Wait.
Coffee.
I’d forgotten to get some, while I’d been busy getting something else. I shook my head, trying to stave off the growing headache. No time to make clothing choices. I threw on another one of Cendric’s t-shirts, this one with the Swedish Chef on it, and a pair of sweatpants.
I cracked the bathroom door open, where he was still getting ready. It always took him longer, since he had to do official office things, and the finished result looked fine. “Hey, Cid! Heading down to see what Akira’s left out.”
“You mean you need coffee?”
“Yup. See you there.”
I closed the door and tossed on a fluffy orange robe. My brother Gideon said it made me look like a giant orange creamsicle—which pretty much cemented my choice of colors as the best ever. Creamsicles were amazing. Cool and sweet and tangy and yummy. I’d walk down to this tiny convenience store with Gideon on hot summer days, and we’d get one to split. Occasionally, we’d have enough spare change for us each to have our own. Warmth filled me at the memory, and I glanced down the hallway to the left, spying the living room and kitchen of my old apartment. Technically, my old place was still part of my life because Cendric and Gideon had joined Cendric’s place with ours, so what was streets away in the mortal dimension was only ten feet away in the magisphere.
Maybe I should just go there and make coffee. But then the scent of liquid goodness floated up the stairs. So Akira is still up. And where Cendric’s best friend and housemate was, there was café au lait that I didn’t have to make myself. Easy decision.
I came to the end of the small landing outside our room and stopped short. A cluster of creamsicles grew in the middle of the large landing that connected the upstairs rooms. About five or six of the confections, standing straight up on the light hardwood floor, still frosted with glistening coolness.
A groan escaped me. “Not again.”
I sighed and snapped my fingers. The creamsicles disappeared. I knew they would reappear in a sink downstairs. Their sudden creation was a minor side effect of my drastically-expanded magic. Wish magic in general worked in three major ways: teleportation of people or objects, making one object from the matter of another object, and direct creation from the magisphere itself. The last one was hardest—unless you were a powerful Jinn wish granter. Which apparently I was, with no one to train me except Cendric. There simply weren’t many other Jinn legally on the North American continent. The illegal ones were either trapped in lamps, enslaved to the whims of others, or so capricious and corrupt that I’d sooner smooch a venomous snake than work with them.
And I didn’t always have super-high standards when it came to corruption. Not nearly as high as Cendric’s, anyway. When I was homeless with Gideon in his late teens, my early twenties, we had the rule of only stealing from bad people.
My head started to throb, reminding me of the imminent doom that would occur if caffeine was not procured. No teleporting until after coffee. Anything I exploded in the real world stayed exploded, unless I could learn to restore things better. I sighed and made my way down the spiral staircase to the main living area. It was glassed in on two sides, with gray and tan couches in neat corners facing the exterior—or if someone chose, a massive drop-down projector screen for movie nights. Currently the screen was rolled up. I walked through the couches in the living room into the small but well-furnished kitchen on the other side.
Then I inhaled the aroma of French press. The fragrance pushed through my shields for a moment, becoming a warm orange cloud of amazing scent. The visualized aroma drifted around the stainless steel appliances and pale wood cabinets. I followed the aroma-cloud back to its source, a large mug on the butcher block bisecting the kitchen.
“Allis? Comment ça va?”
“Oh, I’m good.”
“You are distracted, non?”
I blinked, shoving up my shields. The visual disappeared—or faded enough that I could count it as disappeared. Silly magic, cross-wiring my senses. I smiled at the dark-haired vampire who stood on the other side of the counter. “Just a little mixed up. Seeing the smell and all that.”
“Oui, j'ai compris,” he nodded. “I understand. You need this now, I think.”
Akira pushed the mug over to me. His fluffy black hair was gelled and stuck out all over his head, and his wide, friendly face lit up with a smile. A simple brown pullover and sweatpants clad his wiry frame. Basically, Akira was an amazing spokes-vampire who could convince anyone that he didn’t mean any harm.
