by S. E. Akers
Silas yielded a facetious shudder. “I might be a touch more intimidated if your hand was holding something other than that particular weapon.”
I shoved the arrow back into the quiver and turned from his stare.
“But then again . . .” Silas interjected dramatically, “I believe Maria was granted her stone after Adamas’ abrupt departure. So, it would naturally stand to reason that she doesn’t have a charged diamond of her very own,” he submitted. “The power the iolite affords her in imagination and skill alone surpasses every other artist and thinker, living or dead. You never know? Her obsession with being the pinnacle of creative excellence might be too irresistible of an offer for even her stubbornness to resist.” Silas exuded a critically amused smile. “After all, it wouldn’t be the first time vanity has done someone in.”
“I doubt I’ll ever get the chance to find out,” I grumbled. “I’m only brought out for entertainment at dinner parties.”
Silas bit back his grin. “Maria has an art gallery in Boston. Maybe on your next trip into town you can look her up and see for yourself,” Silas suggested. “Though she’s not overly fond of witches, so make sure you go alone.”
I sharpened my glare. Ass.
“And speaking of the second-class citizens of the supernatural world, what sort of mischief did you and your little friend get into while on holiday? Build any bonfires? Attend any séances? Maybe fire-off a hex or two?”
I sweetened my smile to fight off a vile sneer. “Not yet,” I cooed. “But you’ll be the first to know if I ever do.”
“Oh, I’ll be sure to keep an eye out,” he winked, amused. “An evil one at that.”
My arms fell to my sides, exhausted. “Is there anything else you want?”
“Why yes,” Silas replied and started his approach. The house steward reached inside his pocket and pulled out his hand just as quickly. Something dropped from his grasp when he raised his arm. The gleam striking one of the crystal’s facets captured my gaze just as swift as my breaths came to a halt.
“Professor Grey asked me to return this to you. It seems your sentence isn’t up yet.”
He dropped it in my palm no sooner than I opened my hand. I stared at his soul-bearing crystal for a moment, long enough to feel the power of its hold over me. Then with the alarm of a scalding hot pot, I laid it down on a nearby case.
Even with my back turned, I felt Silas’ eyes pricking my skin. “You’re not going to put it on?”
I didn’t cast the slightest glance his way. “When I’m finished,” I shrugged, pretending I was too concerned with the recurve bow I’d removed from the rack.
“Very well,” Silas said and started towards the door.
“Thank you for drugging Ty,” I hollered. “Kiera told me she called to him.” I turned to the house steward, needing him to see the gratitude in my eyes. What I saw in his was surprising. The cocky old coot’s stare seemed to be boasting more sensitivity than impassiveness for a change.
“It truly is a pity when one is ruled by their emotions,” Silas remarked. “That creature was the epitome of how destructive they can be.”
I watched him exit the room while his words lingered in my head. My gaze fell upon Tanner’s phantom crystal — the only part of his soul that rested within my reach. I picked it up and wrapped the chain around my left hand, allowing the crystal to lie where I could see it when I readied the bow. I pulled back on the string with a deep breath and lined up the tip of my arrow with the target. My left eye flickered when I caught a glimpse of its glowing core. Then I released my shot as soon as I felt the spike firing within my gut. I stared at the target somberly. The arrowhead couldn’t have pierced the bull’s-eye more perfectly. I lowered my bow and lifted my hand. The longer my eyes remained locked on the crystal, the more I could feel a foulness festering inside me. Even if the succubus’ words had never come, seeing that arrow lodged dead center in the target was enough of a confirmation for me. Now was the time to abandon all of my fantasies for good, before any more of myself could wither away.
CHAPTER 19
If I’d learned anything over the past several days of intimate lessons with the charming professor, it was this one simple truth: no matter how resolute one’s intentions may be, achieving a successful ass-ectomy was pretty much a contortionist-worthy feat. It kind of made me wonder how I’d gotten the daggone thing lodged up there so far in first place. Whippiness and agility aside, I wasn’t that bendy.
