by Kit Jennings
The ground shifted beneath her feet, Liam’s arms tightening around her. It felt so, so safe. So much so she hardly noticed when everything stopped between one heartbeat and the next. One heartbeat, they were still in the narrow street surrounded by swirling music and spinning bodies. The next heartbeat, they were on Liam’s balcony.
Liam relaxed his grip, enough for her to settle back from the balls of her feet. When she moved to step away, he dug in again. “Wait. Give me a second.”
Callie exhaled. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you. Are—”
His mouth descended on hers.
Her reaction was electric, her body still pulsing. She was filled with light and music and living. It was the breathless feeling of the Tír, of New Orleans after being away a long time. Her body surged forward before her brain started spouting stupid rules.
The iron balcony railing dug into the small of her back as he pushed her against it, one hand in her hair, his other arm wrapped around her torso. Her center of gravity shifted, and she had grab onto him to keep from losing her balance.
“Where the hell do you come from, Callie?” he said between kissing her. “It’s you.
You’re what I’ve been waiting for, all this time.”
“Yes,” Callie breathed. “Oh, yes.” Suddenly, it was the simplest thing in the world, being with him. The simplest and the most right.
He pulled away suddenly, breathing hard. He looked at her with liquid dark eyes. “If you’re going to stop this, now would be the time.”
Callie considered it for about half a second. She almost laughed at herself. “No need to play the gentleman.”
He grinned. “I’m always a gentleman.”
He lifted her from her feet and spun her away from the railing. He set her back down long enough to dig the pins out of her hair and bury his hands in her multi-hued curls.
They stumbled against the crumbling brick façade, cushioned by ivy and moss. Then he stepped to the side and tumbled them through the open French window.
Callie started to scream, then burst into laughter when they landed in bed. Tension unfurled, released and dissipated.
He looked down at her, amused. “That wasn’t quite the reaction I was going for.”
“Ah, but it was exactly the one I needed, Irish-man.” She continued to laugh, unable to stop herself. “Very gentlemanly it is, shoving women through windows.”
“Better than having to pull them out of the paths of demons for their own good.” He sobered. “Since I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them. In fact, I can think of nothing else.”
She touched his face, feeling a little out of her depth. “We only have one chance.”
“Well,” Liam decided. “I suppose we had better get it right.”
They took their time, because they didn’t know how much they had left. They sat upright and entwined on cool, soft, white linens, bathed in cool, white moonlight and the music of the French Quarter. Appropriately, someone nearby was playing the slow, silky jazz one could only find in New Orleans. Hands tugged fabric aside, smoothed over bare, warm skin. Mouths followed hands, searched out secret places. Callie flinched when his fingers found the rough patch of scar tissue on her ribs.
“What happened?” he wanted to know.
“What else? Demons. A pack of loup-garou.”
“Haitian lycanthropes? You took them?” He sounded impressed.
“Eva and me.”
He stared a moment longer, then framed her face in his palms and kissed her tenderly. “You are extraordinary.”
She exhaled. “Liam—”
He stopped her. “One chance.”
He pulled the covers and sheets aside, laying her back against luxuriant pillows. Cool air whispered across her skin, teased strands of her hair. His hands soothed and smoothed over her. Being a gentlemen of a different era, he tugged the crisp, white top sheet over them as he pressed her into the mattress, and never stopped kissing her. The rhythm of the city pulsed around them, in their blood. Urgency warred with an equal need to savor every moment. Then he sank against her and she was lost, lost, lost.
And she couldn’t recall a single damned rule, nor the reasons for them.
There was only light.
Callie was one of nature’s sprawlers. Pillows, covers, Liam himself—nothing within reach was safe from the Keeper’s long, muscular limbs in repose. Liam took the opportunity to trace every scar, count every freckle. Everything about her fascinated him, from the unmitigated chaos of her hair to the calluses of her sword hand.
