by Lora Leigh
Ridge cursed, a rolling string of gutter Latin he’d picked up from Arthur.
Kat met his gaze and swallowed, obviously fighting to control her panic. “We’ve got to get back now, Ridge.”
He nodded sharply and headed for the wrought iron staircase. “There’s no time to fool with the car. I’ll get Grace.”
idge found the cell phone where he’d left it, upstairs on his dresser. It was not, of course, a real cell phone—such a thing wouldn’t work in the Mageverse—but when Ridge spoke the word “Grace” into it, the magical device nonetheless chirped obligingly.
He was acutely aware that Kat watched him anxiously, damp but dressed.
“This had better be good,” a male voice growled.
“Your daughter thinks your old lover just attempted suicide. That good enough for you?”
Lance’s reply was a single pungent curse. “Grace?” he said. “We need to get over to Ridge’s now.” There was a gratifying urgency in that “now.”
The air rippled into a gate just as Ridge pulled a shirt over his head. Grace and Lancelot stepped through.
“Where’s your mother?” Grace demanded of Kat, the gate still rippling the air behind them.
“In her bedroom, I think. She looked asleep, but I have the feeling there’s something wrong. Really wrong.” Kat took a deep breath and balled her hands into fists, obviously working to get her fear under control. “Fatally wrong.”
Without another word, Grace turned, gesturing. The gate rippled again, now revealing a bed with a woman lying in a fetal ball under an embroidered quilt.
“Mom!” Kat lunged through the gate, and Ridge followed, Grace and Lance at his heels. Ridge was barely aware of the ripple of magic surging over his skin as he dove through the dimensional door.
at’s stomach rolled itself into a quivering, ice-filled ball as she plunged into her mother’s bedroom. Mary appeared deeply asleep, and Kat found herself hoping she’d just scared the hell out of everyone for nothing.
But when she grabbed her mother’s shoulder and shook her with a loud “Mom!” the still form did not respond.
“She’s alive,” Grace said grimly. “Barely.” The Maja reached past Kat, putting one slim palm in the center of her mother’s chest.
Ridge’s warm hands closed gently around Kat’s shoulders and drew her away from the bed. “Give Grace room to work, babe.”
As Kat watched anxiously, Grace’s fingers began to glow. Sparks spilled from her flesh, dancing over Mary’s body, cutting spirals around the woman’s still arms and legs, circling her head in a halo of light.
Kat caught her breath. Grace’s magic had made her believe in witches, but actually seeing the otherworldly light show at work around her own mother was something else again. This is real. All of it. Vampire knights, witches, Merlin, all of it. Real. “Is she going to be all right?”
Grace grunted, but made no answer, an expression of deep concentration on her face.
“I think we’d better go downstairs and wait,” said the dark-haired stranger who’d accompanied Grace. “It’s not a good idea to distract her when she’s doing work this delicate.”
Kat looked up at him. This man must be Grace’s husband. Which made him . . .
Her knees went weak.
Ridge caught her forearm and steadied her. “You going to be okay?” His steady green gaze was dark with compassion.
Kat took a deep breath and blew it out, managed a quick nod. As Ridge guided her toward the door, her gaze fell on a small pill bottle beside the bed. She scooped it up and was not surprised to find it empty. A glance at the label confirmed her suspicions.
Sleeping pills.
“Dammit, Mom.” Anger stiffened her back. Kat pulled away from Ridge’s supporting hand and stalked out to clatter down the stairs. “God forbid she leave another bloody corpse for me to find. This is the third fucking time she’s pulled this stunt.”
Kat didn’t look back to see if the men were following her as she made for the kitchen. They’d need coffee to get through this. At least, she would; she had no idea what stressed vamps drank.
Besides, there was something soothing and familiar about the ritual of making coffee. At least it gave her something to do with her hands.
“I gather this has happened before,” Lancelot said as she put the pot on to brew.
