by DB Reynolds
“But you can kill them, right? I mean, any of the ones already here?”
“I can, but they are far more vulnerable while the scrolls’ magic still binds them to the crossroads. And I am only one warrior.”
“But you have me. I can help.”
It was on his tongue to say she wasn’t up to this battle, but who was he to judge that? A warrior was more than big muscles and skill with a blade. A good warrior possessed courage and determination, a willingness to lay one’s life on the line for something, or someone, you believed in. When he’d fought side by side with Nico and his brothers, it hadn’t been because of his belief in some abstract idea. It had been his belief in Nico as his commander, and his brothers as fellow warriors. Good men whom he’d trusted at his back on the worst of days.
He considered everything Grace had said and done so far and thought maybe she was one such warrior. A good woman whom he could trust to cover his back.
“We are two against them, then,” he agreed. “Though I am the more knowledgeable when it comes to both magic and warfare, and you will listen to what I say.”
She snorted delicately. “I’ll listen.”
Kato smiled in the dark of the car, hearing the but implicit in her agreement. She’d listen, but she wouldn’t necessarily obey. But that was all right, too. A warrior needed the ability to adapt on the field.
And if she became too headstrong, he’d simply pick her up and put her where he wanted her to go.
“Will your parents be home?” he asked. He should have thought of that earlier. What would her parents think of this strange man she’d brought home with her?
“No, they’re travelling for a few weeks—I’m not sure exactly where right now. I’d have to check their itinerary. None of their staff live at this house, though. They’re all at the bigger house in Bel Air. And my brother’s away at college on the other side of the country. So, we’ll have this place all to ourselves.”
“How far to get there?” he asked, his attention already divided as the scrolls began demanding his attention once again.
“Twenty minutes.”
He nodded. “I’m going to begin working on a containment spell for the scrolls. If I don’t respond to your voice when we arrive, simply touch my arm.”
They’d stopped at a red light, and Grace glanced over with a worried look. “You’ll be okay, right? It’s not dangerous?”
There it was again. That sincere concern for his well-being. “I was born to do this,” he assured her. “There is no one better qualified.”
“That didn’t exactly answer my question, big guy. But okay. I’ll drive; you do your thing.”
Kato did a quick scan of their surroundings, and then closed his eyes and sank into the magic that was his birthright. The power of the desert—the searing heat of the summer sun, the roaring dragon of the winter sandstorms, and the Dark Witch who ruled it all.
It was agonizing work. His magic had never left him, but it had lain dormant within his stone prison, trapped as thoroughly as he himself had been, forced to watch the world fade and change. And then, finally breaking free only to discover himself in a new reality where the fabric of magic was as thin as the silks woven by the women of his village, and far more rare.
His first instinct, when he began his work on the containment spell, was to reach out to the surrounding ether, to nourish himself on the magic of this world, but there was too little to draw from. So he stoked the furnace of his own dark energy instead, the embers at his core that had been banked during his long imprisonment, but had never died.
At some point, he was aware of the car stopping once, and then again, before Grace’s hand rested on his shoulder. His awareness rose back to the material world, and he gave her a silent glance before turning his head slowly to examine his surroundings. They were in the forecourt of a house with no windows. He frowned and opened the car door to the briny scent of the ocean, heavy in the damp air, with the sound of the waves a steady rhythm in the background. An iron gate clanged shut behind him as he stepped out of the car, and in front of him. . . . He frowned and looked up at a wall of pale stone, its single wooden door illuminated by unseen security lamps. Not a house with no windows, but. . . . “A curtain wall,” he commented out loud. It was the first such barrier that he’d seen in this world.
Grace glanced over at his words, turned to study the wall, and then looked back at him with a big smile. “I guess it is, sort of. It blocks the traffic noise from the highway, and keeps passersby from looking in. Come on.” She walked over to the brightly painted door and entered a number on the keypad built into the wall. The door slipped open a bare inch on silent hinges, and she pushed inward, waiting until he’d joined her in the small yard beyond before shutting the door to the sound of bolts sliding home. He didn’t know how these new locks worked, but he already knew the sounds associated with them.
He started down the flagstone path in Grace’s wake, but drew to a halt at the sight of the house before him. It wasn’t big by the standards of his time, when the residences of powerful men, like Nico and his father, were built to accommodate not only their own extended families, but those of their courtiers, along with a large number of staff. This house would never sleep that number, but compared to others that he’d seen since his awakening, it was still larger than most. What struck him, however, was an open design that said people lived and loved behind its walls.
“You were raised here?”
Grace nodded. “Among other places, but this was always my favorite. Come on.” She took his hand and led him down a well-lit path to the front door, where she entered another numeric code on yet another keypad. This door was as much glass as wood, but it seemed sturdy enough, with the heavy glass neatly seated and sealed. Grace pulled him inside and locked the door behind them, then tugged him straight through to the opposite side of the house. He could hear the ocean getting louder as they walked, but he was still stunned by the beauty that waited for them just outside a wide glass door on the back of the house.