A sleepy frown crossed her face when his fingers grazed over the lines of her Mark for the third or fourth time. “What are you doing?”
“Wondering what my father would have made of you.”
That woke her up. Her eyes fluttered open, moonlight turning them the color of pale ale. “He would’ve found me off-putting.” She turned onto her back, amused. “So prior to bed, you push perfectly innocent women through windows, and for afters you brood on your father? Aren’t I the lucky one?”
He grinned. “Someone has to do the cooking—and the driving, I understand.”
“Word gets around.” She cushioned her head on her bent arm, crushing her hair.
“What brought on thoughts of your dad? Besides my staggering lack of domesticity, I mean?”
Liam shifted onto his side, propping his head with one hand. The other he browsed over her bare skin. Callie was gloriously uninhibited in her nudity. “He’s the reason I’m here.”
“Your Crossroads bargain?”
He nudged her tumbled curls aside, the better to see her face. “My father was a bit of a bastard. Well, more than a bit, to be honest. Gambler, lecher, drunk. Finally his vices pulled us into such a black pit the only way out was for me to marry into money. Had a girl all picked out. She wouldn’t have stood a chance against him. So I left.” He swallowed. “I made my Crossroads bargain, and I left him to die in impoverished obscurity.”
Callie pressed the back of his hand to her cheek. “Do you regret it?”
He considered her question carefully. “No,” he decided, brow clearing. “I should.
I’ve tried. But I don’t.”
“Good.” Callie knotted her legs through his and pulled him close. “Life’s too short for regrets, even for us.”
“Callie.” He settled her back against the nest of pillows before she could drown his senses again. “Do me a favor.” He tapped her nose at her sudden Cheshire grin. “Stop that. I don’t mean that kind of favor.”
“Then what? Work on my driving?”
“Callie,” he repeated, half in exasperation. He touched her forehead with his, lingering over her mouth. “Please. Just try not to get yourself killed, all right?”
She sobered. “You my Keeper now, all tall, dark-eyed and broody?”
He smiled. “Seems to me you could do with one.”
It was Callie’s turn to trace the Marks over Liam’s chest. “I have to go back in,” she said. “But I can’t do it alone. The only way this works is if we do it together.”
Liam kissed the tip of her nose. “What do you need me to do?”
Her wicked grin reappeared, and she reached for him. “Since you mention it…”
“You’re with him now.”
Callie looked up from lacing her boots. Chase leaned against the open library door, arms crossed. She could hear the shower upstairs, and muffled, off-key humming. “Now isn’t a good time.” Truly told, she’d hoped to save this conversation for later, once she’d decided what to do.
“When will it be, Callie? We both know this could be your last rodeo.”
She smiled through her exasperation. She desperately needed to be alone with her thoughts, and her feelings. “Every rodeo could be my last. That never changes.”
He scowled. “Callie.”
The look she gave him was a mask of utter weariness. “What do you want me to say, Chase? That I’m heading for the worst fight of my life, and Liam is
the only one I can take in with me? That I trust him? That I took a few precious hours for myself? Since when has that bothered you?”
His full mouth twisted awry. “This is more than one of your flings before a big fight.”
“Yes. Well.” She leaned forward to pull the laces on her other boot. “We agreed not to make any decisions for the moment.”
“Yes. Well,” he repeated, only half joking. “You do tend to make decisions on the point of a sword.”
“It’s gotten me this far.” She stood. “You know I have to go after Maeve.”
Chase straightened, dark expression clearing. “You really think you can take her?
She’s worse than Yshotha.”
“I know.” Callie came forward, took his hands. “I’m already taking a big enough chance. I do this without him, it’s not just me that loses everything. It’s this city, these people. Brighid loses another Keeper, and who knows how many after, humanity loses the war.” She squeezed. “It’s been the three of us so long, Chase. But this is bigger than that. Try to understand.”
Chase took his hands back, ran one of them through his already tousled, sandy locks.
