by RJ Blain
The book meant the Fenerec, and it knew I understood that. “I’ll burn you,” I snarled, and my rasped words came out as a wolf’s growl.
~I warned you.~
The book was right. It had warned me, but I hadn’t listened. Scott had seemed so nice. There had been no indicator that a wolf’s wild violence lurked beneath the surface.
Keeping my eyes closed, I drew deep and steady breaths to keep from throwing up again. When I could speak without gagging, I concentrated on the book. It was still on my coffee table. I could feel it listening and waiting for me. “He died from disease, didn’t he?”
~I sensed no magic, no desire to kill, only death—and disease.~
With widening eyes, I realized the book had been observing the past right along with me. What was the book?
It was a question I needed to answer, but it’d have to wait. There were more important things to deal with.
And, as if proving my point, I felt the book’s approval of my thoughts. ~More will die if you do nothing. Perhaps an entire species will perish. Can you live with that? Or will your so-called ‘justice’ extend to monsters, too? That one saw your worth and wanted you. Your fear of the dark and of being discovered forced him to change. If he had remained human, he might not have died.~
Disease may have struck the final blow, but the book was right. I’d been right from the start; Scott’s death had been my fault, at least partially. It hadn’t been until he had attempted to change that the disease had struck.
But what could I do against disease? I wasn’t a doctor. I’d been good enough in the high school science labs, but I hadn’t gone to college. I had been a singer and I was an actress. I wasn’t a miracle worker.
~But you are,~ the book whispered to me. ~You’re a wizard, and you can do anything.~
“I can’t stop death,” I snapped, rising from where I knelt in front of the toilet. I left my bathroom so I could glare at the book, which rested beside my bloodied copy of Among Us. “You said it yourself. Wizards fail.”
~But you can stop death.~
“Shut up.” My heart drummed in my chest. I wanted to lash out at the book, but it wouldn’t help anything. His last blood was my responsibility.
Scott wouldn’t be the only one to die by the disease that preyed on Fenerec.
I could walk away, but then I’d be guilty. If I wanted to be able to live with myself, I’d have to find a way to save the Fenerec.
I’d hate myself even as I did it, because the Fenerec were the embodiment of death and violence. How many lives were lost to the werewolves each year? If I let them die out, I’d be doing the world a service.
~You don’t want that,~ the book told me.
“Shut up,” I said, without feeling or force. Numbness spread through me.
~It isn’t Scott you want to save now, is it?~
I didn’t really think of myself as someone who had a temper, but the book, like Harding, and like Scott, was getting under my skin. Maybe some of the Fenerec’s aggressive violence had brushed off on me. “Will you shut up?”
While I remained soft voiced, I could hear the threat and promise of violence in my words.
The book didn’t care, because it refused to keep quiet. ~Scott isn’t the Fenerec you care about, is he? You know all about those wild, unruly dog people, don’t you? It’s all there in your head, even if you refuse to remember or acknowledge it. You know what you’ll lose if you don’t act.~
“Please shut up,” I whispered. Heat washed over my face, and balls of flame burst into existence around me, such a pale blue it looked cold. The fire swirled around me without touching my flesh. My unplugged television turned on.
Outside of my door, a cacophony of squealing car alarms pierced the silence. And, as if frightened of the monster I had become, the light bulbs in my apartment burned out.
~You hate it, don’t you? You hate that your precious sister is one of them. She left you behind. You hate it so much that you ran away. And when you couldn’t sing anymore, you came to me. You wanted to destroy them all for hurting you. You still do, don’t you?~
In the light of my flame, the book cast the shadow of a howling wolf. What it howled for, I couldn’t guess.
I sank to my knees. As my anger died away to sorrow, the flames extinguished and left me in the dark with the shrill cries of car alarms for company. The book remained silent and gave me time to think.