He walked over and slid open the glass door, just like the one in Grace’s condo. The ocean was restless tonight, the thundering waves almost unseen, but for the white gleam of moonlight on their frothy tips before they crashed against the sand.
“I was raised in the desert,” he said quietly to Grace, where she stood next to him on the wooden balcony. “The first time I saw the sea, I thought it was a manifestation of Nico’s sorcery. So much water in one place, what else could it be but magic?” He smiled, remembering. “But this—” he lifted his chin at the expanse of water before him, “—it has so much power, such fierce passion.”
It was a passion that spoke to his soul, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. He didn’t want her to know about the violence that made up the very core of his existence. His fingers tightened on the wooden rail until he could feel splinters digging into his palms deep enough that blood slicked his skin against the wood.
“Can I ask you a question?”
He glanced at her in surprise. “Of course.”
“How do you know you’re on the same . . .” she grimaced uneasily, “. . . planet as where you lived? Do you understand what I—”
“I know of planets, Grace,” he said softly. Unlike her other doubts about him, he understood that this was not an attempt to insult his knowledge or intelligence. Many people in his time had known nothing of the night sky and what might live beyond their own earth. But he knew everything the Dark Witch knew, and her knowledge of such things was vast.
“Of course you do.” She blushed unhappily, but the embarrassment didn’t stop her from pursuing an answer to her question. “So how do you know this is the same planet as the one you lived on?”
Grace’s thirst for knowledge was not unlike that of the Dark Witch. The difference was in what knowledge they sought . . . and why.
“The moon as it travels through the heavens, the placement of the stars . . . they’re all up there where they belong.” He
pointed at a familiar grouping. “I’ve travelled great distances using these same stars to guide me.”
“So there’s a chance that your brothers—”
“Are here somewhere, too,” he finished the thought for her. “I’m sure of it.” And he was. Unfortunately, this was a huge world for one man to search alone, and knowing his brothers were in this world didn’t mean they were in this time. And it didn’t mean he’d be able to find them. Though he’d never stop searching.
One thing was certain. Standing there, staring at the ocean and the night sky, was getting him no closer.
“I need somewhere to work,” he said without looking at her. “Somewhere private.”
Grace smoothed her hand over one of his where it gripped the railing, loosening his hold. She must have noticed the blood on his skin, or on the wood, but she said nothing. And neither did he. There was nothing to say. He was what the Dark Witch had made him.
“You can work in my mom’s office. It’s right over the water. You’ll like it.”
He nodded, and as he turned to go back into the house, Grace slid her fingers into his. He looked down at their linked hands, and then back up to meet her pale eyes. She held his gaze for a moment, then went up on her toes and kissed his mouth.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The kiss was a bare brush of her lips against his, her words a warm breath in his mouth. He doubted she understood what she was doing with all of these touches, the turmoil they were stirring in his deepest soul. How could she? How could one comprehend what existence was like within a stone prison? He hadn’t been touched in millennia, and suddenly there was Grace with her soft hands and softer lips. And so much else: the sights and scents of this place, the technology that was so foreign and yet appealed to the warrior tactician inside of him, the killer who saw benefit in so much of this place.
He sighed. “I need to work, Grace.”
An almost sad look crossed her face for a moment, before she smiled. “Come on. I’ll show you the office, and then I’ll put some food together.”
Kato watched her go, but then felt a tug and looked down. She was still holding his hand.
GRACE RACED UP the stairs. She visited her parents often enough at this house that her bedroom was intact, with plenty of clothes in the closet. She changed into a pair of lightweight drawstring pants that hung low on her hips, exposing the silver ring in her belly button. That piercing drove her parents nuts, which was why she had plenty of low-rider pants here at the beach house. She grinned as she switched out her tight sports bra and tank top for a short, comfortable T-shirt, then zipped a hoodie over it all to cover up the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her breasts weren’t huge, but they were big enough that she needed a bra to be presentable.
She wondered if Kato would notice, and then she blushed, remembering how she’d kissed him, and his reaction. Or rather, his lack of reaction. She didn’t know why she’d kissed him exactly. He’d just been so sad earlier, when he’d talked about his warrior brothers and that Nico guy. And she’d wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone. He’d done nothing but protect her since he’d broken free of that statue, and her thanks had seemed a pitifully small reward. But he’d seemed so lost in that moment, standing there with the ocean spray misting his sharp cheekbones and golden skin. So in need of a simple human touch.
So she’d kissed him. And in the next breath, she’d scolded herself for being stupid. He didn’t need her reassurances or her kisses. What he needed was her help in undoing the damage she’d done, albeit unknowingly.
She’d left him sitting at her mom’s desk, the three scrolls, and the copies she’d made of each, spread out in front of him. He’d asked her to clear everything else off the desktop, and he’d seemed deeply satisfied to discover that the desk itself was made of good, solid wood, muttering something about magical resonance or bouncing energy. She hadn’t understood half of what he’d said. I mean, come on, he was talking about magic.
It all sounded fantastic and unbelievable, but how else could she explain everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours? And now he was insisting that she had some magic inside of her, too, and that’s why her copying of the scrolls had produced such disastrous results. She was going to have a talk with her parents when this was all over. That damn magic had to come from somewhere. Someone in her family tree was a golden apple pretending to be an ordinary pear.