And he didn’t—unless you were harming others.
“Thanks,” I said. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“A little late this time, non?”
The vampire’s words continued to roll over me in lightly-accented French. After his turning, Akira had woken up in Paris and made it a home—back in the 1920s, Cendric had told me. He’d also said not to ask about Akira’s pre-infection history until and unless the vampire offered information. “Yeah, I had another nightmare.” I inhaled a scalding gulp and sighed with relief. “This makes it better.”
“Always does.” He hummed to himself as he organized the kitchen. Dishes were put away, rags thrown into the laundry hamper. Everything was in order. Besides overseeing the vampire halfway house located on the property, Akira was a professional chef and caterer. “Also, are the six creamsicles dripping in the sink—”
“At least they didn’t drip on the floor.”
“Oui, oui.” His brown eyes glinted, and he scrubbed a hand over his square chin. “Just next time, aim for the industrial sink, not the hand-washing sink.”
I sighed. Yes, a separate hand-washing sink, even though he didn’t sell food out of this place. But Akira was fastidious about his kitchen. One thing I’d noticed about vampires in general was that they all had their one thing to be obsessed about. Or more than one thing. “I don’t know, Akira. That’s a lot to ask before I’ve had my first coffee.”
“It’s a lot to ask from my hand-washing sink.”
“Touché.” I toasted him with my mug. “Sorry. I’ll have better aim next time.”
Akira’s expression softened. “Oui, your magic is still bizarre?”
“Yeah. Although it’s getting better. I think.”
From what Cendric and I had dug up, a lot of Jinn magic involved relying on intuition and reacting to the needs of the moment. Which was all well and good, but my brain still went off-kilter and created popsicles in the middle of the floor. How was that the need of a moment?
I glared into my coffee mug. If just one Jinn would teach me, I wouldn’t be such a hazard. As it stood, I limited my magic usage to teleportation and reading people’s fears and desires, which was exactly what I’d had before my curse-mark was broken. In a way, I was still in prison. I just had nicer tattoos.
And so I’m trapped in a different spider’s web of insecurity.
Anger heated my gut. My fingers prickled with the suppressed magic. The room around me seemed to grow louder, not with more people, but with the noise of things existing. Their molecules moving, the atoms circling each other. Layered over top of that was the deafening sound of Akira’s breathing, the movement as he leaned over the counter echoing like a series of thunderclaps. All of it, pressing through my mental shields.
Make it stop. Make it all stop, so I can be alone. What does any of it matter? All of it, objects to be easily disassembled and reassembled.
Winds shuddered the cabinet doors around me. Not normal winds, but the sign of escaping wish magic from a Jinn. I clutched the coffee cup. No! I had to keep things together. I had to focus.
Focus, Allis.
Suddenly, a large tarantula crawled out of my coffee. As it emerged, it grew to the size of my hand. Another followed it. Each time, more of my coffee disappeared.
I leaped away from the counter. “Oh crap!”
“Merde,” Akira swore, backing away as well. “Not in my kitchen! Allis, can you make them go away?”
At t
his point, there were five café au lait-colored spiders on the butcher block, and no coffee in my cup. Involuntary transmutation. My pulse raced. Why on earth had my brain conjured spiders? I’d only been using “spider’s web” as a metaphor!
This wasn’t fair.
But Akira was going pale, real pale. Was he arachnophobic? That was ironic for a vampire. I shot him an apologetic look. I had to get the critters away from him.
I edged toward the end of the butcher block. “Hey, um. You guys?”
The tarantulas continued crawling around the counter, all five of the huge monsters. I sighed. Really? I couldn’t even get my own creations to listen to me?
“Hey! HEY!” The last word with a shot of pure magic. The spiders finally moved around to face me. I summoned all my courage. They were just spiders. I’d faced a lot worse in my life. I’d even started making friends with Cid’s tarantulas. “Yinz better listen to me and come over here!”
One of them waved its two front legs at me.”
I shook my head, reinforcing my voice with even more magic. “Now!”
