”
“Not a word.” Evie glared at her. Then she admitted, “One of each.”
“Boy and girl?” Bebe hissed.
Evie favored her with a superior glare. “Wolf and witch.”
“I thought you said it was a beater,” Tariq said, sweeping his fingers through still-damp hair.
He’d showered, shaved, and trimmed his mustache and goatee. She’d never seen him look so formal in rust-colored slacks and a matching asymmetrical button waistcoat over a trim, collarless ivory shirt. Even the well-worn chukkas and open wool coat could not make him look less polished. She spent a moment trying to figure out if the tangerine scent was a cologne or just the way he smelled.
Isela tossed him the keys and stalked to the passenger’s door. “I said Azrael’s idea of a beater. He told me to break it. I don’t think he was joking.”
Tariq rested his hand on the roof of a coupe so deep green it was almost black. He whistled. “Have they even released these yet?”
Isela looked at him blankly, shivering in the cold of the underground garage and pulling the oversized hood of her sweater onto her head. She tapped her foot impatiently as he admired the vehicle. The electric coupe was low-slung on a wide wheelbase and just under ten feet from nose to tail. It was also, Isela discovered, ridiculously maneuverable and stupid fast.
“I’d imagined Azrael’s investment in national technologies had perks,” Tariq said, “like getting the new models before they are released to the public.”
“He said they need some real-world data.” She slid her hands into her pockets before her fingers froze stiff.
Tariq’s mouth curled upward. “Then get over here.”
She puffed out her cheeks but slid in when he opened the driver-side door. When Tariq climbed in the passenger side, he ran a hand over the charcoal dashboard appreciatively. The computer came to life with a pleasant chime and a personalized greeting.
“Welcome, consort,” it said. “How may I assist?”
“Start eco mode, Libby.”
The car came to life with a barely audible tremble. The lights switched on, and an illuminated map of the city appeared in the dash.
“Libby?”
“Liberty. It has an autodrive function,” she growled. “But it’s disabled. And it’s a stick.”
She looked balefully at the gearshift.
“Well, let’s see what she’s got.”
Isela put the car in gear and eased onto the accelerator. The car shifted but didn’t move. She swore.
They pulled out from beneath the gate of the castle, leaving the battling Titans in the rearview as she thundered up the damp cobblestone street to the main road.
His hand crept toward the molded grip on the door. “How is it you don’t drive? I thought you were American.”
Isela shrugged, downshifting with a flinch as the gears grumbled in protest. “I was born in the US. My parents moved us here when I was little.”
“Ah,” Tariq murmured. “Watch out!”
Isela swung into traffic and hit the gas. The car accelerated to a high scream before she shifted and gained more speed. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head, unable to take his eyes off the road.
“My older brothers remember it better than I do. It’s Mark, Toby, then me. Chris was born here.”
“Your brothers, the pack?”
“The Vogel boys,” Isela agreed loftily, weaving through traffic. “Young wolves all.”
Tariq’s gaze darted out the window, then back to her, then out the window again.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said, wincing as they thundered through a yellow light. Tariq tugged at his collar. “The Allegiance had to stabilize civilization after the war. Getting people working and fed went a long way to avoid total anarchy. Azrael invested heavily in technology.” He gestured at the center of the steering wheel where the emblem of a lightning bolt pierced a stylized T. “Azrael lured engineers and designers into contracts and formed a conglomerate of a bunch of languishing state-owned companies. They named it Tesla—after the inventor—hired anyone with experience, and founded a school to teach others. Transportation has been their big success; they make the trams and the buses and shipping vehicles. And luxury electric cars.”
He glanced at the road once, then away again, fingertips dancing on his knees. “Ray tried something similar in the US, but it was harder for him with the loss of the financial centers on the East Coast. He had better luck beefing up the entertainment industry. Bread and circuses.”
“Ray?”
“Raymond, the North American necromancer,” Tariq said. “Calls himself the Nightfeather. Big guy—long hair. Face like a knife.”
Isela remembered him from the night in Azrael’s study. Dressed simply in jeans and a T-shirt, motorcycle boots, and the sheet of black hair that fell down his back like midnight rain. Quite a looker. And scary as hell.
“Careful,” Tariq breathed.
Isela braked hard, swerving around the car stopped in front of her. When she looked at her passenger, his knuckles were white.
“I warned you,” she muttered. “Tell me about Ray.”
Tariq tore his eyes away from the road. “He’s almost as old as Azrael. They were friends for a while. But they had a falling-out.”
“Over what?”
Tariq laughed. “A woman, of course.”
Isela looked at him sharply and the car swerved into the neighboring lane.
“Eyes on the road!” Tariq cried. “It’s not like that. It was Lysippe.”
Isela frowned. The Amazon was the oldest member of Azrael’s Aegis and his surrogate daughter. She ran much of his business endeavors. She had a cooler head and a mind for corporate warfare. Isela supposed anyone who had grown up shooting arrows while riding a horse at full speed on an arid plain could handle a roomful of egomaniacs in thousand-dollar suits.
“Ray broke her heart,” Tariq said bluntly. “Lysippe hasn’t been the same since. I don’t think Azrael ever forgave him.”
Whoa. Isela hadn’t seen that one coming. The Amazon had a persona of iron. She embraced her immortality with open arms, like a true conqueror. The image of her heartbroken made Isela incalculably sad. It also made her want to kick Ray where it counted.
“I suggest if you want the replay, you bring her a bottle of bourbon on American Independence Day. She always gets maudlin around then.”