Kat glanced over at him. He was almost ridiculously handsome, with dark, thick brows arching over eyes the color of warm sherry. His hair was thick and curly, his cheekbones broad, his nose narrow over a wide, curving mouth. It was obvious why her mother had fallen into bed with him twenty-six years ago.
It was impossible to think of him as her father. For God’s sake, the man looked only a few years older than she was. Thirty or so, tops, though she knew he had to be sixteen hundred years old, at least.
Yet as she studied him, Kat realized there was something vaguely familiar about the shape of his face. Damn, he looks like me. She saw a softer, feminine version of those angular features every time she looked in a mirror. The shape of his eyes and chin, the curve of his mouth. Yet because he appeared to be only a few years older than she was, strangers would probably mistake him for her older brother.
“Kat,” Ridge prompted her softly, “do you know why your mother would do something like this?”
She went to the china hutch for the sterling silver coffee set her mother used for guests, then added three cups and saucers and carried the heavy tray back to the central island where the coffeepot hissed. “I had a sister.”
“I remember,” Lancelot said unexpectedly. “Mary mentioned her. She was a little girl at the time. Seven or so. She was spending the weekend with Mary’s ex-husband.” A deep frown line formed between his thick brows. “The divorce had just been finalized.”
Which was why Mary was out getting drunk. “Karen had a stormy childhood. Spent a lot of time shuttling back and forth between her father’s house and Mom’s. Me . . .” Kat managed not to let her gaze slide toward Lancelot. I had no father. “I stayed with Mom all the time, which became kind of an issue. Karen accused Mom of favoring me, but Mom said it wasn’t true. Said I was just younger, needed her more.” She shrugged. “It got really bad when Karen hit eighteen. Typical teenage stuff. Beer, boys. Lots and lots of really bad attitude.”
But Kat had worshipped her beautiful big sister anyway. Cheerleader and boy magnet, Karen had been as blond and popular as a living Barbie doll. Ten-year-old Kat had probably annoyed the daylights out of her, constantly tagging at her heels. “There was this boy. She said his name was Jimmy Chosen, and that he was a college senior. Mom tried to get him to come to the house, but he kept making excuses, ducking her invitations. That really set off all her mommy alarms.”
“I’d imagine so,” Lancelot said.
“Then, that Christmas Eve, Mom found a package of condoms in a pocket when she went to wash Karen’s coat. It all hit the fan. Lots of screaming, lots of crying. Mom threatened to throw Karen out if she kept dating Jimmy.”
“Probably not the best way to handle the situation,” Ridge observed, moving over beside her.
“No, which is just one of the reasons Momma periodically tries to eat entire bottles of Seconal.” Kat gave him a slightly bitter smile. He brushed a comforting hand across the small of her back. Feeling oddly soothed, she continued, “I heard Karen get up before dawn Christmas morning and attempt to sneak out of the house. I got up and begged her not to go—I was afraid Mom really would throw her out. Karen threatened to kick my ass if I ratted on her. Swore she’d be back in an hour, long before Mom woke up. So I went back to bed.” She stared down at her own reflection in the shining surface of the coffeepot without really seeing it. “I wish to God I’d been the little snitch Karen always swore I was. If I had been . . . ”
She broke off to transfer the coffee into the silver pot, then picked up the loaded tray and led the way into the living room. “By the time two hours had passed, I knew Karen was in serious danger of get
ting caught.”
Sitting down on the couch, Kat began to fill the delicate cups. Ridge sat down next to her as Lancelot took one of the armchairs. “We lived in one of those lakeside developments then, very upscale. I knew Karen liked to meet her boyfriends out beside the lake, where there was a shady stretch of grass. So I went to get her.”
She glanced up. Lance was watching her, his gaze brooding. “The day before, I’d seen a dog dead on the highway. Been hit by multiple cars, I guess. Probably a truck or two. Its body was all ripped up, red ropes of . . . Well.” Her voice sounded distant to her own ears. “Karen lay on the grass in her favorite picnic spot. And I thought when I saw her that she looked just like that dog. I wouldn’t have known who she was if it wasn’t for her long, pretty blond hair. I recognized the hair.”