They did. All five of them, crawling toward me. And I had no idea what to do with them.
A shadowy presence stepped into the room. My heart knew immediately it was Cendric. “Cid, help! You’re the one who likes animals!”
Not that I didn’t. Animals were great. But my appreciation disappeared when they emerged from my morning coffee. No, emerged made from my morning coffee and now rested at the end of the butcher block, eyes fixed on me.
I glanced over at him. His gray gaze was bright with curiosity, and his angular face warm with amusement.
“Hmmm, excellent specimens, if a little large.” He tilted his head. “Rather juicy-looking, in fact.”
I shook my head. “Cid, no raven brain.”
A laugh escaped him. “I was merely observing. Fried tarantula is a delicacy for some humans as well.”
“Huh.” I paused. “Is it any good? It sounds interesting. I’d try it.”
Cendric chuckled. “Naturally, you would. It depends on the knowledge of the chef.”
“Not this chef!” Akira let out a few more curses in French, his face gray with terror. “You two can discuss when they’re not here, mon ami.”
Cendric nodded sympathetically. “Very well.” He glanced at me. “They appear to be listening to you.”
“Yeah, finally.” I gave the furry spiders a sideways look. “I don’t want to kill them, Cid. I’m not sure how to do it without getting messy, and … I mean, it’s my fault they’re here at all.”
Well, that and destiny and the Guy in the Sky who controlled it. Why on earth he’d decided that letting me create tarantulas was a good idea was another mystery of the universe.
“Good points. Nacho and Tulip will have some new friends, then.” He surveyed the kitchen. “Can you coax them into a box?”
“Um, I think so? What box?”
“This box.”
He grabbed a box from the recycling area and carried it to the edge of the butcher block, tilting it at the perfect angle for the tarantulas to crawl into.
I sighed and focused my magic again. “Okay, all five of you. Crawl into the box one by one.” Another hesitation from the critters. Really? I forced out even more magic, trying to not let it overwhelm me. “Get in the box. Now.”
At last, the tarantulas crawled into the box. When the last one was safely inside, Cendric wedged the top flaps together. “We’ll see how long they last. In those close quarters, they’ll likely attack each other. This is why I keep Nacho and Tulip in separate tanks.”
And in a corner of our bedroom, away from any common areas where Akira could see them, I now guessed.
“What?” I glared at the box. “No fighting! Or I’ll eat all of you!”
“Heart-warming.”
I glanced up at Cendric. “Well, you’d help me eat them.”
“But the victor could cannibalize the dead.”
“Augh.”
My husband smirked. “After breakfast I’ll find separate cages for them. They’ll be good company for the other spiders, as much as spiders can keep company.”
“Just as long as they are out of my kitchen.” Akira shook his head. “All these years, and I still can’t understand why you see spiders as animals instead of hideous beasts to be exterminated. Give me rogue vampires to hunt any day.”
“Je suis vraiment désolé,” Cendric said. He set the box on a side counter and rested a hand on Akira’s shoulder. “You’re all right?”
“Oui.” Akira nodded, the fear slackening from his face. “Just remember the rules. No spiders anywhere near my kitchen.”
I winced. “I’m sorry. Bad metaphor in my brain. Sort of came out.”
Akira nodded. “Okay. It’s okay.” He eyed the box. “There are some breakfast foods in the pantry and fridge. A new quiche with a nori crust and sesame seeds as well.”
Cendric nodded. “Everything is in order for the party at 2 am?”
“Oui. All of the preparations have been made, and Melrose’s flight is on schedule, along with the others who are coming in.”
Cendric frowned. “What about the—”
Akira shoved him. “Cendric, I know how to run a party. I know who will be there and who will not. Melrose is only stopping here briefly to assess the conditions of the halfway house and make a visit to the local Fae court.”
“I know.” I felt Cendric’s gaze on me, just for a moment, before he asked Akira a few more questions.
