Stone Cold Lover

by Christine Warren

  Fil jerked her head back. “You mean—what, like that psycho at the abbey branded some demon’s name on me? Are you kidding me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I am unsure, but I do not believe it can lead to any good.”

  “Oh, ya think?” Shaken, Fil snatched her hand back and pulled the shower curtain closer. “Well, if you don’t know, we’ll have to find someone who does. Until then, you still need to get back on the other side of the damned door. And the next time you decide you want to come into the room where I am, you can fucking knock. Act like a normal person already.”

  She knew she sounded like a bitch, but she couldn’t keep the words from tumbling out of her mouth. Once again, her day had gone from normal to nightmarish before she’d had time to blink. If this kept up much longer, she was going to end up with whiplash.

  On top of everything else.

  Wisely, Spar retreated, leaving Fil alone in the steamy shower. Damned convenient, she thought, bending to retrieve the fallen shampoo bottle. The way she felt knowing she had some evil symbol branded into her flesh, this was going to wind up being the longest shower in the history of Canada.

  She might never feel clean again.

  Chapter Five

  Spar followed his small female to the eating establishment and tried to look human. After snapping back to his natural form when he had feared Felicity might be under attack in her bathroom, it had taken him an unexpectedly long time to calm himself enough that he could resume his human appearance.

  He found his lack of control baffling. Never, in all of his long existence, had he encountered such a challenge in maintaining his temper. He had not even realized that he had a temper, given that Guardians did not suffer from the weakness of human emotions. Other than the hatred he felt for the Darkness and its minions, he had never known fear or anxiety or protectiveness.

  Or lust.

  It shamed him to know the small human in his care could inspire every one of those feelings within him. When he had thought she was in danger behind the closed door of her small bathing room, he had felt the shock of the first three, and seeing her wet and bare and vulnerable had brought the last crashing down upon him.

  Spar had looked upon Felicity, and he had lusted.

  Even now, he had to struggle to force the images from his mind, the expanse of pale, silky-looking skin, the full curves and intriguing hollows. Every time he let his concentration slip, his thoughts went straight back to that moment before she had shielded herself with the fabric curtain. Every time, his fingers ached to seize her, to feel her softness and press it up against him.

  Perhaps he was the one suffering under some malevolent spell.

  The scents of frying meats and toasted bread managed to grab Spar’s wandering attention as he stepped into the café close on Felicity’s heels. She had informed him that this was where they would find the acquaintance she believed they needed to see.

  “I’ve thought about this a lot,” she had told him, after emerging dry and fully clothed into the living room of her home. “The way I see it, the most important thing we can do right now is figure out if anyone else in this Order group knows I even exist. Because, if not, I’m perfectly happy saying I can take care of myself and showing you the door.”

  He had tried to protest, but she had cut him off.

  “However, I’m not stupid enough to send you packing if there might really be some magical mystery freaks looking to feed me to their demon overlord or something. So, first things first. We need to find out if our mad bomber friend made it out of the building last night. If he didn’t, well, that’s that; but if he did, then we can start figuring out how much trouble I’m really in.”

  Spar had assumed they would simply return to the abbey and look for the nocturnis’s remains, but Felicity had disabused him of the notion.

  “The explosion was big enough news that they aired it on the station Ella and Kees were watching in Vancouver. That means the police will have the scene locked down tight. We’d never get near it, and if we called the authorities or started poking around, they’d think we could have had something to do with it. No, we need to talk to someone they expect to be asking questions about it, because that’s who just might have the answers.”

  Following someone else’s lead didn’t sit well with Spar; he’d had to remind himself a thousand times on the short walk to the restaurant to refrain from ordering Felicity about. He wanted to order her to walk close behind him, that he might protect her from attack, and to remember to allow him to pass first through any doors so he could assess the safety of each new environment. One hard kick to his shin when he’d tried to yank her back into her apartment so that he could exit first had assured him that she would ill appreciate any such chivalry on his part.

  She might be small, but he thought her boots must be lined with steel.

  Felicity paused inside the crowded room to unzip her coat and scan the sea of faces. Spar watched her closely enough to note when her gaze settled on a lone human male in a corner booth near the window. He followed closely as she waded through the tables and chairs to her target.

  “Hey, there, Ricky,” she greeted, sliding into the seat opposite the human without waiting for an invitation. “Fancy meeting you here. Buy you a café?”

  Spar squeezed into the booth beside her, noticing the way the man she spoke to eyed him coolly before his gaze dropped to Felicity’s chest.

  “Morning, chère,” the man drawled, finally lifting his eyes to her face. “To what do I owe this pleasure today?”

  “Coffee first.” Felicity reached around Spar to grab the attention of a passing waitress. “A refill for my friend,” she said, accepting a menu and handing a second to Spar. “Café au lait for me and, uh, noir for him.”

  The woman nodded and bustled off before Spar could comment or wonder what it meant. He spoke French—and English, Latin, Greek, all the Romance languages, as well as Russian, Sanskrit, and Arabic—so he recognized the work for “black,” but how did that translate to a foodstuff?

