Arcane Heart (Talents Book 2)

by Angela Knight

Jake snarled and tensed to spring…

  * * *

  Rage leaped high in his mind again like another gust of burning hurricane wind. He growled at the glowing tiger, knowing only that it had hurt him, tried to kill him. Was getting too close to her.

  “Jake!” the woman said, her low voice shaking with desperation. “Jake, please, don’t!”

  He knew that voice. Knew it mattered. The fury that had ripped through the cat’s consciousness faded a little before the knowledge that she needed him. Almost enough to let him remember who she was. Who he was…

  He stared at the slim, straight figure kneeling in the grass, her head lowered in submission. Slowly, she lifted one delicate hand, and he tensed, a warning growl vibrating through his manifestation.

  She lifted her head. Dark eyes met his, deep and warm. And he knew her. It’s her… It’s… The thought spun away into confusion as he struggled to remember.

  A cool breeze blew into his face, carrying her scent -- rich, female. Familiar. He took a step closer, drinking in the taste of her on the wind. The rage that had bathed his consciousness in flame cooled again as he stared into those fathomless eyes. Stepped closer to that delicate, trembling hand. Drew in a deep breath.

  Tasted fear. He tensed, his hackles rising.

  “You’re not going to hurt me.” Despite the fear scent, her voice was steady. “You’re not Bobby. Your control is better than that. Stronger than that. You won’t hurt the people you love.” A current of air teased him with her scent as the fear bled from it.

  And he recognized her. Knew her. Almost knew her name…

  “Come back to me, Jake. Come back.”

  He edged closer until his glowing nose touched those long fingers. They no longer shook.

  “I love you, Jake.” The words were low, clear. “Feel me. Know me. The way I know you.”

  Magic. Her magic. Rolling across his mind like a cool rain pouring over desert sand. His breathing slowed as her power danced along his. Calling him.

  He wanted her. He didn’t know why, but he knew that. Knew she was his. Knew he needed her. Had to have her.

  “Erica…” The word rumbled, deep, hoarse. Yes. Erica. It’s Erica. Memory bloomed through him -- the touch of her hand, silken on his skin, the intimate scent that lay behind one lovely ear, the taste of her nipples on his tongue, the salt and sex of her pussy…

  “Yes,” she breathed, exquisite eyes staring into his. “Jake. Jake, I love you. Come back to me. Please. I can’t make it without you.” Her voice vibrated with a note of pain that shook him to his core. “You’re the best part of me.”

  Clarence moaned, a deep note of distress. Yes, Jake thought. She needs us.

  He released his manifestation. The glowing shell vanished, leaving the man kneeling before his kneeling lover.

  And Jake had his first sane thought since he’d leaped into the kidnapper’s magic circle. What the fuck had just happened?

  The last thing he remembered was his mother, curled in a terrified ball at his feet as he fought his horrifying thirst for her blood.

  Oh, Jesus, what did I do? He stared at Erica as she knelt before him. Proud, strong Erica, who never submitted to anyone. “What… what happened? Did I hurt you?” Jake rose, caught her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet. Frantically, he scanned her body, breathed deep of her scent, searching for blood. But all she smelled of was… joy.

  And relief, the kind of relief you feel when you almost die -- and don’t.

  A brilliant smile burst across her face like sunlight escaping storm clouds. “You didn’t hurt me.” She laid a trembling hand on his cheek. The love in her eyes shook him to his heart. “You’d never hurt me.”

  “Good. Good. Oh, God, I love you!” Jake threw both arms around her, knowing only that he had to kiss her, had to anchor his consciousness in that hot, soft mouth. His mouth took hers, and to his inexpressible relief, she kissed him back, hot and frantic. As wild relief surged through him, he was distantly aware of the sound of applause and whistles from the watching audience of cops.

  “Thank you, Jesus!” From the corner of one eye, he saw Kurt grab Genevieve and kiss her with the same desperate hunger he felt for Erica.

  Where the hell had they come from?

  Erica pulled back just enough to laugh softly against his mouth. “We’re never going to live this down.”

  “I don’t care,” he gasped, and kissed her again.