So just like I would approach any other uphill battle, I needed to come up with a foolproof plan of attack. My first course of action was an old standby I’d used countless times in the past, specifically when avoiding Charlotte’s boozing warpaths — drowning myself in books to fill my idle time. My tried & true strategy, however, made Tanner all the more determined to snag my attention in the evenings. If he wasn’t physically down in the library with me, he was closing the book I had propped in my hands and dragging me back upstairs, insisting that I needed a break. Sitting on the sofa to watch a movie with him proved problematic enough with his musky scent wafting a tantalizing trail to my nose and my peripherals firing every time his muscles flexed an inch, but then the moonlit walk he would always suggest shortly after had my head and my heart locked in a vicious knock-down, drag-out round of tug-of-war. I had to keep reminding myself that he could sense how I was feeling like a pile of rotting garbage. The visual did what it could. Unwinding with some games in the study wasn’t much better. Then again, maybe I would have felt more relaxed during our “friendly” matches if I’d actually come close to beating him just once at pool, or if our game of chess had lasted more than ten minutes, or if I’d won a single hand of cards. All the losses I’d racked up only served to magnify my failures with respect to the Amethyst Talisman’s feelings; I couldn’t score a straight flush of hearts, let alone the one sitting three feet across the table from me.
Seeing how that plan had backfired like a mother, I caved to the idea of giving meditation a whirl. But I didn’t ask Silas for any help. My pride routed me straight to the professionals on YouTube. I watched several videos, downloaded a couple of tracks from iTunes, lit some almond incense to set the mood, dimmed the lights, and then stretched out on the chaise in my bedroom. Regrettably, all of my attempts turned out to be a total bust. Though in my defense, trying to hush your mind when you’re lying on a cushy lounge chair with your eyes closed while listening to an enchanting voice murmuring over a loop of tranquilizing spa music wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Clearing one’s head of normal day-to-day worries was one thing, but I was pretty sure the troubles I’d amassed made my upstairs attic look like a hoarder had taken up residence. Most of the time I fell asleep way before the session was over. A thirty-minute track and I was out with a yawn in ten. Even when I didn’t doze off, all it did was send me rushing to the bathroom needing to pee — whether I really had to go or not.
I wasn’t surprised in the least to find my frustration steadily rising just as fast as the late-July temperatures sweltering outside. Fearing a rabid spike, I figured the best way to get a grip on my emotions was to channel all of my pent-up disappointments into my afternoon training sessions with Tanner. Basically “constructive violence” with set boundaries. And as much as I wanted our bouts to offer me some relief, all the added vigor behind my unsparing blows managed to accomplish was livening up the ardent warrior THAT MUCH MORE. Catching his eyes sparkle in the middle of our fights and seeing all the “extra enthusiasm” written all over his face made me want to sock that seductive smile slick off his jaw. I even had a few not-so-proud fantasies roll through my head that involved a collection of maces and ended with a pretty nasty spot on the floor. Hey — I was still human. Though on the plus side, at least there was something I brought to the table that seemed to turn a part of him on.