  “Not that I’m minding the company, Fil, but aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” The human called Ricky drained the liquid from his thick white cup and gave Spar an assessing glance.

  “Ricky, this is Spar. Spar, this is Ricky Racleaux. He’s a reporter for the Gazette.”

  The human snorted. “Spar? Don’t tell me. Did you finally pick up an old man to decorate the back of that bike of yours, chère? Find him down at the Maison Grande?”

  “Yeah, right between the knife fight and the heroin deal.”

  Spar tensed for a moment before the sarcasm in Felicity’s voice registered. Apparently, she was not in the habit of frequenting places where people routinely engaged in armed combat or traded in illicit substances. She was simply doing what a former Warden of his had referred to as “giving the other guy some shit.”

  “Hey, we haven’t talked much lately. How do I know what you do for fun these days?” Ricky gave a Gallic shrug, but his expression denoted humor. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”

  “As if.”

  Felicity paused to thank the waitress, who had returned with a tray of hot beverages and to take their order. She requested a savory crepe for herself and chose something for Spar without pausing to ask his permission. He would be more inclined to argue had his breakfast not prominently featured the word steak. He enjoyed beef, so he would reserve his judgment for the moment.

  Calmly, he sipped his “noir,” which turned out to be a large mug of black coffee. He had heard of the beverage, but had not previously had much occasion to sample it. He found the bitter, earthy flavor unusual, but pleasing. Catching the other man watching him, Spar simply raised a brow and waited.

  “Doesn’t he talk?” Ricky asked, directing the question at Felicity but keeping his eyes on Spar. “Frankly, it’s starting to creep me out a little.”

  Spar glanced at Felicity, who just rolled her eyes and gulped
down her own drink, before answering. “I speak when I have something to say. I don’t know you, therefore I can think of nothing I believe you must hear.”

  For a moment there was silence, then Ricky threw back his head and laughed. “Well, damn me twice, Fil, but I think you may have actually found someone in this world with an even worse temperament than your own. I’m not sure which one of you deserves my pity more.”

  “You can save the pity and just answer some questions,” Felicity said.

  Ricky leaned back and let the waitress deposit Spar’s and Felicity’s plates, then whisk away his own. He curled his fingers around his newly refilled mug and nodded at them. “Fire away, mon amie. Je suis à ton service.”

  “So, tell me what happened last night. At the abbey.”

  Spar speared a forkful of steak and eggs and chewed while he watched Ricky’s face. Judging by the man’s expression, he had not been expecting Felicity’s line of questioning.

  “The abbey? Why do you want to know about a bombing at the abbey? Did you do some work for them or something?”

  Felicity shrugged and cut into tender crepes layered with ham and Gruyère. “I’m interested. I mean, how often does a semi-decommissioned Catholic monastery get blown up, right?”

  “Not very often.”

  “What are they saying about it?”

  “The authorities? Not a lot. There was an explosion. It occurred sometime shortly after one in the morning. The type of explosive, the identity of the perpetrator, and any possible motive are still to be determined.”

  “And what about the damage? Was anyone injured?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed and he tilted his head to the side, as if he was attempting to see something beyond Felicity’s calmly phrased questions. “Why do you want to know?” he demanded.

  “Why does it matter?” she countered.

  Spar tightened his grip on his utensil until he felt the metal begin to soften and bend. He did not appreciate the change in Ricky’s tone, but Felicity appeared unperturbed. Instead of looking threatened, she met the other human’s gaze head-on and drew her shoulders back with determination. The tension stretched for a long, brittle moment.

  “Look, Fil,” Ricky said on a sigh, finally giving an inch of ground, “I know you, and I’ve known you for a long time, so I know that you’re not the kind of girl who would have planted a bomb in an abbey. If only because the idea of destroying the artistry of the architecture and the windows would offend your sensibilities too much to even contemplate it.

  “But,” he continued, lifting a hand to point across the table at her, “you ask questions like this of the wrong person, and someone else might think you’re checking up on your own handiwork, hein?”

  Felicity nodded calmly. “Which is why I’m not asking anyone else, Ricky. I’m asking you. Do you know what was damaged? I heard the explosion went off in an area they used for storage, so I’m assuming no one was in there at the time.”

  She had a talent for deception, Spar acknowledged. Neither her expression nor her tone betrayed the slightest hint that her leading question was full of misinformation.

  “They’re still adding up the damage.” The reporter finished his coffee and set aside the mug. “The bomb went off in the chapter house, which was unoccupied. They’d been using it to store a few of the abbey museum’s newly acquired works, including at least one pretty big statue they were planning to display out in the gardens. It looks like that was a total loss, since it sounds like the thing would be hard to miss if it hadn’t been blown to bits.”

  “That’s it?” Felicity prompted. Spar noticed the way her fingers gripped tightly around her mug, but her voice gave no indication of her tension.

  “That’s the part I’m not going to ask you about, Fil, because the police haven’t released it, and no one outside the department is supposed to know.” He grinned roguishly. “Well, outside the department and those of us with really good sources.” He sobered. “The chapter house was unoccupied, but the emergency responders did find a person in the rubble. A man. They think it’s possible he was the bomber, and something went wrong while he was setting up the detonation. The blast went off before he could get out.”

