by C. C. Hunter
Time spent learning to fight would equal double study time.
Did she really believe she could do it?
She didn’t know, but they were right. Mentally, she’d given up. And that made her a failure even before she failed.
* * *
“When I talk, you listen,” Della said sounding badass again.
Miranda, Kylie, and Della had walked down by the lake to carry out Miranda’s first “fight” lesson.
“I heard you,” Miranda said, but in earnest she hadn’t been paying close attention. She’d seen a bird flying and her heart and mind went to Perry. It couldn’t be him, could it?
“One more time,” Della said, “and there will be a test. First you need to know that there are three parts of your attacker’s body that are most vulnerable.”
She pulled Miranda close, stood a bit to the side and raised her knee, lightly tapping her between her legs. “His boys.”
She lowered her leg. “His eyes.” She caught Miranda by her temples and lightly pushed her thumbs into her eyes.
“Ouch!” Miranda said.
Della rolled her eyes. “And the throat.” Her right palm thrust up and stopped right before smashing Miranda’s larynx.
“Got it?” Della asked.
Miranda nodded. “Yeah. Balls, eyes, throat.”
“Right.” Della sounded proud. “Now did you notice when I busted your balls—”
“Miranda’s got balls?” Kylie chuckled.
Della cleared her throat. “This is serious, guys.”
“Serious.” Miranda wiped the smile off her face.
“Did you notice that when I hit you, I was standing to the side?”
“No,” Miranda said. “I didn’t notice.”
“Well, you’d better. Because if I hit you in the balls, standing right in front of you, you’d probably fall right on top of me and prevent me from escaping.”
“I thought they just went like this.” Miranda cupped herself and bent her knees down a bit and moaned. “That’s what Perry did when I accidently got him.”
“No,” Della said. “If you’d hit him in the gonads hard enough, and he didn’t have balls of steel, he’d’ve gone down. And a real attacker is gonna be pissed so you don’t want to be close to them right then. So for God’s sake don’t hang around to apologize for doing it or offer them a hug to make ’em feel better.”
Miranda glared at Della. “I’m not an idiot.”
“No, but you got that soft heart going against you. I’ve seen you try to doctor a grasshopper you stepped on.”
“The grasshopper wasn’t attacking me. And Kylie’s heart is softer than mine and she manages just fine.”
Kylie, now sitting in the grass, checking her phone, looked up with empathy. “My heart’s toughened up some.”
Della nodded as if her point was proven. “When you go for the eyes, don’t go halfway. I showed you how to do it with your thumbs, but if that’s not possible use whatever you can. Use your nails. Gouge their eyeballs out.”
“But that would blind them, wouldn’t it?” Miranda asked.
“Oh, I forgot. That wouldn’t be nice, would it?” Della said in mock empathy. “Look! I’m not teaching you how to defend yourself on a kindergarten playground. This is the real McCoy. Someone is trying to kill you, and if you’re not willing to kill them first, then just stay a coward.”
Della could be so mean! “So you never just try to wound someone instead of killing them?”
Della frowned tighter. “My point is that I don’t think about it. If I spent one second trying to figure out how to hurt them less, it’s one second of advantage they have to kill me. You understand that, right?”
Miranda nodded. But understanding and liking something were two different things. Not that she was throwing in the towel, but it was something else for her to chew on. Could she really kill someone?
“Now if someone grabs you from behind—”
Della had her arms around her when Miranda’s phone rang. Miranda jerked free and yanked her cell out of her back pocket. She’d tried to call her mother again, and got nothing back. Not a peep out of Tabitha, either. Or Perry. It had to be one of them.
Glancing at the cell, she felt her heart sink. Holiday. Probably checking in about ghosts.
“Where are you?” Holiday asked as soon as Miranda hit accept.
“By the lake with Della and Kylie.”
“Can you come back to your cabin? I’m here now.”
“What’s wrong? Do you have bad news?”