Thankfully the nagging essence of time breathing down my neck lent me the perfect solution: I had to pick a fight — something that would send him off to his corner, pouty and piss
ed. Out of sight, out of mind… Yeah, it was totally immature, but it was also my last resort. And what better catalyst than confessing everything about Katie wanting to play Broom-Hilda, her current coven-housing arrangements that I’d personally made right under his nose, and naming the person who happened to be in possession of the amethyst that held her parents’ memories? Oh, I was predicting a shit-storm of epic proportions before I even got to the Damiec part. Little did I know that fate would step in and hijack my scheme right out from under me. I didn’t have to breathe a word, nor raise the first pinky. And I wasn’t the instigator — HE WAS. It appeared my mentor didn’t like my newfound approach when tangling with creatures. “Gung-ho” was perfectly acceptable when it was strictly the two of us engaged in one of our bouts, but the level of badass bloodlust I displayed in the dungeons sent my mentor’s overprotective blood into a full-on boil. I, on the other hand, thought he was way out of line. I was finally holding my own with all of them, including the chimera, and he insisted on knocking them out because the “china doll” was getting too battered and bloody for his taste. It seemed I must have missed the lecture on the “Etiquette of Beatdowns” somewhere in the mix of studying stones and spell casting. Shame on me. He claimed I was being reckless, too impulsive, and that the frustration I was grappling with over my previous failed attempts had clouded my judgment. He even called out a couple of my blows as borderline-juvenile and to a certain extent tactically unfitting. Unfitting? Seriously? Yeah, maybe biting off one of the imp’s ears bumped with his “battle protocol” parameters a bit, but it was hardly childish or inappropriate. The damn thing had just sunk its fangs into my shoulder, and that pointy little appendage was shoved halfway inside my mouth already. So frankly, I couldn’t have cared less if he thought it was in bad-taste or not. Plus, I was fit to be tied knowing I’d run out of imp salve for my wounds. I needed something to make a fresh batch of my own. And I dared him to look me in the eyes and tell me that he wouldn’t have done the same. Dealing with his gruff criticisms was one thing, but all the chances I’d missed at banishing creatures because he’d ripped the rug right out from under me had steam shooting out of my ears. There were a couple of times that I knew I could have sent the imp packing. That is, if his layria bark trigger-happy hands hadn’t stepped in. Now that “death” had been taken out of the equation, I found it all too easy to slip into a mode of “ain’t got nothin’ to lose”. Call me crazy, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to be granted any round-ending “time-outs” when facing these beasts out in the real world. So why not start adopting that hardline approach now? He didn’t know about my six-month lease-on-life, and I wasn’t about to tell him either. However, I had a sneaky suspicion that someone else already knew. Maybe I did stay in harm’s way a little longer than necessary? What better way of testing out the shine of a shaman’s stone? But regardless of what Tanner thought with respect to my foolhardy tactics, I wasn’t stupid. I understood that “not dying” and “getting seriously injured” were two totally separate things. That alone made me cautiously size-up all of my strikes and maneuvers before I acted — twice, to be exact. I had two arms, two legs, and one fully functioning head I planned on keeping for every day of those death-proof six-months — BELIEVE ME.
So with both of us too blinded with frustration to see eye-to-eye on creature strategies, I finally scored enough breathing room to carry me through the next couple weeks. Never underestimate the power anger can have on distracting someone’s affections, specifically in regards to a control freak. And right now, making sure he stayed that way was the only life preserver my emotions had to cling to. My only regret was the pushback. The Amethyst Talisman’s casual & confident swagger was now eliciting far more impatience than conviction. Even the words he chose sounded more direct and struck a much sharper cord. The last thing I needed on top of my own bubbling frustrations was a mirror image of his staring back at me. Color me selfish, but this was my pissy pity-party, and I wanted the table’s only seat.
And worst of all, I didn’t like being mad at him any more than I liked feeling it coming the other way, especially when it all boiled down to my skills and judgment being in question. The possibility that I couldn’t stand on my own two feet without some kind of assistance proved a bitter pill to swallow, whether it came from him or a magical sedative. The grumblings of an imminent explosion were churning deep inside me, and I was starting to fear what I predicted would be a daggone mountain leveling “BOOM”.
Oh, it was coming…I could feel it.
Low and behold, Week Nine had officially arrived, and it couldn’t have kicked off with a bigger bang. I’d woken up meaner than a junkyard dog, and it had nothing to do with today being a Monday — the fabled worst of the weekdays.
Though it sure-as-shit didn’t help.