Fascinating. The downside of immortality—getting over a broken heart could take a while. She imagined losing Azrael. What would happen if he turned away from her? Could she spend an eternity without him? She made an illegal left turn onto a street beside the river, just south of the Vyšehrad fortress ruins that had been converted into a city park.
Tariq spoke as she pulled up in front of the building she grew up in. “You are the consort.”
“Reading my mind now?” she said, shutting off the grateful car.
“No, your face.” Tariq covered her hand on the gearshift with his own. “I can only imagine— No. He would be a fool to walk away from you.”
The car seemed too small. Isela gently withdrew her hand.
“Forgive me,” Tariq said. “I have been too forward.”
“It’s okay.” She smiled. “It’s very nice of you to say that. It’s just—he’s everything to me, Tariq, and I belong with him.”
He nodded, and his eyes fell away. A breath later he smiled again, all harmless flirtation. “I know why Gregor’s angry with you—you’re the only person who drives more recklessly than he does. Get me out of this car.”
“Bebe.” Isela jogged up the steps to embrace her sister-in-law.
The petite brunette squeezed her tightly. “We’ve missed you, stranger. Come in.”
Isela’s mother appeared in the doorway behind her.
“Mom.” Isela slipped an arm around the woman crowned with a pile of neatly coiled silver dreadlocks.
Beryl looked over Isela’s shoulder.
“Come on in, son,” Beryl Gilman-Vogel said, raising her voice. “I leave the biting to my boys.”
Isela was heartened by the little laugh in her voice. Tariq came up the steps and sank to one knee. “Forgive me, mistress, for arriving unannounced. I am Tariq Yilmaz, ally to Azrael of Prague and the consort.”
“Honey, Isela told me you were coming,” Beryl said gently at his look of surprise.
Isela held her thumb and pinkie finger to the side of her head and stuck out her tongue. “It’s called a phone, old school.”
Beryl glared at her daughter before addressing her guest. “I thank you for your consideration. You are a friend here, according to the code of the alliance.”
“I will comply,” Tariq said, bowing his head as he rose. “Your home is my temple, mistress. I will do no spell nor interfere in yours.”
“And you will be granted safe passage,” Beryl agreed.
“Code of alliance?” Isela looked between them.
Beryl addressed Tariq. “Forgive my daughter’s ignorance. Without my power or her father’s gift, I didn’t anticipate she would ever need the knowledge.”
“That’s me, plain old ordinary Isela. Did I mention I have a god living inside me?”
Beryl’s lips pursed in a tight line. Tariq coughed to conceal a laugh. Bebe tugged her arm as they followed Beryl inside.
“You still have to learn the codes, Isela,” Bebe hissed at her as they followed Beryl and Tariq up the stairs. “It’s très importante.”
Isela stuck out her tongue.
Bebe wagged her eyebrows at Tariq. Who is his royal hotness?
Azrael’s progeny, Isela returned.
Bebe opened her mouth and pantomimed fanning her cheeks. Tariq took that moment to glance back at them both. Bebe coughed and focused on the step under her feet.
“Tariq, my sister, Barbara,” Isela said.
He slowed a step, took her hand, and brought her knuckles to his lips. Bebe almost swooned.
“Sister-in-law,” Isela growled at him. “My brother’s wife.”
“I understand the relations created by human marriage very well, my lady,” Tariq grinned, winking at Bebe.
“Human marriage?” Bebe asked, a little breathless.
“Marriage is a human ritual,” Tariq explained. “A gift from your kind, I believe.”
Ahead, Beryl nodded approvingly. “Corrupted over time by a patriarchal need for possession, originally the binding of
lives was our gift to humanity, as death rites were yours. Marriage is just one such ritual; there are many ways to make family.”
“So necromancers don’t…” Bebe abandoned her sentence, and Isela felt the woman’s fingers wrap around hers.
Isela squeezed. She knew how much her family valued the bonds created by marriage. To the witches, creating life and union by blood and bond was an ultimate priority. Necromancers could do neither.
“The consort vow is the equivalent among our kind,” Tariq said sagely. “And your sister is the consort to the most powerful necromancer in the world.”
“One of—” Beryl said.
“No, mistress.” Tariq corrected her gently. “My master is unmatched. In part due to his union with your daughter. Goddess or not, she gives him something the rest of the Allegiance lacks. Heart.”
The family’s top-floor flat was surprisingly empty, not just because of her father’s absence. Isela immediately noticed the missing scents of her brothers, nieces, and nephews. She touched a small jacket that hung from a hook beside the door with her fingertips, the little cuffs a few fingers wide.
“Evie and Fifi took them to the zoo,” Bebe said as she lingered. “Mom thought it best.” She let her words fall away, but her eyes followed Tariq.
Isela nodded, understanding, but the knot in her throat did not ease.
“The twins made you something though.” Bebe herded her to the kitchen. A necklace constructed of painted wood and glass beads threaded with satiny, colorful ribbons sat on the counter.
Beside it was a card, Isela’s name spelled in careful rakish crayon letters, tented over a miniature wooden knife.
“Philip.” Bebe grinned ruefully. “He read a book on Japanese sword schools and now he wants to be a ninja. Chris has been teaching him how to carve things. I can’t even watch. I’m terrified he’s going to lose a finger.”
“Not bad.” Tariq hefted the “blade” before Isela plucked it from his hand.
“Mine.” She gathered her gifts, bringing the card to her nose. If she strained, she swore she could still smell the trace of macaroni and cheese that had clung to tiny hands as it was drawn. When she opened her eyes, she had to blink to force back tears. She twisted the necklace carefully around her wrist and slipped the card and knife into her bag.
Dancer's Flame (Grace Bloods Book 2) Page 12