Della and Kylie moved closer, no doubt to listen to Holiday’s answer with their vampire hearing. When Holiday didn’t assure Miranda that everything was right with the world, she knew it wasn’t.
She tightened her grip on her phone. “What’s wrong?”
* * *
Perry spotted Miranda with Della and Kylie by the lake, but before he went to see her, he needed to check in with Burnett.
He’d landed in the thick of the forest, close to the front. He morphed and called Burnett. He’d already texted him earlier and told him that two men were trying to take out Lily Chambers, but now he had to see the man face-to-face.
“Where the hell are you?” Burnett answered.
“Let me talk.” Perry started the spiel he’d practiced. “I have news. We need to meet. But I’ll only do so if you give me your word you won’t try to stop me or put another shadow on me.”
He could actually hear the growl of frustration from the vampire’s chest. The man literally rattled when upset. “You were almost killed!”
“But I wasn’t. Do I have your word or not?”
The silence that followed didn’t mean the answer was no, just that Burnett took the question seriously. He never gave his word on a whim because he never went back on it. “Fine. How long before you get here?”
“I’m walking in now.”
“I still may kick your ass!” Burnett muttered right before he hung up.
“No you won’t.” Perry slipped his phone away. “At least I hope not.” He’d never pushed Burnett this far.
He hurried around to the gate. Glancing down at his shirt, he considered changing. Surely some of his things were still in his old cabin. But the office door swung open. Burnett, looking completely pissed at forty feet away, stepped out on the porch.
It was show time.
Perry hadn’t gotten to the porch when Burnett’s eyes brightened, probably due to his …
“How bad is it?” He motioned to Perry’s shirt. “I’ll call Dr. Whitman.” He turned as if to make the call.
“No, I’m okay.” Perry followed him inside, all the way into Holiday’s study. He tugged on the shirt. “Most of this isn’t mine.” His gut tightened with thoughts of lions and senseless death. “And what is mine, I put there on purpose.”
“Why would you…?”
“The agent you sent swooped me out of the bar last night. I had to make it look like she tried to suck me dry.” He pulled back his shirt collar and showed off the two puncture wounds he’d made with thorns.
Burnett’s lips tightened until they turned white. “Perry, you aren’t ready to handle this kind of case.”
“I am. What happened at the bar won’t happen again.”
Burnett raked a hand through his hair and squeezed his neck—a sure sign of stress. Perry continued, “Tell me you haven’t come close a couple of times?” He saw the tiny blanket on Holiday’s desk and thought of Bell, the waitress. “The baby?” he asked.
“Jenny and Derek are watching Hannah and the little guy at our cabin. How did you end up with him?”
Perry told Burnett about grabbing Bell’s phone, calling the babysitter, and then going to give her the news.
Burnett frowned, but didn’t tell Perry he’d been wrong. “I’ve got someone searching for any of Bell Stephens’s relatives. Or family to the baby.”
Perry dropped his hands in his jeans. “I think you’re looking at one.”
Burnett’
s eyes widened. “He’s yours?”
“No,” Perry said. “I just found out that Jax is my mom’s son from another guy. Bell was his ex-girlfriend. That would make the kid my nephew. And it sounds as if Jax is looking for him.”
Burnett’s shoulders tightened. “Will he be able to trace the kid here?”
Perry, proud of what he’d done, spoke up. “No.”
“But the babysitter saw you. You probably even told her your name. You don’t think she isn’t going to tell Jax if he finds her?”
“Yes, I gave her my name, but not where I was bringing the baby.”
“Then you can’t go back—”
“Hear me out,” Perry said. “I called her as soon as I found this out. She admitted that she knew who the father was and was terrified he’d come looking for her. She thought if a stranger took the baby then Jax wouldn’t be able to find him. When I spoke to her this morning, she was about to catch a plane back to Mexico.”
Perry reached into his pocket. “Here’s Bell’s phone. It has the babysitter’s number and a Jaxon Bowen’s, too.”
Perry could tell that Burnett was impressed. He stood there as if filing away everything. He took the phone and nodded. “Miranda said you were meeting with Jax this morning.”