With a trembling hand, I reached up and touched the scars on my shoulder and neck. In my fear of what my sister had become, I had ran. When I crashed and burned, I had kept running, singing to forget, singing to escape, and singing so I could rely on no one but myself, and my sister had stayed away.
She had known what she had become.
But then my voice had begun to fail, turning into a rasp. And in my greed, I had turned to the book. For a moment, it had restored what I had lost, and then it exacted payment for its help. Now it had my voice, and I had run away yet again, changing my name and hiding who I had once been from the world.
Out of shame, and out of fear.
~Justice for that boy’s death isn’t yours for the taking. What will you do?~
Guilt stole my breath. However unintentionally, I had helped the disease kill a man. I shook my head. Maybe the book was right. Maybe justice or revenge wasn’t what I actually wanted. What else was there? Redemption?
I was a wizard. I counted my blessings that I hadn’t killed Scott with magic. It hadn’t really been my fault—I hadn’t known what Scott was.
But now that I knew, I couldn’t just turn and walk away either.
“Hey,” I began, pausing to gather my thoughts. Once I asked, I wouldn’t be able to take it back. I’d be accepting full responsibility, and I wasn’t the type to leave my messes for others to clean up.
~Yes?~ the book asked when I didn’t speak right away.
“If I had known what Scott was and that he was sick, could I have saved him?”
~Maybe.~
“Maybe?”
~I don’t know everything.~ Books couldn’t sigh, but I got the feeling it would if it could. ~I wasn’t made for healers, if such people exist. I can’t see everything. You have power, if you want to use it. Wizards can do a lot of things. Can you heal? That’s for you to find out. I can’t help you, not with that.~
“What were you made for, then?” I hissed, resisting the urge to punch my thigh out of frustration.
~To guide you. To protect you.~ I don’t know how I knew, but the book hesitated, staying silent despite wanting to say something else.
“You’re a masochistic sadist.”
The book didn’t acknowledge my words. I waited, but it refused to break the silence.
I wasn’t going to give up, not so easily. “What aren’t you telling me?”
~You’re a wizard, child. Do what you want. However, your gift will always be for destruction.~
“You’re wrong,” I replied, and my raspy, hoarse voice sounded like a wolf’s snarl.
The book was right—I hated my family, I hated what my sister had become, but I wasn’t going to let them die without a fight. If wizards excelled at destruction, I’d use every bit of my power to eradicate the disease before it could kill my family.
That was worth living for—and dying for, if the Inquisition discovered my existence.
Chapter Six
For the first time in years, I slept without the incessant hum of electronics in my head. I dreamed of wolves and their song had welcomed me. I woke refreshed, but unnerved.
In my effort to forget about Scott’s death and the disease inflicting the Fenerec, I cleaned my apartment, dusting the corners and behind everything I could reach. I considered hiding my trinkets, but I sat down on the couch and stared into the mirror instead.
My warped reflection taunted me. The book wasn’t talking either. Maybe my efforts yesterday had done some good—the odd senses acquired along with the curse of wizardry were deadened. I didn’t mind.
For
one day, I could live unburdened by what I was, if I could manage to forget what I was capable of. I doubted I could.
Some things refused to be forgotten.
Before the mirror could tempt me, I scattered the trinkets across my bedroom. Some I hid out of sight, while others served as decor. Even if the Inquisition came to my apartment, I doubted they’d see anything more than an eclectic collection of strange things.
By the time that Dominic knocked on my door, some of my power had returned. While my awareness of electronics was still gone, the hunger for electricity gnawed at me. I ruthlessly denied my need while I could still manage to. There was something liberating about having full, conscious control of my troublesome powers. I forced a smile when I opened the door for my agent.
“I see you’re awake this time,” he said as he leaned against the door frame. “You ready to go? We’ll have lunch before the audition, if you don’t mind.”
“Isn’t it a little late for lunch?” I stuffed my feet into my boots, the leather shining from my cleaning frenzy.
Dominic flashed me his perfect grin. “I’ve been running around all morning. Have mercy on me?”