  * * *

  Sergeant Roger Johnson knelt and put two fingers against the kidnapper’s carotid artery. His pulse was a little fast, and his head still bled sluggishly, but he didn’t move. Studying the black suit the terrorist wore, Roger realized it was made of Kevlar. I’ll have to shoot him in the head. He swallowed, feeling sick.

  “Fuck,” Clary snarled in disgust, lifting his weapon. All of them had their guns drawn. “He’s still alive.” His lips twitched, and his eyes glittered with a nasty light. “We’ve got to do something about that.”

  Roger stood and took a step back. In the distance, he heard the sound of applause. “Sounds like the fight’s over. We can’t shoot him now. They’ll hear the shot.”

  Hampton toed something in the leaves at her feet. Glancing over, Roger saw a gun. “We can always tell everyone he was going for this.”

  “It’ll raise questions.” His mouth was painfully dry, and he licked his lips.

  Clary laughed. “Nobody will ask shit. And if they do, Virginia will get the investigation quashed.”

  He was probably right. Roger looked down at the man’s body and his stomach lurched. It would be cold-blooded murder. He’d done a lot of things he shouldn’t have over the years, but he’d never killed a man. Especially not a helpless, unconscious man.

  I used to be a good cop.

  He remembered the day he’d talked a suicidal domestic abuser into releasing the man’s wife and children unharmed. Remembered the day he’d graduated from the South Carolina Criminal Justice Academy, and seeing the pride on the faces of his wife and parents. Remembered the people he’d helped over thirty years as a cop -- the men and women and children he’d defended, the lives he’d saved. How had it come to this?

  But he knew the answer to that. I gave up my soul one tiny piece at a time. For fear and rage and hate.

  “No.” Roger holstered his weapon.

  Clary stared at him, incredulous. “Are you out of your mind? I’m not going to jail. Look, if you don’t want to do it…” He pointed his Glock at the man.

  Roger reached up and activated his body cam, making sure they saw him do it. “One thing you may not know about body cams. They run all the time, they just don’t save. But when you hit the button, it saves everything, including from thirty seconds before you activated it.”

  “Fuck. You. We’ll smash it.” His face contorting with rage, Martin took a step toward him, aiming his pistol at Roger’s head.

  “Go ahead. I really don’t give a fuck.” Roger half-hoped the bastard would do it. It would save him going to jail.

  Green stepped up behind Martin and shoved his gun against the back of the psycho’s head. “Yeah, no.”

  Martin froze, his eyes widening in astonishment.

  Hampton stared at Green in blank shock. “Tom, what the fuck are you doing?”

  “I’ll tell you what I’m not doing -- I’m not going to be an accessory to another cop’s murder. This is fucking bad enough as it is. I should never have listened to you to begin with,” he told her bitterly. “You’re worse than the fucking Talents.”

  Well, damn it. Hell of a time for him to grow a spine. Roger’s shoulders slumped, and he reached for the handset of his radio. “Sheriff, we’ve got a problem.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jake stood beside Erica, watching an EMT check his mother’s pulse. They’d found Diane sitting on the hillside not far from Johnson and his henchman, still a little dazed from one too many blows to the head and whatever drug the kidnapper had used to carry her off.

 
; He could hear Gable’s deep voice reading the sergeant his rights. It was a good thing the five assholes hadn’t seen his mother, concealed as she’d been by the huge, flowered mound of an azalea bush. They’d probably have killed her.

  “… If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?” Gable finished as he handcuffed Johnson, his expression grim.

  “Yeah.” The man looked haunted, defeated. Hampton, Clary, Green, and Martin were already in cuffs, their expressions variously sullen, dazed, resigned, or enraged.

  Jake was a little surprised he wasn’t in cuffs himself, but when he’d asked if he was under arrest, Gable snorted. “Don’t be an idiot. That damned Arcanist set the whole thing up to sucker you into that trap. The only thing I’m pissed about is you fell for it, but I guess if somebody’d been pistol-whipping my mother, I’d have done the same.” He’d shaken his head. “That dickhead’s lucky I don’t put him under the jail.”