“I was, but he called my mom and postponed it until tomorrow. I think he’s looking for the baby.”
“And you’re certain no one else knows you have the baby.”
“I’d swear on it,” Perry said. “But … there’s more.”
“What?”
“I met my parents at the diner in Houston. Dad told me Jax lived a couple blocks up Jackson Street. I combed the area. I think I’ve got it narrowed down to five or six houses.”
Burnett’s shoulders dropped as if the news lightened the baggage he carried. “I’ll put a crew together. Depending how close everyone is, it might take an hour. Stay here and you can go with us.”
Perry nodded. Knowing that Burnett wasn’t trying to push him out sparked a feeling of pride.
The vamp, eyes still bright, grabbed his phone. “Go clean up.”
* * *
Miranda didn’t normally fidget, but sitting still now felt impossible.
Holiday had summoned her back to the cabin because her old professor, the half-witch half-human, who was an all-things-Wiccan expert, had just shown up. She’d told Holiday, “It’s imperative I see Miranda.”
Miranda sat on her sofa, while Kylie and Della sat at the kitchen table. Holiday had taken the chair. Ms. Wales, who, oddly enough, talked, dressed, and sort of looked like the Queen of England, stood in the middle of the living room, staring down at Miranda through her granny glasses as if she might sprout a second head.
“And the tattoo really goes away when you request it to?”
Miranda nodded. “It has so far.”
“Does it pain you?”
“No. It tickles like a bug walking on your skin.”
“That must be bloody frightening,” the woman said.
“A little,” Miranda admitted.
“Can I examine your arm?”
“I have a cast, but sure,” Miranda said. The woman sat on the sofa. Miranda held out her arm.
She spent a good thirty silent seconds staring up close and personal at Miranda’s arm. Miranda could feel the woman’s breath whispering across her skin.
Finally she glanced up. “Miss James has explained about the fortune reader. Have you recalled anything more that she said?”
“No,” Miranda answered. “I told Holiday everything.”
“So your sister claimed she’s gotten the tattoo before, but it faded as soon as the fortune was read?”
“Yes. That’s why I think this is somehow due to the fact that she never finished reading mine.”
“Puzzling.” She stood up and pulled out a photo from her briefcase. Miranda saw that it was an eight-by-ten a printout of her tattoo. The woman studied the image then focused on Miranda.
“Did your sister say the tattoo was exactly like hers?”
“Not exactly. She said mine climbed higher on my arm.”
The woman pursed her lips. “Did the fortune-teller react to this?”
“I … don’t know, that’s when everything went crazy. A storm filled the room and the armadillo got loose.”
“Armadillo?” The old woman tapped her index finger to her lips as if thinking. “Odd.”
“I mentioned that in my message,” Holiday said.
“Yes, I am just digesting it.” She continued digesting, tapping her lips before focusing again on Holiday. “You said your husband was attempting to find the fortune-teller. Has he had any luck?”
“No,” Holiday answered. “But he’s not giving up.”
Ms. Wales refocused on Miranda. “When the tattoo appears, is it in reaction to anything? Are you experiencing distress or … pleasure?”
The way she said pleasure with her English accent made it sound naughty. “Nooo.” Miranda heard Della smother a laugh.
Miranda gave the woman’s question another consideration. “Wait. It does seems to appear when I’m upset or overwhelmed. But…”
“But what?” She leaned in as if holding on to every word Miranda said.
“It’s kind of strange that it hasn’t appeared with just anyone.”
“I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”
“It’s only shown up in front of my sister, my two close friends, and Perry. When my parents came to the hospital I was afraid they’d see it. That’s when I … kind of said, ‘go away,’ and it did. They were there for hours. It didn’t come back.” Her mind raced. “Oh, but wait, there was the nurse in the hospital. And I didn’t know her. So I guess it’s not about who’s there.”
“Still interesting,” Ms. Wales said. “Perhaps you trusted this nurse since she was taking care of you.”
