Stone Cold Lover

by Christine Warren

  “I can’t do the scrying until I get home. I need my tools, I need my altar, and I need the peace and quiet,” the witch insisted. “No offense, sweetie, but since I met you peaceful has not been an appropriate adjective to describe my life.”

  “You’d be surprised how many people tell me that,” Fil muttered. “I guess that means you won’t let us hang around and stand guard while you work, either?”

  “What part of ‘peace’ did you not understand?” Wynn gave her an exaggerated stare. “Plus, Goddess knows how long it will take me to actually see something. Scrying isn’t like casting a normal spell. Whatever I ask to see, I still have to wait for the vision, and although I’ve had it come in minutes, I’ve also had to wait days. Sometimes even weeks. You are not going to hang around watching my TV and eating my snacks for that long. It would spell the end of our friendship. Hell, of any friendship!”

  “I’m not sure we have weeks, Wynn.”

  She sighed. “I know. I’m praying it won’t take that long, but to have you stand guard around me and wait would just be silly. Besides, my apartment is warded tighter than a tick. I’ll be safe there, I promise.”

  “You realize I’m holding you to that, right?”

  “Mais oui, as you francophones say.”

  Fil didn’t find the wink that accompanied the statement as reassuring as she was sure Wynn had intended. Which probably had something to do with the new habit she developed of pacing around the apartment in circles that drove Spar to the brink of insanity.

  “Little one,” he repeated daily, usually more than once, “wearing yourself into exhaustion will not hurry the process. Wynn’s vision will come when it comes. Sit and try to focus on something else.”

  On the third evening, he pretty much lost it.

  “For the sake of the Eternal Light, woman, sit! Down!”

  Fil shot him a glare. “I can’t! What the hell is taking her so long? I know she said this wasn’t instantaneous, but it’s been three days! The Order could have killed someone else by now. Shit, they could have killed another dozen people. We have to find them.”

  Spar grasped her shoulders to hold her in place. “We all know the dangers, Felicity. Do you think Wynn does not take this seriously?”

  “Fil,” she corrected, mostly out of habit at this point. She’d given up any real hope of getting him to stop using her full name. “I know she’s taking it seriously, I’m just so frustrated. I’m sick of looking over my shoulder every five minutes, and I’m sick of worrying what else the nocturnis are going to do before we can stop them. If they manage to restore the demon to its full strength, we’ll be screwed, especially with Ella still having trouble finding the rest of you Guardians.”

  She dropped her head to his chest—which was almost as good as banging it against a brick wall—and smacked him ineffectually with the flat of her left hand. “And I’m sick of having this stupid mark still clinging to my skin. You know, for the last year or so I’d been giving some serious thought to getting a tattoo, but I think this thing has turned me off the idea of permanent body art in a big way.”

  Spar raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm. “I cannot say I can blame you for that. Try to remember what Wynn said. It will fade eventually. You must be patient.”

  “Yeah, you can see how well I’m doing in that department.”

  He hugged her. “It is difficult for all of us. Come, you need a distraction. You will show me once again how to play this game called poker. Only this time, you will show me the tricks your grandmother taught you.”

  Fil appreciated his effort, really she did, but the fact that he actually won a couple of the hands they played demonstrated exactly how much trouble she had concentrating on anything else. For some reason, the tension always got worse after dark, too. Maybe she was just that superstitious, but she couldn’t help thinking that every time the sun set, the Order got a little closer to bringing about the end of the world. Intellectually, she realized evil could operate in the daylight just as well as in the dark—well, she realized it now, since Spar had patiently explained to her that vampires did not really exist—but her subconscious still equated black magic with the hours of darkness.

  Who had known she was such a traditionalist?

  When the phone rang just after nine that night, Fil practically flew across the apartment to answer it. If this wasn’t Wynn with good news, she really was going to lose her mind.

  “Hello?”

  “Fil? Hey, it’s Rick.”