  Felicity nodded, but her expression didn’t shift. “Wow. Was he dead? Or did he live through that?”

  Ricky watched her for a moment before sliding out of the booth. “He was alive at four this morning. That’s when they managed to dig him out and transport him to Montreal General.” He shrugged into his coat and gave Felicity a hard stare. “I don’t know why you wanted to know that, Fil, and I don’t think I want you to tell me. But it’s costing you more than a cup of coffee. You’re buying my breakfast.”

  The reporter turned and left without another word.

  Spar looked back at Felicity, expecting to see the tension in her body ease now that she had the answer to her questions. Even though they had learned the nocturnis had survived the explosion last night, if he had been taken to a hospital he must be sufficiently injured to pose no immediate threat. So why did she still appear so upset? Should he haul Ricky back here and make him apologize?

  With a start, Spar realized that Felicity’s state of mind affected his. For some reason, her feelings stirred answering sensations in him. Emotions. Because of her unhappiness, he himself felt unhappy as well. Unhappy enough to glare at the café’s exit and contemplate following the recently departed reporter. With his fists.

  Catching his gaze, Felicity shook her head and tapped the table. “Finish your food. Montreal General is the local trauma center, so chances are our little lunatic is too messed up to have gone blabbing to his goat-sacrificing pals about me, but I want to make certain. When we’re done here, we’ll head up to Mount Royal to check.”

  Spar reluctantly turned back to his breakfast. The steak really was quite tasty.

  “I do not believe the ritual slaughter of livestock is a defining characteristic of the Order,” he pointed out, hoping to distract her from her thoughts. “Blood magic is certainly one way to raise demons, but I was under the impression that large animals can be difficult to come by in modern cities.”

  The look she shot him wasn’t what Spar would call lighthearted—she appeared to believe he also might have lost touch with sanity—but at least her grip on her cup loosened perceptibly.

  “It was a figure of speech, Rocky,” she said as she lifted her cup. “I just mean that if we’re really lucky, I might be able to slip under the nocturnis radar while you go off and fight the good fight. I, for one, would like to forget any of this ever happened.”

  Spar knew of no spell cast by the Light or by the Darkness that would ever make him forget Felicity Shaltis. He would carry her memory with him for his next thousand years.

  It was a thought that had him shifting in his seat. She was only a human, he reminded himself as he cleaned his plate. Humans barely lived long enough to register in a Guardian’s consciousness. Why should he feel this one would be any different?

  She would not, he told himself sternly. He must remember that whatever strange sensations she stirred within him, Felicity was simply another fragile human in need of his protection from the Darkness. He would answer the threat to her, aid his brothers in ensuring the Seven never escaped their prisons, and then return to his rest until the next time evil threatened.

  It was all very straightforward.

  Really.

  Chapter Six

  Montreal General Hospital—l’Hôpital général de Montréal—occupied a sprawling complex atop Mount Royal itself, between Cedar Avenue and Côtes-des-Neiges. Fil herself had only ever been there a couple of times in her life, to visit a friend who’d been involved in a bad car wreck. She did, however, remember how to get to the emergency room, and where to ask for information.

  She headed there with a determined stride, her stone-faced bodyguard looming behind her like a determined shadow. She’d felt his gaze on her since before they left the café. You’d think he’d be sic
k of looking at her by now, but no. He just kept watching, like he expected her to do a trick or something. She felt like she ought to be wearing tap shoes, just in case.

  No, that wasn’t fair, she admitted silently. He watched her because he figured she might snap at any moment, and frankly Fil couldn’t blame him. She could feel how tense she was; she practically vibrated with it. Until she’d gotten the news about the cultist surviving the explosion, she hadn’t realized just how heavily she’d been counting on that not happening.

  Oh, she’d rationalized the possibilities. After all, a guy who could throw spells at strangers like softballs might have a trick or two up his sleeve to protect himself from a little dynamite, or whatever he had used, but it had seemed so far-fetched. According to all the laws of physics that Fil understood, people standing directly in the paths of bombs didn’t live to tell the tale. Period. They ended up as grave-faced stories on the evening news, not continuing threats to the safety of others.

  She had so badly wanted all of this to be over. If the cultist was dead, the secret of her identity would logically have died with him. Spar would have no reason to hang around and protect her, and she could wave him away before going on with the life she’d always known.

  So what if Ella wanted her to join their little Justice League? Nothing obligated Fil to do it. Just because she could see things about people that others couldn’t didn’t mean she had abilities like Ella. She’d never been able to affect others the way her friend could. The way she saw auras qualified her for reconnaissance at best, not full-fledged battle with the forces of Darkness.

  And by the way, could she please just take a moment or twelve to get over the fact that there were in this world things that actually, literally qualified as the Forces of Darkness?

  Šūdas.

  The familiar curse word failed to make her feel any better, and thanks to modern conveniences she couldn’t even slam open the doors to the emergency room with excessive force. What did a girl have to do to do a little venting around here?