  Another EMT was checking the kidnapper’s head wound. The man was conscious and surprisingly alert. Apparently he’d come to just before Johnson and his pals found him but decided to play possum. Smart move.

  Nearby, a crime scene tech was busy photographing the spell circle, revealed by the Luminol she’d sprayed on the stone outcrop.

  “I underestimated you.”

  Surprised, Jake looked around, realizing the Arc fucker was talking to him. His immediate impulse was to tell him where to go, but far be it for Jake to dissuade a dickhead from incriminating himself. “How so?”

  “Never worked with a Feral big cat, just Virgil Ford. Didn’t know you bastards could jump like that. I expected you to run up the hillside and around.”

  “Bastard,” Diane growled, her voice reverberating with a distinctly canine note that came straight from her dogs.

  Jake shot a questioning glance at Gable, who gave him a watchful nod. “What exactly were you trying to accomplish?”

  “What I was hired to do. Frame the fuck out of you.” He snorted, then winced as if his head hurt. Given the head wound, it probably did. “I thought I was so damned smart, hitting you with the same kind of spell the Caliphuckers used on that brother of yours.”

  “You knew about that?”

  The man shot him an offended look. “I do my research. Thought I’d pay you back for the Fords.”

  Gable spoke up, his gaze cool and suspicious. “You’re being awfully damned chatty all the sudden.”

  “Because my employer double-crossed me.” A note of outrage colored his voice as he nodded at the handcuffed cops. “Sent her goon squad there to shut me up. You don’t do that to a professional. I wouldn’t have talked -- but I damn sure will now.” His lips stretched into a smile with something vicious around the edges. “What she didn’t know is I keep Pearl Harbor files on all my clients.”

  “What now?” Diane murmured, confused.

  “A file that government workers keep in case they’re betrayed by their superiors,” Erica explained. “Takes its name from the attack on Pearl Harbor, and the admiral who got the blame.”

  “Exactly,” the Arc said in grim satisfaction. “In my case, betrayal means somebody tries to have me killed. Or thinks they can leave me to face a capital magical murder charge while they skate free. Yeah, not happening.” He turned to eye the sheriff, jerking his chin toward the pile of personal effects they’d already put in evidence bags. “If you’ll uncuff me and hand me my cell phone…”

  Gable studied him coldly. “Why?”

  “Because I want to show you a sample of what I’ve got to trade the prosecution. Or rather, who I’ve got to trade the prosecution.” His lips tightened. “And not even the FBI can crack the security on that phone without my help.”

  Gable turned to Erica. “Is it safe?”

  She hesitated, then nodded slowly, her gaze on the phone. “I don’t see any spells on it. It’s probably okay.”

  The sheriff nodded. “Uncuff him.”

  Jake’s fists clenched, but he didn’t object as she moved behind the Arc, pulled the key from her belt, and unlocked his cuffs, though she left one bracelet attached to a wrist.

  At a word from Gable, the crime scene investigator put on a fresh pair of Nitrile gloves, opened the evidence bag, and handed him the phone.

  The Arc thumbed the screen until an audio file began to play. “Fleming?” The voice sounded familiar, but Jake couldn’t quite place it. “We’ve got another client for you. Virginia Laurel. She’s a member of the South Carolina House. Needs a little help running for governor.”

  Gable’s eyes widened. “Is that…”

  The Arcanist smirked. “President Roth’s chief of staff.”

  Holy shit.

  * * *

  All Jake wanted was to go home, but they’d promised Gen and Kurt they’d drop by to brief them. Dave met them at the front door of Kurt’s house. “I told you that you should take me with you.”

  Erica gave him a look through eyes squeezed to slits of pain. She looked as if she was going to collapse any minute. She’d managed to keep it together through most of the day, but by the end of their shift, only willpower was keeping her on her feet. Jake had no idea how she’d kept going this long. He was running on fumes himself. “Dave, the sheriff didn’t let the protesters put sticks on their signs. He sure as hell wouldn’t have let the Talents bring six hundred pounds of fangs and claws.”