  She nearly dropped the phone. “Rick?” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Spar glance at her curiously. “I … I, uh, didn’t expect to hear from you.”

  “Yeah, I know. I wanted to apologize for that, for the way I yelled and walked out on you at the café. I know you’re not some sicko, I just—” He paused. “I let that stuff get to me, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry. Really.”

  Fil felt a rush of relief. He had hurt her the other day, but it made it better to know he didn’t really think of her the way he’d said. She didn’t want to lose his friendship permanently. “Thanks, Ricky. I appreciate that.”

  “Good.” She heard shuffling in the background. “Listen, I found some more information I think might help you out. Something about where the police are looking for the actual crime scenes. Can I stop by and show you?”

  Did the police have a lead on the ritual site? A jolt of adrenaline hit her at the thought. Maybe it wouldn’t matter that Wynn’s scrying was taking so long. If the police had a solid lead, even if they’d just narrowed it down to half a dozen locations, Fil could be more than happy to schlep her way to every single one of them to check it out. It was the closest they’d gotten so far.

  “You want me to meet you at Claude’s?” she offered.

  “No,” he said. “I’ve already eaten dinner, and anyway I’m almost on your side of town already. I’ll swing by your place. Half an hour okay?”

  Fil didn’t even bother to check with Spar. If he was okay with Wynn’s visits, she was sure he’d be fine with Rick’s. “I’ll be here. You know where to find me.”

  “I certainly do. À bientôt, chère.”

  She hung up with an excited grin. “Ricky said he got some more info from the police. They may have leads on the ritual site. Well, the murder site, I’m sure they’re calling it. He’s on his way over with the details.”

  Spar frowned. “I am not sure I like that. He upset you the last time you met with him. He accused you of callousness toward the death of the sacrifices.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I will not allow him in your home if seeing him will upset you.”

  “You won’t allow him in my home?” Fil shook her head. If she thought Spar would remain part of her life over the long term, she would so have corrected that little statement right there, but at the moment she couldn’t see the point of expending the effort on the inevitable fight. “Whatever. He apologized for that, and I forgave him. I understood where he was coming from anyway. Rick might enjoy playing the hard-boiled, eternally skeptical crime reporter, but inside he’s a big softie. Stuff like those murders really gets to him. I’m not surprised he was upset by all the questions I was asking.”

  Her Guardian grumbled. “If he makes you sad again, I will not be held responsible for the detachment of his limbs from his torso.”

  “Ew!”

  His grin flashed a hint of fang.

  “Down, boy.”

  Eager anticipation had her nearly laughing when the phone rang a second time. Without checking the caller ID, she snatched it up and answered. “Nice, Ricky. What happened? You forget the address already?”

  “I think someone is trying to get inside my apartment!”

  Fil froze. She recognized Wynn’s voice even though the woman spoke in an urgent whisper, but those were definitely not the words she and Spar had been hoping to hear when the witch finally called. “Wynn, what do you mean? What’s going on?”

  Spar straightened,
immediately focusing on her. He must have heard the concern in her voice, because he rose from his seat at the table and began to shimmer the way he did before he changed forms.

  “Someone’s trying to break in. Felicity, I need help! You have to send Spar. It’s the Order! I know it is!”

  “Wynn, calm down,” Fil urged, waving at Spar to hurry up and change. This sounded like a job for the winged avenger Guardian, not the sadly untalented gambler Guardian. “We’ll come for you, I swear. Just do whatever you can to shore up those wards. We’re on our way.”

  The line went dead and Fil felt her heart skip a beat. “It’s Wynn. She said the nocturnis are at her house trying to break in. She needs your help. You have to get over there.”

  “No, we have to get over there. You know that you are not to stray from my sight.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Fil demanded. “Do you really think we have time to fight about this right now?”