She smiled. “I like that,” she said to herself. “A golden apple.” On a whim, she went to the fridge and found half a dozen apples. They were red, not gold. But the symbolism was there. She sliced a couple and added them to the rather attractive cold cuts and cheese plate she’d assembled for Kato. Her mystery man. Where he’d come from wasn’t much of a mystery, though. She had a pretty good idea of that. Someplace in ye olde mists of time and all that. But the place didn’t matter as much as the person. He’d been a warrior, with this guy Nico as his leader. That much was obvious. He was still a warrior, after all. But there was something about his childhood that he wasn’t telling her. It hadn’t been warm and fuzzy, she was sure about that. There was more she didn’t know, but she wasn’t worried. She’d get him to talk. She was good at that.
She put the plate on a tray, along with some rolls she’d defrosted and warmed up, then added a beer and some bottled water. She debated introducing him to Diet Coke, but decided that might be too much. The beer was a long shot, too. It was good beer, something imported that her dad liked, but still probably much lighter than what he was used to. Adding a knife and fork, salt and pepper, she started for the office. A glance at the clock told her he’d been working nonstop for more than two hours. It was definitely time for a break.
The office door was pulled tight, but not closed, so she bumped it with her hip and backed into the office, both hands busy with the tray. Kato didn’t look up when she entered, though she was sure he’d heard her come in. He noticed everything, and she hadn’t exactly been stealthy. She took a moment to admire the sheer breadth of his shoulders beneath the T-shirt, the material thinner where it stretched to accommodate the smooth muscles of his back. He’d freed his hair from the tight queue that had made it look barely long enough to touch his collar. It hung loose and shiny down his back now, the black strands soaking in the light from her mother’s floor lamp.
She set the tray down on the credenza, but he still hadn’t moved. At all. Frowning, she walked over and touched his shoulder. Nothing.
“Kato?” She heard the panic in her own voice, and tried to rein it in. “Kato,” she said more firmly, and ran her hand down his shoulder, to his arm, and finally to the hand that was lying clenched on top of one of the original scrolls. Grabbing his hand, she squeezed it hard, then lifted it up and shoved the scroll away.
He shuddered, a hard jerking of his entire body, and then in the next moment, he was spinning around on the chair, grabbing her, trapping both of her hands in one of his, while the other twisted in her hair and yanked her head back as she sprawled across his lap.
“Kato!” She practically shrieked his name, but she was freaked the fuck out. His eyes weren’t brown anymore, they were black with a weird red halo, and she was pretty sure he wasn’t seeing her or anything else in this room. Or this world.
His grip on her hair tightened painfully, his hold on her hands so hard that her fingers were grinding against each other. And then, suddenly, he let go.
“Grace?” He frowned down at her, as if wondering how the hell she’d come to be lying across his lap. He released her hands and pulled her upright with one arm wrapped around her waist. His grip on her hair loosened, his hand soothing as it stroked down her back. “Are you all right?” he asked, snugging her against his chest, as she began to tremble. “Did I hurt you?”
There was such anxiety in that question, such anguish, that she couldn’t tell him the truth. Yes, he’d hurt her, but not that much. Not enough to make him hurt in return, not when he hadn’t meant to do it. She’d been scar
ed more than anything.
She shook her head and let herself lean into his strength. “I’m okay,” she said, swallowing against the raspy sound of her own voice. “I’m okay,” she repeated more strongly. “Just startled.”
“I should have warned you,” he said, regret heavy in his voice. “When I work with the magic . . . I’m not here.”
Grace swallowed again, but with worry this time. “Where were you? Where do you go?”
“It’s difficult to explain.” He was rocking her gently, his arms, which had imprisoned her so tightly, were still banded around her, but they felt like protection now, like safety. “It’s not where I go, it’s more what I become. You have to understand . . .” He grimaced, as if making a decision. “I was born to serve the Dark Witch.”
“Serve? You mean, like a slave or—”
“No, not like that,” he said quickly. “I was born of her body, her only son, but my creation was the product of powerful magic. I never even knew the male who helped create me. It didn’t matter who he was. He didn’t matter. I was a vessel.”
“What did you do for her?” Grace was appalled to feel tears filling her eyes. It had to be the adrenaline crash making her weepy. Or maybe it was her very vivid imagination painting the image of what his life must have been like. Not a child, but a thing whose father was nothing more than spurt of genetic material.
“I am magic made flesh. Dark, powerful magic. I was a well for the Dark Witch, a reservoir that she drew upon at will, thus amplifying her own power tremendously. I was her greatest work—a living, breathing magical supply, constantly refreshing itself with no effort from her, no drain on her energy. I wasn’t raised as the other children were. There was no schooling, no reading or writing. I was taught what I needed to serve and protect her, nothing more.”
He stiffened as the words of that admission left his lips, and Grace abruptly understood something very important, something that explained so much. He’d never been taught to read. But. . . . She frowned. “But you can read these scrolls.”