But that gaze carried the weight of way too many expectations and concerns. When Cendric had given into his vampire nature decades ago, he had been assigned to kill Melrose by vampires hoping to destabilize the various houses. Instead, Melrose had stopped Cendric with only a few words and become his father figure.
Which made Melrose’s arrival even more stressful, because naturally Cendric wanted Melrose to like his new mate. Namely, me. We hadn’t met or video chatted—Melrose never used electronic devices unless necessary—which meant all I knew about this mysterious, important figure was hearsay, coupled with pictures and Cendric’s obvious regard.
Basically, Melrose hung the moon. Meanwhile, I’d just turned my morning coffee into large tarantulas. Great.
Akira’s voice entered my broodings once more. “Enough. You might be the lawyer, but I run the halfway house. I have all this under control, so you need to relax. Now, I’m going to shower and try to forget about the spiders.”
He patted Cendric on the back, then glanced at me. The vampire’s expression softened. “Allis, je te pardonne. All is forgiven.” A smile twitched his lips. “At least you have not killed anyone.”
“Yes, I have.” I began ticking off names on my fingers. “The grizzly shifter-turned-vampire. A troll or two in self-defense. And then—”
Akira chuckled. “Not killed anyone today. That is an accomplishment.”
Since he worked with deadly, bloodthirsty vampires, his perspective was probably a bit skewed on my danger-factor. Speaking of vampires, technically I’d snapped my fingers and a roomful of vampires had fallen to the ground. But those were evil vampires who had taken over the bodies of Fae. With Cendric’s guidance, I had released their souls to move beyond to judgement. So that had to be something.
“Thanks, Akira.”
I gave him a little wave as he left the room.
Chapter 3
Guilt still weighed my stomach. I’d succeeded in freaking out one of my husband’s best friends, who I’d been starting to really click with. And I didn’t even get coffee. My shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry, Cid.”
I made my way over to the breadbox and walked smack into a muscled span of vampire chest, clad in the usual, impeccable three-piece suit. The vest was dark blue brocade today, with a black cravat. When Cid went into the office, he meant it, and he made sure every other vampire at Antalek and Associates knew it too.
His voice spoke over me. “Don’t be foolish. You didn’t mean to do it.”
“Yes, I did. A part of me did.” I breathed in the scent of copper and cedar at his collarbone. “And even if I didn’t, it doesn’t make me any less culpable. You’re the lawyer, you know that.”
“Yes, I’m the lawyer, which means I also know how to argue that you’re in an incredibly difficult and unjust position.” His arms enfolded me, and his long, loose black hair tickled my cheek. More of that same shadowy magic emerged from him, settling my magic and calming the noise. “At least you didn’t create centipedes. Those are Akira’s other major phobia.”
“Don’t test me, Cid. It’s possible. Anything’s possible.”
Hmmm, centipedes. Like the bugs, or like the video game?
I clenched my hands before my wayward thoughts could get rambunctious with my magic.
“Not anything. We know you’re bound by destiny. You carry the same mark I do.”
He rubbed my shoulder, where the gray mark in the shape of flames lurked beneath my robe and t-shirt. All Fae-human half breeds, or graylings, had the rite of confirmation, where they chose their Fae side, their human side, or destiny. I’d chosen destiny, which had made me an immortal grayling. Cendric carried his own gray mark, as a raven shifter who had been killed by vampires and woken up turned, which should have been impossible.
Both of us, misfits called by a destiny we still didn’t understand. It was one thing that drew us together. A reason he could get why I was scared. But after a wayward few decades, Cendric had fallen in with some vampires who had helped him.
Jinn seemed far less understanding. Despite the boundless possibilities open to me, I somehow couldn’t see a way out of this current predicament. But at that moment, safe in Cendric’s embrace and soothed by his magic, I could push my fears aside. “All right. I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” I eased away from him. “I just need some food. Got a meeting with Josie at 1:30.”
“It is impressive that you managed to do a successful transmutation of that many creatures. You aren’t even able to do that in the Dreamscape.”
Wish You Weren't Here Page 3