Dirty Deeds

by R. J. Blain

  When the earth stopped moving, the lovely pool was gone. The waterfall above it was a muddy trickle down exposed rock and a layer of mud.

  Ní mór fós i bhfeidhm. Must remain in place. Yeah. A rock slab the size of a car would do it.

  Liz

  “The witch posing as Golda was a member of Romona Mayhew’s witch family,” Shaddock said, while they waited on the helo at the LZ for an exfil. Military talk from Eli when he called for the helicopter.

  Liz and Cia met eyes.

  “She targeted you,” Lincoln said. “She knew a demon alone or werewolf alone wouldn’t hold you. But both?”

  Romona?” Jane said, looking perkier at the name. “I executed her.”

  Romona Mayhew had been an insane witch-vamp who had drained and killed an entire small village. Liz and Cia had captured her and turned her over to Lincoln and Jane. That meant they had been indirectly responsible for her execution. A shiver of something arcane passed through Liz. Like karma. Or vengeance from the grave.

  “Seems that her family decided not to punish the Everharts for the death,” Lincoln said.

  “I guess as soon as we get the stink off us, we have to go after a Mayhew,” Liz said, her tone exhausted.

  “No need,” Lincoln said smoothly. “Bedelia and I took care of her before I arrived here. She’s in a null room.”

  The girls exchanged glances again. Their mama and Lincoln had a history. No one had told them what kind of history, but, from a few hints, they assumed it had been of the romantic variety. Which was just icky gross, especially as Evangelina had mentally, if not physically, seduced Lincoln.

  The helicopter thundered directly overhead. They were bloody, muddy, abraded, chafed, and bedraggled. They stank to high heaven. But they had won against the filth of the demon.

  Liz

  Just before dawn, the twins fell into chairs on the wide porch of the inn to watch the sun rise. They had bathed and showered and washed their hair with the lavender soap that was an Everhart witch family secret, and they were finally clean, smelling a lot better. Liz’s wounds had been healed with vampire blood, which was horrible, but Lincoln had insisted, and while she could fight off a demon, saying no to the implacable courtesy of the Master of the City of Asheville had been impossible. Holding hands, Liz and Cia opened a seeing working to study their own flesh. “Still have the blood-curse,” Cia said.

  “Mmmm. Looks a little less dark, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah. I think so. Maybe…”

  Liz said, “It was a dirty job rebinding the demon, but somebody had to do it. And since I started this, guess it’s a good thing it was me.”

  “What am I? Chopped liver?” Cia said.

  “No.” Liz smiled. “You’re my other half. Couldn’t have done it without you.” She looked at Eli. Or you. Or Jane or Lincoln. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, ladies,” Lincoln said. “If you’ll excuse me, dawn is nigh. I’ve faced death enough times this night. If you don’t mind, My Queen,” he said, making it sound like the title it was. “I’d be honored to make use of one of your cottages to dream away the daytime, and, therefore, not die with the sun. I do wish to die my true-death in a blaze of glory, but perhaps not this dawn.”

  Jane waved a hand at him. “Eli? Which one is empty?”

  “Cottage number four.”

  “I’ll bid you all a good day,” Lincoln said and bowed slightly, like the old Southern gentleman he was. He disappeared. Brute flopped onto the porch and put his big head on his paws. Liz frowned, certain he hadn’t been there before.

  “I’m ready for bed,” Jane said. “Night.” She left too. And that left Cia, Eli, and Liz.

  Cia gave her a secretive smile, yawned, and pulled her hand free. She walked for the door, saying, “Nite y’all. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

  Her twin went inside. She was alone with Eli.

  Liz cursed her fair skin as a blush surged up her neck to her face.

