When Kent disappeared into the cabin, she turned her head back and realized that Langston had been examining her again. He’d taken to doing that quite often, especially as he’d been training her.
“We will return to your lessons after I have spoken to Kent. It is cold out here and you are shivering. Think of a fire roaring–” He stopped and cocked his head as he stood. “Actually, you have a most excellent imagination. You’ve no need for me to tell you what to think.”
She was learning simple things, according to him. Meditation was paramount, he’d told her, and yet to Devan it was the most difficult. They’d practiced her ability to counteract his magic, to force her will against his. She’d even learned to move objects, small at first, but yesterday she’d been able to nudge the coffee table several feet across the room. Most surprising to her was the ability to conjure things out of thin air. Langston seemed pleased as well, and he confessed that not all witches could achieve this particular ability.
He’d given her instruction about auras and how to interpret them, though this particular area of magic seemed to totally defeat her. Daily he constructed tests that he said would allow him to narrow down and determine what her “specific” powers could do and how she could use them.
After watching Langston and Kent retreat into the cabin, she plopped down on the ground and tucked the blanket around her entire body. And then she thought of cookies, fresh peanut butter cookies. Fat ones, right out of the oven. The way they would melt on her tongue and she’d have to suck air into her mouth to cool the burn of that hot gooiness.
She let the blanket drop down off her shoulders when the bite of the cold was forced away by her warm thoughts. She stared down at the water and noticed that the cloudiness had dissolved and it was clear again. She twirled a finger around in it, absently making a little vortex even as her mouth continued to salivate with the thought of peanut butter cookies.
It’s time, Devvie. Do it now. You got it in you to do it.
Devan stopped twirling the water and held her hand frozen in place. What am I supposed to do? I don’t know.
No, don’t think it. Just do it. Do what would come naturally. As naturally as your contriving the thought of cookies to warm yourself. You got it in you, Devvie. Now do it. Do it now!
She hesitated, still holding completely still. Her mind was whirling and her eyes were darting back and forth as she tried to comprehend what Roon was telling her.
C’mon, Devvie. You’ve been watching them for days, knowing you wanted to help, knowing you could help. You’ve felt drawn to it, but you’ve held back. Get in there. Now.
Then she felt a movement of air against her face and a feather-soft touch to her cheek, like a kiss. She inhaled a deep breath then released it. And as she did, she poured away every unnecessary thought clouding her brain.
When she peered down, she saw that the water in the pool was still swirling. She flattened her hand out over it and remembered that moment after she’d healed Langston, when Nicky had reached his hand down to help her stand. Every nuance of that memory came back to her—the sweet smell of blood, the audible charge filling the air, the annoyed and distrustful look on Nicky’s face when he glared down at her, the firm grip of his hand over hers. She twisted her hand now as if he were there to take it.
The water began to rise. The vortex turned itself inside out, a liquid cone lifting towards her until the tip touched her wrist. The funnel of water slipped along her hand, coating her fingers and palm. She felt a tingle in the tips of her fingers, warming her bones from knuckle to wrist then from wrist to elbow.
Slowly, carefully, she stood and the water followed her, rising from the hole and forming a sheet from her hand to the ground. The liquid cycled over and over, ascending up and across her hand and then pouring back down like a waterfall. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking another deep breath. Then she fluttered them open and glared hard into the cascade as she searched for Nicky.
And she found him. He was in some sort of an apartment or very small house. He went to the window and peered out, nervous, and she saw that he was upstairs—a sort of duplex. The number on the outside of the house said 2567. He pulled the shade back into place and moved towards a room—a bedroom. Gerry was there, tucked into a pile of old, faded blankets. She appeared to be sleeping on her back with her hands folded over her chest. It didn’t look like the Gerry she’d seen that morning. No, this woman was much less sophisticated, with wheat-colored hair and a square face. Still, Devan knew instinctively that this was Gerry without her glamour.
She frowned deeply as she tried to decide what to do. Her concentration shook just a bit and the image in the water became smeared, out-of-focus. She took another deep breath to recover her faculties. Where were they?
As she followed him around the house, she searched each corner, looking for clues. It was a naked sort of house, only the barest of furnishings: a small loveseat, brown with a hole in one arm; a little 19-inch television on a wooden footstool; a breakfast-type table with mismatched legs and two little chairs; a microwave oven on the kitchen counter. The table–she looked back at the table. A flyer of some kind. Some sort of music festival–the word Memphis—
Even as she was trying to examine the paper, she realized something was happening. Nicky was rushing back and forth from one window to another, and she recognized tension in his face. She worked hard to change her perspective, to see what he was seeing. It was an effort to force her vision to take the direction she desired—like panning a video camera she maneuvered so she could see out the window. On the street below, she saw a police car but a bush blocked most of it from her view. The only identifier she could see was a star-type logo on the side.
And then almost without warning, her concentration shattered and the entire waterfall collapsed back into the pool with a splash.