  Spar’s eyes narrowed at her attempt to mimic his deep, gravelly voice. “So far, the nocturnis have had no reason to track us here, but we cannot assume that they do not know we are here. We cannot assume this place is safe. We had no reason to believe they knew of Wynn’s location, either, but she is currently under siege.” He shook his head. “I will not knowingly leave you in danger and undefended. You will come with me where I can ensure you will not be alone and vulnerable to attack.”

  “Šūdas!” Fil yanked on her ponytail. “You’re being an idiot and wasting time. Wynn needs you. I’m safe here. Besides, Rick is already on his way over. I can’t just leave him to arrive to an empty apartment. He’ll think I’m blowing him off.”

  “Call and tell him to come another time.”

  “Spar, get your ass out the window and go save Wynn!” she yelled at him. “Not only is she our friend, but she still needs to try to find the location of the ritual site, especially if Ricky’s leads don’t pan out. We can’t count on the human authorities to know where to find the nocturnis. We need Wynn. Besides, I won’t be alone if Ricky is here. Now go!”

  She could see Spar warring with himself and cursed again. Marching over to the fire escape window, she flung open the sash and practically threw him outside. “Go save my friend! Ricky will be here any minute, and I vow on the spirit of Laurent—the saint and the motorcycle—that I will call if I sense the slightest danger. You can take my cell phone.”

  She tucked the phone into the waistband of his leather kilt-thingie and shooed him. “Now go! Save the day! Don’t make me sing the Underdog theme.”

  Spar growled something she didn’t really want a translation for, grabbed her arms, and hauled her to him for a bruising kiss. Then he climbed onto the fire escape’s metal railing and launched himself into the night sky. Fil closed the window after him and locked it for good measure. The man had such good hearing, especially in Guardian form, he’d probably be listening to make sure she did it. He really was that paranoid.

  Gazing around the living room in the sudden silence, Fil realized that this was the first time since that night at the abbey that she had been entirely alone. It actually struck her as a little creepy.

  Rubbing her hands over her own arms to chafe some warmth into them against the sudden chill that struck her, she sank onto the sofa and frowned. She hoped Ricky would arrive soon, not so she wouldn’t be alone, but to keep her mind off what might be happening to Wynn. At least, that was what she told herself.

  She felt like an idiot if she let herself think about it. Fil had been on her own for almost ten years, since her grandparents had died, and she’d never had a problem being alone. She possessed a strong streak of independence, something she knew drove her Guardian crazy at times, and she’d always enjoyed her own company. Maybe being an artist gave her something of a solitary nature, but this was the first time in years that she could remember being unhappy to be left sitting alone in an empty apartment. Knowing that Spar wouldn’t be with her forever, she told herself to get used to it. This wouldn’t be the last time she found herself left in solitude.

  Right, because depressing herself was a terrific idea, given her current frame of mind.

  Fil snorted and reached for the remote control. She wasn’t a big television watcher, but at the moment the idea of filling the room with talking voices appealed to her, even if no one else was really there. The illusion would suffice for the time being, and Ricky would arrive at any moment for something a touch more genuine.

  She had barely settled on a station playing reruns of familiar British sitcoms when the knock rattled the apartment door. Relieved to have her visitor arrive to ease her agitation, she flung open the door with a smile on her face.

  “Good timing,” she greeted her friend, then felt her smile die. Ricky stood on the landing at the top of the stairs, but he hadn’t come alone, and the face of the man standing slightly behind him made every hair on the back of Fil’s neck stand up and vibrate.

  “Well, hello there, little mousey,” the Hierophant purred. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Spar flew to Wynn’s apartment in a small four-story row house as fast as his wings would carry him. Just minutes after leaving Felicity’s fire escape, he landed on the witch’s roof and frowned. He had expected to find fire and brimstone waiting for him, the wail of police sirens, or the screams of Wynn and her neighbors, but the building seemed peaceful and quiet, nothing out of the ordinary to disturb the crisp night air. He could see not a single nocturnis, couldn’t even sense the presence of an evil threat. He felt absolutely nothing.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Pulling Felicity’s cell phone from his belt, he called Wynn even as he lowered himself to the fire escape outside her apartment window. Part of him hoped she wouldn’t answer, because what woman under attack by demonic cultists stopped to answer her phone?