For starters, my mood soured as soon as I realized it was morning. And oddly enough, its foulness stemmed from the fact that the diamond hadn’t dragged me off to The Darklands — YET AGAIN. In fact, I hadn’t heard a peep out of it since my stabbing three weeks ago. So naturally I was left to believe that my own stone had forsaken me. Called it quits… Thrown in the towel… The only thing missing was a daggone Dear John letter on my pillow spelling it out. I couldn’t blame it either. I had two weeks left, and the dungeon was still only down one creature. The only glass looking full around here was the bottom bulb of my hourglass, and I knew the damn thing would be collecting even more sands as the days went on if things didn’t improve. I felt the choke of every gritty grain as they made their fateful slip through its narrow neck too, right along with the added suffocation from the weight of the ones up top that hadn’t fallen yet. So I needed the diamond to show me some attention—any interest—even if it was dropping me off into a wasteland of death where I may or may not make it back. I hadn’t made another dreamcatcher on purpose. I wanted to go willing and unprotected. I assumed it would jump at the chance to snatch me right up knowing I was defenseless, but it never made a difference. So yeah… I was feeling straight up abandoned. But that didn’t mean my slumber was without any torture. Far from it. My subconscious got plenty of twisted kicks by filling my sleepy-head with some downright insatiable dreams about Tanner… The same aggravating mentor who kept layria bark-blocking my attempts to exile creatures at every turn… And the very same guy I couldn’t seem to avoid the six-hours of the day that were supposed to serve as my safety net. I’d had a horrible time getting to sleep last night. I figured a little extra relaxation couldn’t hurt, so I went down to lie on the red jasper table for a while, craving its massage-like effects. Unfortunately for my tense emotions and tingling hormones, I walked in and found it already “in use”. Thank goodness he had a towel on. And the jolting sight of seeing all that steam rising around his powerful, glistening muscles must have dug into my subconscious with the clamp of a ravenous tick because that’s exactly the image my dreams had me revisiting later — every lust-filled second of them. But I was proud of myself at the time. My stare didn’t last longer than the time it took for me to grumble out my silent, Son-of-a-bitch. I immediately hurled his robe at him when he started to get up, shot out a speedy apology for my intrusion, and then ran like the blazes back up to my room. I scolded myself the entire way, vowing no more late night strolls from here on out. They proved far too dangerous all the way around. I couldn’t afford to lose all the mental progress I’d made, even if it did rival the stretch of a baby fly.
Then, no sooner than I’d rolled out of bed, I heard the winds picking up outside, howling out some pretty fierce cries — all the way down in a supposedly “soundproof” underground cave. That served as an irritating reminder as to what celestial body was about to make its scheduled rise and who would be tagging along right behind it on her mission to bust through the household wards for the next twenty-four hours. Lorelei. And if all that wasn’t enough crap to stink up my morning, I discovered another monthly-visitor had arrived two days early about five seconds after hitting the bathroom.
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br /> So needless to say, I was seeing an awful lot of red — no matter where I turned.
Silas was coming down the hall when I stepped into the main house, carrying of all-freaking-things my arrangement of pity roses.
I can’t get past flippin’ “RED” today! “What are you doing with those?” I snapped.
The house steward placed them down on the round table in the center of the foyer. “Why I’m putting them in here, so we all can enjoy their loveliness,” he simpered and then like the persnickety ass he was, commenced with positioning them to his liking.
“How considerate,” I groaned. My muscles tightened every time he turned the vase. “Why aren’t those dead yet?”
He shot me a nasty glare. “Because I added a special blend to the water.”
“Of course you did,” I grumbled.
“They’ll still be here this time next year.” Silas arched his brow suspiciously. “Can you say the same?”
I wasn’t sure if that was a direct shaman’s stone crack or not, but it still left me feeling pissy.
The always eager-to-pounce house steward swept his eyes over me critically. “Can I get you something, Ms. Wallace?” he posed. “Perhaps some black cohosh tea to go with your breakfast? Or I could run down and fetch an ajoite stone for you to squeeze like a stress ball?” He breathed out a weary sigh. “Something tells me that a simple piece of chocolate won’t slay the beast shadowing you, I’m afraid.”
Hearing him rattle off several magical menstrual cures sent my brow diving straight into a razor-edged V. “EASY!” I warned. “I wouldn’t go plucking any of the flower’s petals today if I were you.”
Suddenly a roaring gale slammed against the house, rattling the outside shutters loose from a few of the windows. We both walked over to scope out the damage. The existing wards covering the house were sparking with flares of waning violet light. They were definitely being put through the wringer. I noted the time on the grandfather clock. There was still a good ten minutes to go before Hurricane Lorelei made her landfall.