  Eli

  Lizzie looked worn out and more tired than he’d ever seen her, but she also looked happier. She tugged her hair back over her shoulder, her face a rosy hue in the faint gray light. Eli took the seat Cia had vacated. Silent, he looked out over the inn grounds and vineyard, thinking again about where they might situate an oversized garage. And a permanent helo landing site. Not looking at Liz. Giving her time to think about what she might want to say. He knew what he wanted. He wanted to take her to his room and keep her occupied for a week or two. But it was too soon for most of the things he was thinking about now, considering he had ignored her for a month. He probably owed her an apology for being an ass. A small smile fought its way to his mouth, and he let it. He said, “You said you wanted us to sleep together last night.”

  “Yeeeah,” she said, drawing out the word, seeming to have gotten over Cia’s teasing comment. “I’m too tired to even think about that now. But I have to say, fighting a demon and a pack of werewolves was pretty cool as a makeup date for you walking out on me. You almost kept up with me, so I was impressed.”

  “Almost?” he said, his tone disbelieving. Ignoring the “walking out on me” comment.

  “Well, maybe better than almost. Your compass and wifi thingy came in useful. But you didn’t have much use for the guns until the werewolves showed up. And by then we had help. All the crystals and stones and amulets were the things that kept us alive. You know. Magic. Woo-woo stuff.”

  He let the full smile free. “Woo-woo stuff,” he repeated. “Okay. I’ll give you that. Your way kept us alive. Your magic was the better weapon.” Eli held out his hand. Waited while she stared at it. He was just about ready to pull it back when she placed hers into his and interlaced her fingers through his. She was still cold. She’d used a lot of life force in the battle. She’d kept them alive until help came. Eli had a feeling she would have kept fighting until she died from the effort.

  He tightened his hand on hers. With every self-protective instinct screaming, he stood, lifted Lizzie onto his lap, and snuggled her in his arms. To help her get warm. Right. He was in trouble and he knew it.

  He had thought that dating a witch with no fighting skills would be hard. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe it was… Maybe Lizzie was worth the risk. “So, steak soon? In town? Nice place with silver and crystal?”

  “Nah. I’m more of a campfire or outdoor grill kinda gal. One without demons and werewolves,” Liz said. She rocked her head back to see the sunrise better. He followed her gaze. The sky was every shade of pink and orange possible.

  She said, “That was the worst date ever.”

  “I thought it was terrific. I got to kill werewolves.”

  She chuckled, her body moving against his. It was the best thing he’d felt all night. The sun peeked over the distant hills and slowly rose until it was a golden ball nestled in hazy pink clouds.

  Softly he repeated, “Yeah. You do know how to show a Ranger a good time.”

  The Ties that Bind by Faith Hunter

  The Ties that Bind

  by Faith Hunter

  Bedelia

  The alarm on the outer perimeter dinged. Something had just crossed the basic warning working about fifty feet from the house. Bedelia finished pouring her nightly chamomile infusion and waited on the next set of alarms to see if it was the small herd of does that had been moving through the area at dusk. Or an owl. There were owls nesting nearby. One evening, just after the repairs to the house from the recent magical firebombing, the male owl attacked a rabbit exactly atop the middle warning and she nearly expired at the continuous clangor.

  As she waited, she added honey to the chamomile infusion. Stirred. Sipped. Patient. Tired of the yard work mama had demanded all evening. She wanted lilies come summer, and the bulbs had to go just, “There, and there, and… no! Not there! Move ’em!”

  Bedelia’s back hurt, but the yard looked great and—

  The central ward dinged a distinctive set of soft notes, identifying the uninvited visitor who was appr
oaching through the woods in back. Bedelia’s heart leaped. She frowned. Sipped again and calmed her heartrate. Once he was close enough, this particular visitor could hear her heart speed or slow and smell her reactions of any kind. And there was no way she would allow him that satisfaction.

  But… Dear heavens, she had missed him.