  “Hello?” When she picked up the call, the witch’s voice was calm and even as always, not a trace of the urgency she had used with Felicity.

  “Wynn, are you harmed? Are the nocturnis still here? I am at the window. Let me inside.”

  “Spar, is that you?” She sounded confused but unhurt, and he could see those emotions in her face when she appeared at the window with her phone pressed to her ear. “Hold on.”

  She disconnected the call and slid open the window. “What nocturnis are you talking about? And what are you doing here? Where’s Fil?”

  Fear and rage like nothing he had ever experienced crashed over Spar like a tsunami, and the metal platform beneath him trembled when he cursed in the foulest terms he could conjure. “It was another trap. A diversion. You called Felicity moments ago, sounding terrified. You said nocturnis were attempting to enter your apartment.”

  “No, I didn’t. Spar, I swear it.”

  “I believe you. I heard a few words, though, and the caller sounded exactly as you sound. Felicity was convinced. She sent me to rescue you. They must have used magic to mimic your voice.” He flapped his wings and prepared to launch himself back into the sky. “I have to return to her. They might even have her by now.”

  “Wait!” Her urgent tone and tight grip caught him before he could fly. “I’m sure it was a trap, but I was just about to call you two. That’s how I can be a hundred percent certain it couldn’t have been me on the phone, because about ten minutes ago I just came to. From the vision. Spar, if they’ve taken her this is even more important. They’ll want to make her the next sacrifice, but now I know where we can find them.”

  His lips curled back, exposing the sharp length of his fangs, and his talons ached with the need to rend nocturnis flesh. “Tell me. Now.”

  * * *

  Fil came to on a rush of adrenaline, moving from blankness to full awareness so fast, it left her dizzy. Or maybe that was the blow she’d taken to the back of her head. At this point, it was hard to tell. The cold and dark filled her with a sense of déjà vu that brought the memories of her vision rushing back, but when she opened her eyes
this time, she found herself not in a damp, dank basement, but lying in the bottom of a motorboat while freshwater spray misted against her face.

  Moaning, she reached up to touch the already swollen lump at the rear of her skull. She winced when the light brush of her own fingers sent her blistering headache straight past agonizing and on to debilitating. Between the pain in her head and the motion of the water, she forecast vomit likely within the next thirty to sixty minutes.

  “She’s beginning to wake. Tie her hands.”

  Someone grabbed her shoulder and roughly rolled her onto her belly before dragging her hands to the small of her back. If only the bastard had put his shoes within range of her mouth, she’d have decorated them real nice for him. Rough hemp bound her wrists together with her hands pointing toward the opposite elbows. She gritted her teeth and concentrated on taking slow shallow breaths through her nose.

  She couldn’t see much of anything. Her head hurt too much to do a lot of thrashing around, and it was dark out here on the river. She assumed that’s where they were, cruising somewhere on the St. Lawrence. She hoped she hadn’t been down long enough for them to speed the entire way to Lake Ontario. Judging by the blackness of the night, she doubted it. They couldn’t have gotten to her more than an hour or two earlier.

  God, she felt like an idiot. The Hierophant had shown up at her door and all she’d been able to do was gape at him while he instructed his minion to knock her senseless. She should have at least slammed the door in his ugly face. She doubted it would have kept him out for long, but it might have given her a chance to run. Or to dial her cell phone.

  When Spar found out about this, he was going to kill her. He’d probably have to resurrect her dead ass to do it, since she doubted the Hierophant had come all the way to her apartment and kidnapped her so they could munch popcorn together and watch a Big Bang Theory marathon. She figured his plans for her had more to do with ceremonial knives and demonic overlords. Joy.