  “And how did that work out for him?” A glowing arm emerged from Dave’s shoulder and pointed at Jake. “At least I could’ve helped distract the Lion King. But nonooooo. I was stuck at home watching the whole thing live on CNN.” His voice dropped to a pissed-off growl. “And having a heart attack.”

  Jake winced. He was going catch shit about this for years. Still, given that the alternative was no one being alive to give him shit, he’d catch it with a smile.

  Genevieve emerged from the kitchen, followed by her husband. Unlike Jake and Erica, the Briggs had been allowed to go home after their own question and answer session. Hours ago.

  Jake and Erica had faced a lot more paperwork, not to mention a couple of Arcanist FBI agents who hadn’t been in the least amused by the situation. Waiting for those two to show up had been one of the reasons they’d been so late getting to BFS.

  “You look like hell,” Gen told Erica. “You desperately need an hour in the circle.”

  “It could wait until tomorrow,” Erica said, sounding exhausted. “It’s past midnight and you guys have to feed the cats in the morning.”

  “We took a nap when we got home.” The look she gave her husband made it clear the nap had been about a lot more than sleep -- or even sex. “But if you don’t spend some time recharging, you’re going to feel like hell for days. Come on.” She caught Erica’s shoulder, turned her around, and pushed her gently back out the front door.

  “I thought the spell circle was in the backyard,” Jake said as the door shut behind the two Arcanists.

  “No, that’s the healing circle,” Kurt explained. “Gen created a new one in the memorial garden specifically designed to help her recover from working a lot of magic. She’s already used it once tonight.”

  “Come on,” Dave said. “I want a beer.”

  “Oh, God, so do I,” Jake said, meaning every word.

  As he led the way into the living room, Dave informed him, “By the way, video of your little catfight has been running on all the cable news stations all damn day.”

  “Terrific.” He could barely remember anything beyond blind, overwhelming fury, a desire to kill reinforced by Adrian Fleming’s magic and Clarence’s rage. Jake’s anger had fed the cat’s in turn, creating a kind of murderous emotional feedback. He felt sick just imagining what he could have done. Even his mother had had a close call at his paws.

  Luckily, Mom was tough. The EMTs had given her a clean bill of health and let her go. From what he’d heard, she’d spent the hours since giving television interviews on the kidnapping, telling everybody who’
d listen that her son had been the victim of a terrorist spell.

  Jake realized Dave was studying him, something in the expression of his furry face giving an impression of compassion. “If it makes you feel any better, you and Erica are officially America’s sweethearts.”

  He blinked, thoroughly confused as he sank down on the couch. Kurt handed him a microbrew and he twisted off the cap. “Wait, what now?” He shook his head. “I mean, I get Erica -- she saved everybody’s ass.” He jerked a thumb at Kurt. “He’s definitely the hero of the piece. And neither of them would’ve been able to do any of it without Genevieve. I was the one who almost ate people.”

  “You’d think that, except an interesting piece of audio leaked to the media. It’s been playing on a loop, alternating with the Nat Geo special you and Kurt threw.” Dave headed to the coffee table where the remote sat next to an open laptop. He manifested a hand, scooped it up, and pointed it at the TV.

  The big wall screen flicked on. On one side of the split screen, a camera showed Virginia Laurel being perp-walked out of her mansion by Detective Grant Sawyer, her hands cuffed in front of her. The old woman’s face was so twisted in rage she looked crazed.

  The other side showed Humanist protesters, their faces contorted, kicking and swinging wildly at the cops, who fought back with batons, pepper spray and even Tasers. From what they’d told Gable’s people, none of the protestors had even felt their injuries until the Bards broke the spell.

  “It’s amazing we didn’t have more fatalities than we did.” Two protesters and a cop had died. The officer had been beaten to death, and the two protesters had been shot by deputies trying to get them off him. There had been more than a thousand injuries ranging from minor to critical.

  “You want to hear what’s really amazing? Listen to this,” Dave told him.

  Laurel’s recorded voice said, “We need to make it look as if the Talents cast the spell to make the protesters go berserk. I want those witches discredited.”

  “Actually, I’ve got an idea about that,” replied a voice Jake recognized as Adrian Fleming’s. “How’d you like the hero of Faraday Square to kill some people?”