“Oh, fine.” Instead of grabbing a purse, I stuffed my wallet and keys into my pockets, which earned me a disapproving glower.
“I know I said casual, but I didn’t mean redneck hick.”
I scowled at him in my effort to smother my laughter; by Hollywood standards, I was a redneck hick and I liked it. It kept the fashion crazed at bay. I don’t know why people kept insulting the country-bred folk. They were smart, in my opinion. They lived life at a calmer pace, or so I thought. They knew what it was like to be comfortable.
There was nothing wrong with that. While I didn’t have roots in the south, I’d grown up in the outskirts of a small town. I missed it.
But to appease Dominic, who hadn’t really asked for much, I hurried into my bedroom. My leather messenger bag would have to do; it was one of the more expensive things I owned, but good bags were useful. As a bonus, it would probably annoy my picky, stylish agent. Toying with him probably wasn’t one of my brighter ideas, but joking and bickering with him was far better than thinking about everything else going on.
The book chose that moment to remind me of its existence. ~Not likely.~
I glared at my bed, where I’d stashed the book inside a hidden pocket within the mattress. Its voice—my voice—woke my anger and reminded me that I was going to have to start charging my cell phone again.
I didn’t hesitate long before gathering the crystals from my dresser, the pentagram from where I’d hung it from a peg on the wall, and the debens from my night stand. However disturbing my look into the silver mirror had been, it had drained me and the stones dry. If I wanted to hunt for a cure to the Fenerec’s sickness, I needed power.
The stones and debens went into a velvet pouch, which I stashed in the inside pocket of my bag. I wore the pentagram, tucking it beneath my high-collared shirt. There was something comforting about the cool metal on the skin above my heart.
In an effort to please Dominic a little, I grabbed my nicest jacket, a form-hugging one made of thin black leather. Like most of my clothes, it sported a high collar suitable for hiding my scars, providing a second layer of protection from unwanted attention.
“Ready?” Dominic called out from the main room.
I emerged from my bedroom, chin up and smiling. “As ready as I’ll ever be. What did you have in mind for lunch?”
“How does Italian grab you?” In true gentleman fashion, he held open the door for me.
“That works. Are we cabbing or did you bring your gas guzzler?”
“It’s not that bad on gas. It’s parked out on the street, so let’s hurry before someone steals it.”
I didn’t like his tone; sure, I didn’t live in the greatest part of town, but it wasn’t that bad—and I told him so.
“There are two cops parked outside, and the front door security guards are armed. Yes, it is that bad.”
It was hard not to wince. It was harder to force myself to act curious and a little alarmed. “Two cops?”
“Any idea what’s going on?”
Lying to Dominic always left me feeling miserable and dejected, but I didn’t have the courage to tell him the truth. “A lot of car alarms went off earlier in the indoor parking garage. Maybe that has something to do with that. The landlord likes keeping the building secure.”
“That’d do it. You didn’t have anything stolen, did you?”
“I don’t keep anything in my car. And anyway, it’s in the shop,” I replied. That was pretty close to the truth—the cops studying it for evidence and it going to a shop to be turned to scrap counted, so far as I was concerned. Reupholstering the old car would cost more than buying a new used car.
“Smart girl. Let me know if you need the number for a good mechanic. I know a few. Now, if you’d find an apartment somewhere in a safer part of town…”
“The rent’s cheap,” I murmured, shrugging and gesturing behind us to my apartment. “Where else am I going to find a place this spacious without selling my soul to the devil?”
“Wouldn’t you need a soul in order to worry about that?” His dry tone irritated me, but then he laughed. I decided to forgive him for teasing.
I allowed him get away with far too much. If he knew the truth about what I was, I suspected he’d never had said that to me. I managed a laugh of my own. “Cute, Dominic. Very cute.”
“I know I am.”
I shook my head and let him laugh. To my annoyance, he didn’t look back. I scowled and because he couldn’t see me do it, I stuck my tongue out at him.