“I do, Callie. It’s just—” He exhaled. “You just met this guy. He made a deal with Maeve. Yshotha is in his city. You’re trapped here because of him.”
She blinked at him. “We’re here because Eva died to bring us here. Because of Maeve.”
“You’re cut off from Brighid. You can’t ascend.”
“So I have find another way.”
“With him.”
“Yes.”
Chase’s mouth twitched, his blue eyes cold. “I hope he’s worth it.”
6
It felt different this time. The combination of energy from St. Louis Cathedral and Jackson Square’s voodoo roots found connection in blooded obsidian. The fuse ignited, growing in power as it tapped into each hunk of living obsidian in turn. Then it came back to the center, a storm of fire running along invisible lines, faster and faster.
Callie and Liam shielded their eyes from a blossom of bright, pure light. Callie groped for Liam with her free hand. He caught it, weaving his fingers through hers.
“Ready?”
Muscles tensed. They ran for it.
They landed hard on the other side, hands unraveling as they stumbled.
There was the tree on fire, a raven calling from its branches. The flitting shadow, moving in and out of sight, elusive as a hummingbird. Liam saw her gaze drift to the demon where they’d left it, twisting and shifting in the center of a fiery web—apparently time didn’t exist here. Yshotha’s agitation was such that it caused flames to flare to the sky, the ground to shake in ripples.
Callie started forward, eyes narrowed to a pinpoint focus on her opponent. Only Liam’s hand on her elbow brought her back to the present.
“Hey,” he said, dark eyes marking her retreat from him. “Be careful.”
“You too.”
Her arm slid through his grip, then her hand, and he was left behind in a matter of footsteps. She walked away from him at a deliberate, unhurried pace, hands in jacket pockets. Then he turned away, making his way to the burning tree. The raven gave him a baleful eye.
“Well, you got us here.” Liam dropped his duffel to the ground and stooped to unzip it. “Now you can help me get her out.”
The demon crouched low, watching Callie’s approach with hateful eyes, breathing like a giant, malfunctioning furnace. Callie took her time, boots silent on graveyard dirt.
It was just her and the demon, the sound and of fire all around, of the demon’s bellows exhalations. All else fell away, including the sense of Liam’s presence, the knowledge of what he was about to attempt. She had to buy him time. And then he could buy her time.
Maybe it would even be enough.
The blood buzzed in her veins. Adrenaline flooded her heart. The moment before the violence began had always been a perfect moment for her. Perfect calm, perfect focus, perfect peace. Perfect.
She reached around and curled her fingers about the worn leather grip of her sword.
The demon’s eyes flared as she drew it from the scabbard. “Remember me?” she whispered.
It did.
Callie felt the Loa enter Liam’s dreamscape, causing it to stretch to watercolor hues and reform to accommodate the new presence. It reminded Callie of that first step from the real world to the Otherworld, the Tír na Nog. The teacup spin teased her equilibrium before settling into a vaguely unbalanced waver. The air snapped and fizzed along the fine hair on her arms, thickening until her ears popped.
Whatever Liam was doing, it seemed to be working. Yshotha stumbled as the dreamscape shifted. Callie compensated in the bend of her knees, then took the opportunity the Loa provided, and ran full tilt at the demon with weapon drawn.
Her blade sliced across Yshotha’s ribs, right into fiery veins. Lava splashed across her jacket, raising the smell of burned leather. Fire flared all around as the demon screamed. She ducked and rolled to avoid its swinging, massive arm. For such a large beast, it moved faster than she expected. She could take no chances—one hit could easily crush her.
Warm air breezed by as she spun out of the path of another fist. Then she lunged to strike behind its knee. She had no idea if Yshotha had tendons or not—either way she figured such a wound would prove painful if not debilitating.