“Sweet Jesu.” A muscle flexed in Lancelot’s handsome jaw, and his eyes looked . . . haunted. As if he was remembering something just as unpleasant.
Ridge caught Kat’s cold hands in his own big, warm ones, stilling her mechanical efforts with the coffee. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” She managed a tight smile for the compassion in his eyes. “I ran back home, screaming. Mom didn’t believe me at first, thought I had to be wrong. But then we walked to the lake . . . ” Kat broke off for a long moment. “We spent Christmas day talking to cops.”
“And you were ten years old.” Lancelot rubbed both hands over his face. “Merlin’s balls, girl, I’m sorry.”
Now that she’d started telling the story, Kat felt unable to stop. “Some of the cops thought it must have been some kind of animal. Maybe a bear. Something big, with claws, though nobody could say how a bear had gotten to the middle of Lakeside Village without being seen.”
Next to her, Ridge stiffened and shot Lance a significant glance.
“Mom and I knew they were wrong. It had to be Jimmy Chosen, especially since it turned out there was no Jimmy Chosen anywhere in town. Not enrolled at the college, not anywhere. And he was never caught.” She stirred her coffee slowly. “Ever since then, we’ve tried to deal. I started taking martial arts, became something of a jock in school. Ran track, played basketball, the whole bit. Momma tried to hold it together for my sake, struggled with periodic bouts of depression.”
“But it got worse.” Ridge rested a hand on her knee, a silent offer of support.
Kat nodded. “When I left home at twenty-one, determined to become a cop, Mom attempted suicide the first time. She was convinced I was going to end up like Karen. So I gave up the cop idea and moved back home. Got a job at the fitness center I worked out at. Spent the rest of my time trying to make sure Mom kept taking her meds.”
“And then Grace showed up.” Lancelot picked up one of the coffee cups and started adding cream and sugar, his movements as mechanical as her own.
“I had hoped that by gaining the Gift—by becoming a witch—I could find Karen’s killer and finally get some justice. Lay Mom’s ghosts to rest.” Kat’s fingers stole to the heart locket.
Ridge nodded at it. “That’s hers, isn’t it? Karen’s?”
“She was wearing it when . . . I hoped I could use it to home in on him. The killer. But Mom—she’s never liked me getting out of her sight, particularly not with a man. I thought she’d know I was safe with you, especially after Grace worked her magic. But apparently her old demons got the better of her.”
A long silence trailed by, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator.
he’s stable.”
“S Kat looked up. Grace smiled at her from the door to the living room. She looked drained, pale. “I’ve saved her life, repaired the worst of the damage to her body. But her brain . . . She’s very, very ill.” The woman dropped into the chair next to her husband. “She’s been suffering for years. It’s going to take a lot of neurochemical work, plus some very delicate repairs of all that burned-in psychic trauma. All beyond my skill. I’ve made arrangements to gate her to the Healing Clinic.”
“Good.” Lancelot gave Kat a reassuring smile. “They’ll be able to help your mother there.”
Kat frowned. “Healing Clinic?”
“The Magekind can heal most physical injuries, but sometimes we—or our mortal relatives—need outside help,” Grace explained. “There’s very little the clinic’s healers can’t do something about.”
“Good,” Kat said grimly. “My mother needs all the help she can get.”
SEVEN
When the four trooped back upstairs, they found Mary still deeply asleep, though Grace assured Kat it was no longer the unhealthy coma they’d found her in.
Grace conjured another gate, and Lancelot carried Mary through it, directly into the room his wife had arranged at the clinic.
It was reassuringly pleasant, Kat decided, glancing around as she helped tuck her mother into bed. The furniture was homey rather than the kind of stark, utilitarian setup one would find in a regular clinic. The blond wood of the bed, nightstand, and dresser was engraved with twining vines and flowers, and the thick quilt appeared handmade.