“Maybe.”
The woman went back to digesting. “Have you attempted to ask the tattoo to appear?”
Miranda bit down on her lip. “Why would I? I mean, I’d like it to go away and never come back.”
“So you associate the tattoo as a bad thing?” she asked as if puzzled.
“I … I associate it as being freaking weird,” Miranda spoke honestly.
“I suppose it is a bit peculiar.” Ms. Wales paused. “But for the sake of unraveling the mystery, would you be willing to try?”
Miranda looked at Holiday. Holiday looked at Ms. Wales. “Is there a chance it could be harmful?”
“It has not hurt her thus far.”
Holiday exhaled. “It’s completely up to you, Miranda.”
Miranda considered it. While the woman seemed a little off her rocker, she might be the only person to understand what was happening.
“How should I say it?” Miranda asked.
“Politely, I would assume.”
Della coughed again.
Miranda, feeling a little stupid and a lot frightened, held out her arm. “Tattoo, come back.”
Everyone held their breath. Nothing appeared.
“I don’t think it works.”
“Very disappointing.” The woman went back to tapping her lips. Then she looked up. “Would you mind disrobing?”
“What?” Della and Holiday spoke up at the same time.
Miranda’s mind choked on the idea and left her speechless. She was not taking her clothes off.
“Oh, my.” The woman glanced at Holiday. “I simply … I’m wondering if the tattoo has relocated elsewhere on your body. You may keep your underclothing on.”
Miranda met Holiday’s befuddled gaze.
Holiday stood up. “Ms. Wales, it’s not that I don’t trust you, but … is there a reason for this? I’m aware that I contacted you, but you didn’t answer my call and then you drove all this way as if you know … something. Maybe if you explained—”
“Yes, I suppose I should enlighten you.” Her thick gray brows tightened. “It might be easier to just show you.” She dropped the photos on the so
fa and started unbuttoning her blouse.
Miranda’s mouth fell open. When she saw the woman’s leopard-print Victoria’s Secret bra, she almost covered her eyes. Della let out another stifled snicker.
Holiday stood up. But then the old woman pulled her blouse off her shoulder and exposed her upper back and Miranda saw it. Air caught in her throat.
Kylie, Della, and Holiday moved in.
“It’s identical,” Kylie said.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Della said.
Miranda just stared at the swirly, almost vine-like pattern on Ms. Wales’s back. “You didn’t get that put on there?”
“No, dear. I was told that it appeared when I was only a few months old. My mother, the Goddesses rest her soul, was a mystic witch as was her mother before her. My grandmother died shortly after I was born, so I never knew her. Normally, mystic talent isn’t hereditary. And being half human, my gifts are nowhere near that of a mystic witch. That said, it was viewed as extremely odd that the gift was passed on to my mother. Adding to the mystery is that I’m told my grandmother occasionally wore the same tattoo. It came and went, apparently emotionally charged, and at times it covered her from head to toe. Growing up I always assumed the marking was related to my mystic heritage.”
“But I’m not…” Doubt buzzed like bumble bees in her head. A faint tickle, like a butterfly’s breath, moved under her cast. She glanced down fearing the tattoo had returned. It hadn’t. Only goosebumps lifted the fine hair on her arms. “I couldn’t…”
“What dear?” the woman asked, refastening her blouse.
“It’s … it’s probably nothing, but…” She looked at Holiday. “Perry said it was as if I called him and he knew I was hurt. And I could swear I heard him, too.”
“He told me the same thing,” Holiday said.
Miranda glanced back at the older woman. “So … you think I’m a mystic?”
The woman’s expression was apologetic. “I … I didn’t mean to insinuate that. I know you would like answers. Unfortunately, I’ve sought them for the last forty years of my life, unsuccessfully. I’ve traveled the world and spoken with at least a hundred mystic witches. None have carried these markings.” She looked back at Miranda. “To be frank, I’ve never seen this pattern on anyone other than myself. And now … you. That is, if indeed you still have them.”