by T. K. Thorne
Chapter Nineteen
Losing my desire to paint after the conversation with Jason, I head home where I give in to the guilt and Alice’s nudging and take Becca and Daniel out. A trip to the grocery store makes my list of things I avoid doing, ranking somewhere between clothes shopping and the dentist. But this, Alice has informed me, is therapy. I have a food item list and Becca and Daniel in tow. The therapy is for Becca, who has improved enough to take out in public, though she is chewing on her thumb.
My usual excuse about not taking them somewhere—besides the copout that I needed to be alone—is that I’ve been busy, but the truth is I’ve also been afraid of what might happen when Becca encounters the world. Will she have a meltdown?
“It’s okay,” Daniel says to Becca. He is sensitive to her emotional states. His head is the height of her hip, but he’s taken on the big brother role. Her fingers curl tight, eclipsing his small hand.
She looks down at him and then at me.
“Yup,” I agree. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
With the air of a deer checking an open pasture in hunting season, her gaze travels the expanse of the downtown Publix parking deck. She’s not the only one nervous. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and I scan the parking deck too, looking for—an assassin.
I press the soft leather of my purse, where my gun lives, anchoring it against my hip with one hand and take Becca’s free hand with the other, willing the anxiety down. Maybe it’s because I’m not alone. This time I’m more successful at squelching it.
The three of us make our way slowly to the elevator. When the door slides open, Becca’s eyes widen at the revealed close space, but she steps inside at Daniel’s urging. I smile encouragingly at Becca, but she is not paying any attention, fascinated by the buttons, pushing them all.
Fortunately, the elevator was already going down, and there are only “2” and “1” options. On the first floor, we step out into the store. I grab a basket, which Becca immediately takes from me and starts up the pristine rows as if she is finally home and knows what to do. I scrounge in my purse for the list Alice made.
We are noticed. I have pulled my wayward hair into a long ponytail and wear my usual jeans and tee, but Becca—who wore red-heeled boots and a matching leather jacket to hike the woods of Red Mountain—is sporting a mixture from her closet, whatever attracted her eye. Mostly people blink at her or smile in tolerant amusement, but their gaze lingers on Daniel’s pink-white skin grafts. He doesn’t seem to notice, walking quietly beside Becca, protective of his charge. I let out a sigh, releasing the tension that had built from expectation of disaster. Becca is not freaking out—in fact, she seems curious about the people.
The first item on the list is milk. I gently guide her in that direction. When we reach the refrigerated section, I open a glass door and grab a two-percent carton.
“No,” Becca says.
I freeze. “No milk?”
She shakes her head and points. “Green.”
“Green?” I follow the direction of her finger and indeed, the organic milk has a green logo.
“Sure. Green.” I exchange one carton for the other. It makes no difference to me, as long as there is milk to go with midnight cookies.
The rest of the items proceed in a similar manner, with Becca excitedly pointing to cans and boxes she seems to recognize. I buy whatever she wants, delighted with her delight. She hums along with the music piped over the store’s system. Daniel scores chocolate sugar cereal, definitely not on the list. I try at least to include the things Alice asked for, although I’m not able to resist the beautiful sushi, second only to Indian on my list of favorite foods. I like to eat. It’s cooking that’s a challenge. My own refrigerator and pantry bear that out, stocked with chocolate chip cookies, milk, sliced cheese, peanut butter and tuna fish, hence Angel’s addiction to tuna. She turns her little nose up at cat food of any type. With that reminder, I head to the canned meat section.
When I reach for the multiple small cans of tuna, a crawling sensation ripples the back of my arms. I don’t know if it’s part of being a witch of House of Rose or just a primordial human warning thing, but I know I’m being watched. Then my heart launches into a staccato dance.
“Hello,” says a voice I would know anywhere.
With a jerk, I whirl to face Jason Blackwell. While I work on steadying my breathing, he reaches out to take Becca’s hand.
“You must be Becca.”
She tilts her head, her strangely clear eyes sparking momentarily red in the overhead fluorescent lights.
I grab her hand and snatch it away. “Don’t touch her,” I hiss. “Your House has hurt her enough!”
Jason seems undisturbed by my reaction. “All right.” Then his gaze drifts to Daniel, and Jason goes still.
“This is the boy who was there,” he says.
It’s not a question, and I say nothing, knowing he means in the cave with his uncle . . . the Ordeal.
Jason looks at me again. I’m shaking, but this time it’s not because of his proximity.
Hot white fire blooms from me, embracing Theophalus Blackwell and the child he holds, the child whose throat he was about to slice open. Paul snatches Daniel from Blackwell’s grasp, covering him with his own body, his movements fast, instinctual, a policeman doing what he does . . . protecting. It’s the last thing he will ever do.
I am breathing. Just breathing. Don’t faint.
Jason steps forward and grabs my arms. My already erratic pulse thunders in response. Damn this magic.
He takes a ragged breath. “Rose, are you alright?”
“Yes,” I whisper and step back, shaking loose and making my voice firm. “Yes.”