Her attention fell uneasily on a pretty ceramic pitcher and matching mug on the bedside table. Both were painted with elegant pink roses. “You may want to take those out of here,” Kat told the woman Grace had identified as the healer on duty. “The mood she’s in now, she might try to break one and use the shards on herself.”
The healer, a slender redhead, gave her a steady, sympathetic look. “You couldn’t break either of those with a sledgehammer. Don’t worry, dear. We’ll take good care of your mother.”
“When will she wake up?”
“We’ll keep her asleep until Petra, the spiritual healer, arrives in the morning. They’ll begin work then. We’ll call you when she’s recovered.”
Kat frowned. “Shouldn’t I be there when she wakes? Mom won’t know where she is.”
“She won’t be afraid, Kat. Petra is very good with this kind of case.”
“She is,” Lancelot put in. “Petra helped my daughter-in-law Caroline deal with the aftereffects of the Dragon War.” He grimaced. “Post-traumatic stress from the final battle has kept all our healers busy.”
“Yeah,” Ridge agreed. “I’ve been meaning to see Petra myself.”
Well, that was a pretty solid recommendation. “So when will I be able to see my mother?”
The healer shrugged. “I can’t say for sure, since I’m not a psyche specialist. But given her condition, I’d say at least a week.”
“By then, Petra will have her healthier than she’s been since Karen died,” Grace told Kat kindly. “She’ll feel as if she’s been reborn.”
Kat stared in astonishment. “In one week?” God, what if they’d been able to get this kind of help fifteen years ago? How much pain could have been avoided? For that matter, what about all the other mentally ill people on Earth? What about all the sick and dying, the starving, the victims of war and genocide? “Well, aren’t we fortunate,” she said, then winced at the bitterness in her own voice. She sounded like an ungrateful bitch. “I’m sorry. Thank you so much for everything you’re doing for my mother. I’m very grateful, and I know she will be.”
The healer waved the thanks away. “Think nothing of it, dear.” She studied Kat a moment, her gaze penetrating. “When was the last time you ate? You look a little pale.”
“Ah.” Kat frowned, trying to remember. “I had dinner around five P.M.”
“It’s almost three in the morning now. You should get something.”
“I’ll take care of her.” Ridge rested a strong hand on her shoulder. She gave him yet another tired smile. Seemed she’d been doing that a lot tonight, probably because he’d been beside her for every step of this ordeal.
Something to think about, there.
“Sounds good.” The healer touched Kat on the shoulder. “Try to get some rest. You’ve had a rough night.”
She nodded mutely and followed the others out of the room as the healer bustled off to check on another patient.
&nbs
p; Together, Kat, Ridge, Grace, and Lancelot walked down the hall to a reception area. Comfortable armchairs clustered around a crackling fireplace trimmed with pine boughs and Christmas lights.
Lance opened the gleaming front door, and the four exited to descend a set of stone steps to the cobblestone street beyond.
The sky was still dark, but streetlamps shed pools of warm, bright light. The air felt cold and sharp against Kat’s face, and snowflakes danced and fluttered through the shafts of light.
“I am sorry,” Lancelot said roughly, turning to face Kat, shoulders drawing back under her gaze. “I wish I had known your mother had gotten pregnant.”
“But you did find us eventually.” Kat eyed him, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “So it wasn’t impossible, if you’d bothered to check. Which might have been the logical thing to do, considering you hadn’t worn a condom.”
“We don’t,” Lancelot said, the words clipped. “The Gift is genetic. Unmarried knights”—he slanted a glance at his wife—“are expected to father children whenever possible. Sexually transmitted diseases aren’t a problem for us, so . . . ”
She stiffened, stared. “You got my mother pregnant on purpose?”
“I didn’t know whether she was fertile, or if she’d made arrangements of her own.” He sighed. “I know that sounds callous.”
“It is callous—Dad.” Kat rocked forward on her toes and glared up into his eyes. “Regardless of all the other shit that happened, you gave her another mouth to feed and did absolutely nothing to help support me.”