Devan looked down at herself, the dirty water spattered against her pajama pants. She held her hands out at her sides and shook her head before turning to run back towards the house. Her body slammed headlong into Langston, banging against his chest.
“Deep breath, little one. Deep breath. We must speak to Kent now.”
* * *
“I could feel the worry in Nicky’s expression. They were just policemen. Couldn’t he use magic to get out of it somehow? Surely he could have done something to get rid of them.” Devan fretted after she and Langston had told Kent what they’d seen. Anxiety was pitched in her voice.
“Nicky’s only strength is his ability to locate and fight vampires. He’s just another person otherwise. And he’s not a stranger to running afoul of the law–damn him, he probably broke into the apartment he’s got them hiding out in. If he gets arrested again…” Kent shook his head and mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.
“Again?” Devan cried.
Langston sat and watched them circling the room, each of them lost in their own orbits. Kent’s aura was pulled towards her each time they passed each other. Placing his hands onto his knees and holding up his torso, the giant looked to Devan, “Yes, arrested again. Only this time it is unlikely the Company will help to get him released.” He then turned to Kent. “Gerry is very likely injured.”
Kent pulled out his laptop and fidgeted to get a signal. “Memphis is a weak lead to go on.”
“There’s the house number,” Devan muttered, distraction in her tone.
“Nicky is astute enough to have realized the same thing we did, that the Org would know our planned destination. It’s possible he’d head opposite just as we did. The only thing that perplexes me is why I could not scry for him. He would have passed near us on his way there.”
Kent continued searching, looking at locations and reaching for clues.
“That star…” Devan murmured, her brow furrowed in thought. “I recognize it.”
The men looked to her, waiting for her to explain. She was silent for several moments, lost in concentration, and Kent became impatient, slamming the laptop clos
ed and beginning to pack it into its bag.
“We don’t have time for this, Devan. Memphis is only several hours away. I can get there in–”
“It’s not Memphis,” she interrupted, her voice laced with the excitement of discovery.
“Little one, how do you know?”
“Father was obsessed with the idea of secret societies. I didn’t understand why obviously until I was an adult. The Knights of the Golden Circle–he could prattle on about such things for hours–was a Southern society around the time of the Civil War.”
“Devan!” Kent snapped. “You’re the one who’s prattling! Chattering on about nothing. What the hell does this have to do with–”
She marched towards him and said just inches from his face. “You’re a real ass, Kent. I’ve handled the fact that you’ve all but ignored me for days, but don’t effin’ yell at me, do you understand?” To prove her seriousness, she placed her palms flat against his chest and shoved him backwards.
Langston grunted to muffle the laughter that threatened to well up inside him. “What are you trying to tell us, Devan?”
“The symbol I saw on the police car was a star and moon crescent. Father always believed it was a reference back to the Knights of the Golden Circle, and the idea of the “circle” of Southern states along the Gulf of Mexico. He got a real chuckle out of it. The police were New Orleans PD. That’s where Nicky and Gerry are.”
Kent was still seething while following Devan’s short rebuke. He cut his eyes towards Langston, who wore a knowing expression. “It would make sense. He’d feel most comfortable there, and without resources he’d have to look outside the box to survive.”
“Nicky formerly ran a racket out of Southern Louisiana. He has a somewhat sordid past,” Langston explained.
“I see.”
After a few moments, Langston sighed and he leaned forward to stand. “It will take a bit longer for me to get to New Orleans than it would Memphis.”
“Langston, you’ve only just started Devan’s training.”
The behemoth chuckled. “She seems to have gotten the hang of things, judging by the way she scried for Nicky. No, Devan’s strength is growing and it is best for her to continue working here in seclusion until she is ready. And Gerry is possibly injured. You haven’t the ability to heal another. I must be the one to go and you must stay here to protect Devan.”
Kent didn’t argue with Langston, and by now Devan recognized enough about their relationship that she’d never have expected it. The younger friend simply assisted the elder in packing up his things while they talked low, sharing suggestions, pointers, and words of encouragement and of caution. Devan gave them privacy, moving quietly towards her bedroom. A few minutes later, she emerged and found the two of them in the kitchen with their heads still together, strategizing. Unnoticed, she slipped an envelope into Langston’s duffel before retreating again to her room to change out of her dirty pajamas.
When she stepped out of her room later, Langston was gone, and she found Kent standing at the sliding glass door leading towards the rear deck of the cabin. His hands were clutched behind his back and he didn’t acknowledge her entry into the living area except to stiffen his body. She crossed behind him and sat down on the couch, fumbling to adjust her t-shirt while she thought of what to say. Briefly, it occurred to her that she might have worn something more attractive than a very plain v-neck tee and a pair of comfy jeans, but since Kent seemed to ignore her anyway, what did it matter?
“I’m sorry, Kent. I just… There’s enough crap going on around here without you copping an attitude.” It was a pathetic attempt at an apology, and she cursed under her breath as she realized what she’d said.