Yshotha snarled and swatted at her. She flung herself bodily over its fist, shifting her center of gravity and hitting the ground in a heavy tumble. It jarred every bone, knocking her breath away. Come on, Liam. Come on come on come on …
She held her ground, waiting for another fist to come flying her way. When it did, she dodged it and dove between its craggy, smoldering hooves, going for the other knee.
She missed. Swearing, she made an impatient second attempt. She managed to knick the demon’s leg, spewing more lava, but in its blind fury, Yshotha slapped the blade from her stinging hand. Her sword spun away with a forlorn, metallic clatter.
She somersaulted back just in time to avoid being pancaked all over the dreamscape.
Breathing hard, she slid the knives from her boots and charged. She hurtled an arm, used a lava-bleeding knee to hoist herself midair. Pivoting built a little extra momentum, enough to embed her blade in a network of chest veins carrying liquid fire to its heart.
Lava spewed in all directions, searing her face and hair. Callie pushed her endurance past the pain, a muffled scream escaping past clenched teeth. She reached with her other knife and started to climb like a slightly demented Fay Raye bleeding and burning up the façade of a demonic King Kong.
Her rise didn’t last long. Yshotha tore her from its chest and shook her hard.
Any time now, Liam.
A final breath-stealing squeeze that snapped more than one rib and Yshotha tossed her like a broken toy across the ground. Callie landed hard enough to shatter bone, rolling, spraying gravel. She stuttered to a slow, broken stop, able to draw in only a whisper of breath. One of her broken ribs punctured a lung.
Callie dug her hands into the rough ground, pushed herself painfully to her knees, and looked up. Yshotha limped toward her, satisfaction flaring in its eyes.
Fair Brighid and all her feuding relations, this is going to hurt .
Craggy toes slammed into her side like a van hurtling out of between, and she flew, turning almost gracefully before falling once more.
She blacked out before she hit the ground.
Liam’s hand shook as he poured rum into his cupped palm. He tossed it in a wide, curving arc along the rough outline of his makeshift circle. “Legba, you know me. I have found the demon Yshotha.” He poured more rum, swung it in another arc. “A champion battles it now, but she has no hope of surviving, either in body or soul.” More rum, a final arc. “Not without the Loa. Let my connections be hers. What you found in me, I give to her. Let our light be one.”
The ground shifted and pulled in the opposite direction h
e was accustomed to. He bent double as pain and fire took his arm, captured his heart. But it worked.
Where the raven had been, Legba now stood, grinning like a heathen. “Took you long enough.”
Liam straightened slowly through the pain, rum stinging his palms in counterpoint.
“No more games. We need Brigitte, sooner rather than later.”
Legba took in the battling demon and Keeper, whistling in open appreciation. “She’s not half bad, is she?”
“She’d be better with some help,” Liam pointed out, losing patience fast. “This time we could do without the surprise of Maeve.”
“What you’re asking ain’t easy,” Legba told him. “Your girl’s not connected to this city, or the Loa. What she’s looking for can’t happen.” He held his hand up as Liam felt the color leave his face. “But there may be another way, if she’s able to turn her soul to it.”
“If it will protect her and kill Yshotha, then yes. Anything.”
Legba chortled. “Careful what you wish for, Irish-man. You just might get it.”
Callie awakened in a place dark and cold. Faraway there was pain, she knew. Here she was numb, splayed out in a disjointed heap. Dead air, flat with lifeless intensity, cushioned her from reality. It was something of a relief. A tentative mental inventory told her she had never been hurt so bad, not even in dying to ascend the first time. That time had been more fear than pain. Now there was just pain, waiting for her on the other side.
It was nice to have a reprieve.
“So. You made it. I was beginning to wonder.”
Callie turned her head. “Brighid?” It didn’t hurt to talk exactly. It was more of an ache where feeling should rightfully be.
The figure left perfect darkness into slightly less darkness, provided by the soft candlelight around her.
“Close,” said the figure with curls of burnished copper and brass. Her garnet lips lifted at the corners in a smile. “But no cigar.”