  She thought about slipping into the half bath and brushing her teeth before applying lipstick as she would have done forty years ago. Or even twenty years ago. But she was too old for that nonsense. Instead, Bedelia walked down the hallway and checked to see that her mother was deeply asleep. Mama was older than dirt—her description, not Bedelia’s—but she was still mentally sharp and agile, even at a hundred and two years of age, and her magic hadn’t waned at all. Mama was dangerous when riled, but she went to bed with the sun and rose at dawn, and once asleep, could sleep through hail and lightning storms, perimeter alarms going off, and even this visitor. But Mama had a particular distaste for this one and had no hesitation in telling him so. To keep the peace, and for a moment of privacy, Bedelia was glad mama was asleep, lying flat on her back and snoring at the ceiling.

  Bedelia closed her mama’s door softly. She tried to pass it by but stopped in the half bath after all. She brushed her teeth and ran her hands through her short hair. Silver curls sprang up and caught the bright light. Her eyes were shining blue and had lost none of their beauty. But. She glanced down at herself and the comfy housedress and slippers. Too much cleavage showing. Crepey skin. She was so damn old and the extra weight…

  He liked the extra weight. Always had. Damn it.

  She slid off the old-lady slippers, took in her freshly painted toenails—red, his favorite color—damn it again. She sighed, called herself an old fool, and went to the back sliding doors. She stood, silhouetted by the bright kitchen lights, arms loose, body relaxed, and no expression on her face. She didn’t turn on the outside lights. Didn’t need to. She could see him outlined in the red glow that announced a vampire visitor, behind the middle ward of three, that one a hedge of thorns. He was watching her. He always watched her, any time they were near.

  He had never been to this house. She had no idea he even knew where she lived now. His last visit was years ago, at her own home, before she had rented it out and moved in with her mama to take care of her. She had put up the exact same wards here as at her own home, and, clearly, he remembered the protocol of each. If he was here, after all this time and after what happened with her now-dead daughter, Evangelina, it wasn’t to chitchat. There must be some important reason.

  A frisson of danger climbed up her spine on hooked spider feet.

  Bedelia reached to the counter beside the glass doors, made a show of picking up her amulet necklace, and slid it over her head. The focal nestled between her breasts, a delicate faceted labradorite with a flash of red and purple. Bedelia was that rare breed of witch who could draw on multiple elements. She could use some stones, some types of wood, and plants. She could collect the power of strong air currents, and when the moon was high, could recharge any amulet with its power. She was dangerous. He knew it, but she wanted to remind him. She leaned a hip against the counter, picked up her cup of chamomile, and sipped. Waiting. Just in case that danger was behind Linc. Holding him prisoner and waiting for her to let down her guard.

  Several minutes passed. She finished her tea. He did nothing, and the sense of danger increased. Enough, she thought, and turned to walk away. Lincoln Shaddock knocked politely on the ward. His special specific notes rang out. Those notes hadn’t rung through the air in years, not since the last time she ran him off, telling him she was too old and too tired to play vampire games.

  Bedelia swiveled back to the slider doors, thinking, watching his body language. With one hand, she lifted her mixed-amulet necklace and pressed the bloodstone amulet between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand. The hedge fell in a delicate sprinkling of sparks that looked like a rainbow of fireflies darting hither and thither. Her workings were always pretty, not just utilitarian like anyone could make. A pretty one took skill and power and patience to layer the energies just so. The lights of the falling hedge danced across Linc, brushing over him and bursting in a rich red color as they fell. That used to be her special welcome for him. She had never changed it. Linc’s eyes landed on her and she knew that not bothering to alter it had been a mistake.

  He moved across the lawn to the house, long, lean, lanky, yet with a vampire’s grace and easy stride. No one followed him. Whatever the danger she was feeling, it wasn’t holding Lincoln Shaddock against his will.

  She pressed the bloodstone again and the middle ward rose with another shower of sparks. She opened the slider door, touched the inner ward, and it fell. And Linc was standing there, on the back deck, his eyes on her. He smelled of barbeque, which was unusual for a vamp. They usually smelled of flowers and herbs and, more rarely, of old blood. Linc ran a BBQ restaurant and he often cooked the meat himself. Lincoln Shaddock was not the usual vampire

  Linc

  He stood silently in the trees, on the outside of the first ward. He knew to the inch how far back he needed to be to keep from setting it off. He knew because he had courted Bedelia Everhart. Once upon a time, he had crossed over her wards on a regular basis. Bee was a very powerful witch, but like most witches, who seldom altered the style of their magics, she had kept the positioning and manner of her wards the same, though they were much stronger now. It was much more painful than just decades ago, to be this close.