He drops his hands and stares at them for a moment. Do they burn with a magical heat like the places he touched on my arms?
“Are you following me?” I demand.
“I want to make up for what happened.” He meets my eyes.
“You can’t.”
“At least listen.”
“No.”
“I want to help.” He looks first at Becca, who is staring at him, and then at Daniel, who is shuffling and swinging his arms, obviously bored.
This gives me pause. If there is something that might help Becca or Daniel, I will at least listen.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Any counseling or medical surgery that might help, I will pay for. Anything. No questions asked.”
I consider. According to the UAB doctors, Daniel will need additional surgeries that would be considered “cosmetic,” although the hospital wrote off most of the charges for what they did to save his life.
Their efforts were aided, unbeknownst to them, by Alice’s healing intervention. Without her, I’m fairly certain Daniel would have died. The medical team considered it nothing short of miraculous that he didn’t. Nora certainly couldn’t pay for anything. My city insurance wouldn’t. I only have single coverage, and even if I had family coverage, Daniel isn’t family. I have no idea what Alice’s financial situation is and don’t want to ask her. I have a small inheritance from my parents. House of Iron, on the other hand, has deep pockets. Not surprising when you can influence anyone you touch.
“We’ve already sent Becca to an in-house program with a psychologist and a psychiatrist.”
The latter gave her pills that made her sleep. Alice pronounced them worthless. Shock treatment was the next suggestion, but I refused to go there. We tried a counselor, but that didn’t help either. Becca just curled up in a fetal position. Alice, who had done all she could directly, insisted we bring her home and let “nature take its course.” And Becca is getting better, especially since Daniel has become her buddy. Much as I hate sharing the cramped space of Alice’s house, I have to admit that.
“The boy then?” Jason asks.
I take a bre
ath. I have no right to deny Daniel a chance, but I will not be beholding to Jason Blackwell. “What strings are attached to this magnanimous offer?” I ask.
“No strings.”
“Then . . . I accept.”
Regardless of his insistence of no strings, I feel like the first strands of a web have been draped across my shoulders.
“Good.” He smiles. “Perhaps you would consider a short cruise in my yacht. I find being out on the water peaceful and therapeutic. And,” he adds before I can refuse, “you would have no worries about influence. In addition to my word, we can’t access our, um, abilities, on water, as I’m sure you know.”
Alice has told me the same thing. And I remember sitting on the beach once and sensing that I couldn’t pull any of the living-green from what had to be the sea’s vast resources of carbon.
“Boat?” Becca says suddenly.
“Yes,” Jason says, gracing her with his dazzling smile. “A boat.”
She smiles and turns to me. “Yes?”
It’s the first spoken request, other than the ones to read to her or direction for other items like the milk in the green carton, since Black’s touch burned her mind. I open my mouth to say “no.” But the hope and expectation of joy in her eyes slams me hard enough to make my chest hurt.
“I like to swim,” Daniel says.
Another strand of web tangles.
“Then it’s settled,” Jason says. “What about this weekend? The weather will be beautiful, and I have a small plane. We’ll be in Orange Beach before you can blink.”
“I . . . can’t promise anything without asking Daniel’s mother.”
What am I doing? Alice is not going to like this. I don’t like this.
“We’ll see,” I hedge. Maybe Becca will forget about it. Her attention span is not long.
“Fair enough. I will call you.” He hands me a card. “You have my number, but you can send any bills to this address.”
I take the card numbly. He bows like some ancient courtier. Perhaps he was one. I have no idea how old he is.
“Boat?” Becca echoes plaintively as he leaves.
My mind whirls while we finish shopping, and I absently hand over my credit card to the cashier. Can I trust Jason? He is House of Iron. Alice insists they’re all the enemy, but are they? Or was it just Theophalus Blackwell’s warped personal vengeance for House of Rose? Isn’t that all over now?
But four months ago, a black rose was left on the steps to Alice’s house. A warning? I’m not sure. It’s not over, but who issued the unspoken threat? There are three Houses. What about House of Stone? Alice said they were reclusive and secretive. I know so little. How do I even know the rose was a threat? One was left in my hospital room and members of Iron dropped red roses into Alice’s grave at her “funeral.” Maybe the message is not a threat at all. I’m ignorant, and ignorance can get me killed . . . or kill those I love.
Chapter Twenty
“You cannot be serious,” Alice says, one hand brushing invisible crumbs from her apron as if they are spiders. Rolling pin in the other hand, she turns from the kitchen counter and the mound of raw dough dusted with flour.
“I know. It’s—”
“Dangerous,” she finishes for me and brandishes the rolling pin. “And reckless. Do I have to remind you that House of Iron was behind the death of your family, our family?”
“No, you do not have to remind me. But that was Jason’s uncle. Jason was hurt badly trying to help me. He came to check on me in the hospital even though he was a patient himself and could barely stand.”
“There are layers and layers in the game that Iron plays,” Alice says. “Don’t be taken in.”
“I won’t. I don’t trust him.”
“Then why put yourself, Becca, and Daniel in such a dangerous position?”