Lancelot met her furious gaze without flinching, though a flush spread across his high cheekbones. “Yes, I got her pregnant. And no, I made no effort to find out if she needed help. I can’t change that, but I would if I could. And I will do everything in my power to make it right.”
Yeah, right, Kat thought bitterly.
Lancelot pulled a thick gold signet ring off his finger. “I asked Grace to prepare this for you. If you need me, say my name, and it will bring me to you. At any time.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “And yes, I know it would have been nice to have it fifteen years ago.”
In her anger, Kat wanted to snarl something dramatic and throw the ring in his face. But judging by the icy dignity in his eyes, he was expecting just that, so she gave him a slight, cold nod instead and accepted it. “Thank you.”
He gave her a courtier’s bow that looked automatic and completely natural, then reached for his wife’s hand. “We’ll see you later, Kat. Ridge.”
The four exchanged nods—Grace’s was a little cool—then turned and went their separate ways.
Silence spun out between Ridge and Kat, filled only by the click of their heels on the cobblestones. “I don’t understand how she can just ignore what he does.” Her voice sounded clipped to her own ears, smoky with anger and frustration.
“Grace?” Ridge slanted her a look.
“Yeah. I mean, the man is a legendary seducer. He and Arthur’s wife . . . ”
“Legends often exaggerate. It really wasn’t that simple. Besides, Grace and Lance are Truebonded. Neither of them could cheat now even if they wanted to.”
“Truebonded?” She glanced over at him, curious.
“A deep magical union Magekind couples create. Truebonded partners can sense each other’s emotions, even thoughts. They can use the bond to reinforce one another’s powers magically. It’s the most profound kind of marriage two people can share.”
She frowned deeply, considering the idea. “Doesn’t sound like you’d have a lot of privacy.”
“I’m told you learn how and when to give each other space.”
Looking up into his handsome face, Kat found herself wondering what it would be like to share that kind of relationship with Ridge.
It sounded . . . intriguing.
at leaned against the gleaming stone countertop in Ridge’s kitchen, sipped her wine, and watched him chop salad vegetables with impressive skill.
For a man who didn’t eat, he certainly seemed to know his way around a kitchen. The mouthwatering smell of cooking meat curled up from the oven, where a steak was currently on the broil.
“There’s something you need to know,” Ridge began as he tossed the salad. “It may make the situation with Lance a little more understandable. And besides, nobody needs to become a Maja without knowing this stuff.”
She studied him over the rim of her wineglass. The Riesling was delicately fruity and sweet. “And that would be?”
“Only about one in a hundred of our children can become Magekind without going insane,” Ridge told her bluntly. “And it’s not an insanity that we can treat. That’s why the Magi are under orders not to use protection when they have sex. We need every Latent we can get in order to have any chance of finding one who can survive the Gift.”
Kat’s eyes widened. “But that means—”
“We have to watch the vast majority of our children die of old age. Lance told me once that he’d lost fifty-two children and grandchildren that way, before he decided he could no longer stand to have any contact with his mortal offspring.”
“Fifty-two?” If the loss of one child had almost driven her mother insane, how had Lance tolerated watching child after child die?
“Then there’s the problem of raising mortal children in the Mageverse, among immortals who do magic without even thinking about it.” He turned toward the stove, opened the oven door, and reached in with a pair of tongs to turn the steak. “The results are often not particularly positive for the child.”
“How?” Kat frowned, chilled.
“Well, take Sir Bors’s son.” Closing the oven door again, Ridge turned to lean against the counter, muscles shifting as he crossed his arms. “He was so furious when he was denied the chance to become immortal that he became a follower of a magical demon. He attempted to sacrifice Arthur in an act of death magic that would have destroyed us all. Luckily, Arthur and his knights got to him first.”
“My God.” Kat rubbed her hands over her face. “So you’re saying if I become a Maja, I won’t be able to risk children.”