  With a vampire’s eyesight, he watched through the distance and the trees as she made an infusion. At this time of night, it would be chamomile. She was wearing a rose-colored housedress and pretty pink slippers. She had gone gray in the last few years. He liked the color on her, yet his heart wrenched at the sight of it. Once she stopped sipping on his blood, she had begun to age at the rate of most witches. Barring an accident, she would still live to be over a hundred, but she would look it and feel it and she would die far too soon. And take what was left of his heart with her. She sipped her weeds and hot water. He missed the taste of that stuff on her mouth. He missed everything he had given up when she refused to allow him to continue to be a fool. When she had put her foot down. When she had walked away.

  Lincoln Shaddock, Master of the City of Asheville, took his life in his hands and passed over the outer ward, striding close to the middle one. The hedge of thorns. The Everhart witch family had been working on this ward for decades. This one was a doozie-and-a-half. It might fry him if he wasn’t careful. He felt it the moment the ward recognized an intruder. He stopped, watching her, waiting.

  Bedelia sipped, put down her cup, and walked down a hallway and out of sight. Once upon a time, that had meant she was checking on her daughters. Now it meant she was checking on her mother. He waited. Eldercare was sacrosanct in blood-servants, so the human need to take care of the old ones, he understood.

  When she returned, she was barefooted, and he saw that her toes were painted scarlet. Linc smiled into the dark, and then that smile faded as he wondered if she even remembered.

  She picked up her cup and sipped again, staring right where he stood in the dark of a night with an unrisen moon. Witch magic told her where he stood. Her arms were loose, body was relaxed, but there was no expression on her face, no smile of welcome and joy. He watched her. Both of them waiting. Both of them knowing that him, being here, meant there was a passel of trouble somewhere already.

  Bedelia reached to the counter beside her and picked up her amulet necklace. She slid it over her head. Bee always did have a gift for the dramatic gesture. This particular gesture reminded him that she was powerful. She was dangerous. And that she would not be trifled with. The focal nestled between her breasts, and a shot of desire raced through him like the taste of her blood.

  She leaned a hip against the counter, picked up her cup, and sipped again. Waiting.

  Ah. In case someone had forced me here, he thought. To this place and time.


  He wasn’t certain what to do to assure her he was not hiding a threat in the trees behind him. What had he done that very first time? Something… His mind swept back. Had he brought her flowers? No. He had brought her caviar and smoked salmon and toast points. And a bag of movie theater popcorn. She had ignored the fancy food and eaten the popcorn.

  Bee turned to walk away. Linc raised his hand and knocked politely on the ward.

  His special notes rang out. His notes. She hadn’t changed them. She could have when she moved the wards to this house. But she hadn’t. His whole body softened with… with whatever Bee had done to him so long ago.

  Bedelia returned to the doors. With one hand, she lifted her mixed-amulet necklace and pressed the bloodstone amulet between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand. The hedge fell in a sprinkling of red fireworks that proved her strength and her ability as a witch. The scarlet had once been her special welcome for him. She had never changed it. Linc’s eyes landed on her, ancient hope held in his cold undead heart.

  He strode across the lawn to the house as the middle ward rose again. She opened the glass door, touched the inner ward, and it fell. And Linc was standing there, on the back deck, his eyes on hers. All the love he had ever felt for her was laid bare in his dark eyes. “Hello, darlin’. Thank you for lettin’ me in,” he said. The paper in his hand crinkled. He had forgotten about the gift.

  Bedelia

  “Hello, darlin’. Thank you for lettin’ me in,” he said in his soft, old-fashioned Southern accent. He lifted his left hand, to reveal a brown paper bag spotted with grease.