“Becca has not stopped talking about ‘the boat.’ She’s still picking out what to wear.”
To anyone else, this would seem an innocuous statement, but Alice understands what an enormous thing it is for Becca to care about clothes again. It was not too long ago that she was a zombie, relying on me to chop up her food and feed her.
“My friend is coming back,” I say. “I’m not going to let anything stop that.”
Alice locks eyes with me and, despite the fact that her gift is healing, I think she is going to try a real witch’s hex on me, but she melts a bit and sniffs.
Angel jumps into my lap and kneads the tops of my thighs. She does this with her claws retracted, which is not something I can say of all the other cats in the house. What she wants is a bit of the cream Alice puts on the table for tea. When my great aunt isn’t looking, I sometimes sneak a drop onto my finger for her, and she licks it with her small, rough tongue. But Alice is looking right at me. She is glaring, in fact.
“And Alice, not that I have any intention of fulfilling this, but weren’t you the one who told me I needed to have a child by a man of one of the Houses?”
She practically sputters. “Is that why you’re going?”
“Of course not. I told you. It’s for Becca.”
“There is this magical attraction thing though, isn’t there?”
I sigh. “Yes, there is.”
It’s not difficult to imagine the war raging in her—the need to keep me away from Iron versus the need to get me pregnant.
“All right,” she says. “But don’t be completely foolish. Take that bobby with you.”
“Bobby? Who are you talking about?”
“The rozzer, the detective you work with.”
It takes me a moment to figure that one out. When stressed, Alice tends to slip into British slang. “Tracey? I can’t—”
“House of Iron might think twice about doffing you and a policeman. I would go, but I’m afraid my wig would fly off, and I don’t want House of Iron getting too good a look, in any case. Being dead is a terrible bother.”
“It kept you safe.”
“Hmm. Maybe, but it left you a target. I thought I could protect you better if House of Iron thought I was out of the picture, but—” She hesitates. “That might have been a miscalculation.”
“We don’t know that the entire House of Iron was behind it,” I say reasonably. My mother’s letter mentioned that there was a cabal intent on wiping out House of Rose.
“I don’t trust any of House of Iron,” Alice says. “Don’t go.”
I say nothing.
“I see that stubborn line to your mouth,” she says. “It means you are going to do it anyway.” She closes her eyes and sniffs dramatically. “Then at least take the bobby with you.”
I start to say no, but can’t think of a good reason. “I’ll ask him, but I doubt he will.”
She raises a silver eyebrow.
“What?” I ask.
“Is he married?”
“No.”
“Gay?”
“No. I mean . . . I don’t think—how would I know?” I hate it that I’m flustered. Alice often has that effect on me.
“Well, you will find out if he is or not,” she says.
“Alice, what are you talking about?”
“Any red-blooded man will jump at the chance to go sailing with you. Have you never looked in a mirror, my dear?”
I find my mouth is open and snap it shut.
That evening at jujitsu class, we concentrate on how to choke people and how to respond to someone trying to choke us. I learn how to scrape my foot down an attacker’s shin and stomp his foot, then shift my weight to the side and under his arm. We’re supposed to end up in a wristlock, but I can’t seem to get that part right.
We switch partners periodically, but Chris is my favorite to work with. He’s closer to my height and is cooperative, which helps me learn the moves. Others test me, which I don’t think is fair, since I’m doing th
e scraping and stomping part with restraint. The sensei only step in to help when asked or when it is obvious they are needed. And Tracey deliberately works with other people.
Afterward, in the parking lot, I ask Tracey if he’s eaten. “I could use a hamburger.”
“You can eat after training?”
“I can always eat.”
“It’s pretty late.”
“I know, but I want to ask you something. You don’t have to eat anything.”
“It’s not about Crompton, is it?”
I still don’t understand why Tracey lied to me about how he knew Crompton, but we’ve pretty much hit a wall with that and the investigation, for that matter.
“No, something personal.”
“Fast food joint okay?”
“Fine.”
Tracey lowers himself into the plastic chair, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand.
“How can you drink caffeine at this time of night?” I ask.
He shrugs and eyes the double cheeseburger I’m unwrapping. “It doesn’t keep me awake. What’s the big mystery?”
“I just wanted to ask you, that is, are you tied up this weekend?”
I have his attention. “Actually, no.”
I clear my throat. How do I say I want you to escort me on a boat ride because the boat’s owner is a warlock from House of Iron and is very powerful, and I need a witness, even though he could burn out your mind with a touch? How do I even have the right to ask him to do this?
“I have a potentially awkward situation and was wondering if you would help.”
“How?”
“Well,” I take a deep breath, “there is this man who has offered to take Becca and Daniel and me on his boat at Orange Beach, and Becca has grabbed onto the idea and is excited. She hasn’t been excited about anything since—”
“And the problem is?”
“The problem is that I’m . . . uncomfortable around this man and don’t want to be alone with him on a boat with just a child and—” I can’t bring myself to say a brain-damaged person.
Thankfully, I don’t have to. Tracey knows about Becca. He was the one who found us in the cave after the Ordeal.