“Devan.” He drew out the word in a long murmur, and the sound of her name on his tongue made her stomach flutter. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re right. I’m an ass and I’m sorry. Can we just forget about it?”
She stared at his back a long hard moment, trying to detect what was going on, what had changed since that evening in the woods several days ago. She thought perhaps she might be able to do what Langston had taught her about reading auras but she still wasn’t sure if she could see them or what they were exactly. Frustrated with her inability, she dropped her eyes to the floor, “
All right, Kent. We’ll forget it.” She hated uncomfortable silence, and although Kent still hadn’t moved, she found she couldn’t help speaking again. “You and Langston–you trust each other like–well, it’s not something I’m used to. How long exactly have you two been working together?”
Kent still didn’t move, and after a few moments, Devan assumed she’d treaded into some territory that wasn’t open for discussion. Irritated all over again, she reached toward the coffee table and grabbed a magazine. She’d just barely started flipping through the pages when he stepped back from the glass door and approached her.
“Time passes differently for us. You’ll learn that you can adjust the course of time on your body to suit your needs or wants. The abilities to heal yourself and to alter your appearance are a part of that, but you also will not age with the same speed as others. Langston is centuries old. It’s evident sometimes in the way he speaks.”
“You’re beating around the bush, Kent. What are you really trying to tell me? How old are you?”
He raised an eyebrow and looked away from her for a moment before turning back to answer her question. “I was sixteen when Langston rescued me. That was almost sixty-six years ago.” Thinking he could perhaps distract her and keep her from doing the math, he continued speaking hurriedly. “When I finally forgave him of the offense of taking me away from my home, he began my training. Langston is a consummate mentor. It’s a role he’s good at and desires. So even though his age and experience far outweigh mine, he chose to propel me as a principal agent for the Company, and he’s been my partner ever since. He recognizes the true person in almost anyone he meets. He knew I could be a leader. He was right and it’s served me well for a long time.”
She found herself envious of the affection and bond the two men obviously had with one another. True, the age issue was astonishing, but she’d already suspected the two of them had a great deal many more years on her than met the eye. Langston appeared to be in his fifties, and Kent—well, Kent could have passed for her age, maybe forty, but that would be pressing it. She recognized Kent was worried about her reaction, examining her closely with an expression that sheered decades of those very years from his face. He appeared like a little boy facing up to some misbehavior.
“I see,” was all she could think to say.
His tone turned clinical as he continued. “Generally speaking, a witch or a person with magic considers that, say, after age eighteen or so, their age progression slows, with the passage of every three years only representing one year of aging.”
“Sort of like dog years, only in reverse,” she murmured, that little crease showing up between her brows as she frowned.
He didn’t particularly care for the comparison, but if it made things easier for her, he’d play along. “Yes, so technically, using that formula, I’m only in my late thirties–really, not so much older than you probably assumed.”
Devan tilted her head to the side. “Actually, I would have presumed you were at least forty-five.”
Blinking several times, Kent touched a finger to the corner of his eye as if feeling for wrinkles or signs of aging. He cut his eyes around the room and she knew he was looking for a mirror, some reflective object by which he could get a good look at himself. He flinched when she threw one of the throw pillows from the couch and struck him in the gut.
Devan dropped her chin to her chest, a coy smile on her face as she looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes. Laughter burst forth from his lips, and he bolted towards her, his fingers at her ribs, searching and discovering all of the right spots. She’d started giggling even before he touched her, but when his hands were on her, she tucked her legs up towards her body and wr
iggled and writhed to get away.
They both recognized the instant the moment changed. The second when laughter and teasing became serious, hot. Kent jumped away from her as if he’d been burned by that very heat.
Another uncomfortable silence ensued, so Devan did what she had to do and said again. “You said he took you from your home–what home? Who were you living with, Kent?”
Kent might have been relieved that she’d taken the news of his age well, but now that they’d leapt that obstacle, he realized the greater and more difficult one lay ahead. He stood, paced towards the fireplace mantle, and rested his shoulder against it as he turned to her.
“My home was with my brother, Dev. My brother –Adriel.”
Kent watched her face blanch immediately. She brought her hand up to her neck to absently rub her collar bone, and he could see she was struggling with a response. He waited, patiently giving her time because he knew she wouldn’t be afraid to ask questions.
“You’re not a vampire…” she started to say, but as she said it she drew her head back, assessing him, trying to decide if he might actually be one.
“First off, vampirism is something that happens to someone. It isn’t something that’s hereditary or passed along in the family. The truth is, I don’t actually know if Adriel was my brother or not. I came to live with him as a very young child, too young to remember my parents. But as far as I knew growing up, he was my sibling. My earliest memories are of us being hungry, roaming from town to town, and him looking for work. He was ambitious and he found ways to get what he wanted. I’m not exactly sure when he became a vampire. Perhaps he was from the beginning, but before I knew it, we had a one-room apartment, and then a larger one, and eventually a house. By the time I was in my teens, we had wealth beyond compare, despite the war.”
The Bend-Bite-Shift Box Set Page 9