~~*~~
Lunch was a quiet affair at an Italian restaurant pretending to be a cafe, where lunch for two cost more than my weekly food budget. There were many different types of silence, and the one we shared was comfortable and soothing. I didn’t need to say a word to feel at ease and he looked too relaxed to disturb.
When he spoke, he caught me by surprise, my fork on route to my mouth. “There’s an apartment up the street for a thousand a month,” he said, leaning towards me with his elbows braced on the table’s edge, his hands clasped together.
I chewed with slow deliberation, narrowing my eyes. He waited with surprising patience, a smile curling the corners of his mouth.
“What’s wrong with it?” I set my fork down and matched his pose. Two of us could play the over-serious, intense game and I wasn’t in the mood to lose.
Dominic’s smile widened. “Nothing more than an older couple looking for a friendly neighbor who isn’t against taking out the trash for them.”
I knew better than to trust that sweet, gorgeous smile. Dominic used his sensual mouth as a weapon, and I wasn’t going to fall for his tricks. “Friends of yours?”
“Madeline was a client of mine a few years back,” he admitted. A little bit of his content, happy expression reached his eyes, like the glazed look of a cat that had gotten into a saucer of cream.
My eyes widened before I could stop myself. “Not Madeline DeSiem?” Madeline wasn’t a common name in show business and I only knew one who had been Dominic’s clients.
Madeline was a true talent, a diva among actresses, and a woman I had no hope of ever matching.
When he said nothing, I frowned. “You mean the superstar, don’t you?”
“She’s retired.”
I picked up my fork, speared a meatball, and chewed on it with savage delight. I pointed up the street with my dirty fork. “She lives in a mansion in Beverly Hills and I swear the thing takes up at least a block. Look at me. I’m the polar opposite of ritzy. I can’t live there.”
“Sure you can. Madeline likes your work. Anyone can deliver lines, according to her, but there’s art in silence. And anyway, her house isn’t that large.”
Dominic was definitely meddling in my affairs again. Instead of taking my annoyance out on him, I targeted a crusty piece of bread smothered in butter. �
�I’ll think about it.” It wasn’t a lie. I would think about it, though I wouldn’t think about it for long.
“Really?”
“Really.” I stared down at the remains of my spaghetti, regretting I hadn’t gone for lobster like Dominic had. “That’s a hard offer to refuse.”
“But you might.”
“I might.” I liked my independence and I didn’t want that taken away from me—even if it meant turning down a chance to live in a mansion for cheap. What would I do in a mansion?
Be safe? I was more worried I’d endanger them with my powers. I couldn’t imagine trying to hide my wizardry in someone else’s home.
We once again lapsed into silence. I had the feeling Dominic wanted to tell me something, but he didn’t say a word.
There was no way one of Hollywood’s most rich and famous would ask me to move in with her, not without a good reason. I knew of Madeline. Everyone knew about her, but I had never met her.
My apartment wasn’t that bad, no matter what Dominic said.
So why had he talked with Madeline?
By the time dessert came, I realized that Detective Harding must have called Dominic. In his subtle way, my agent wasn’t going to traumatize me with more talk about what had happened. If Harding had spoken to Dominic, I understood the reason for his concern. The mall wasn’t that far from my apartment, and he liked to worry.
It would take an army of paparazzi to infiltrate the mansion of a superstar actress well known for her love of quiet and privacy.
I hid my smile. Dominic protected his clients. He was nice like that, even if his meddling ways sometimes annoyed me.
~~*~~
We arrived at Silver Moon Studio half an hour before the audition. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve taken the time to snoop around and scope the place out, but I’d been to the studio often enough I didn’t need a tour. The security guard waved us through. When Dominic turned his SUV down the access road to the back lot, I glimpsed a black, unmarked car and a police cruiser approach the gate.
I hadn’t noticed them tailing us.