“Thank you.” His voice sounded different, more distant. “The light bulbs broke.”
“Did I do that?” She nervously brushed her palms against her jeans, trying to make out his expression.
“I don’t know. It might have been me.”
“Who got us naked?”
“That was you.” He sounded sure of that.
“I’m sorry.” She knew she was blushing. How positively crude can you get? She kept stripping the poor guy.
The phone in her pocket buzzed, startling her. Julie dug it out, still trying to see Harry’s face.
“Are you okay?” Dorie’s voice sounded blessedly normal.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Julie answered cautiously. Was Dorie psychic or something?
“The electricity is out.” Dorie announced. “I called the electric company. They expect to have power back within a few hours.”
“Oh. Thanks for the information.”
“Julie, are you all right? You sound funny.”
“No, I’m okay. Harry’s here.”
“Ahhhhhh. Harry’s there. Sorry if I interrupted anything. But use protection. I read there’s always a mini baby boom after a major blackout.”
“I don’t think it counts as a blackout if it’s in the afternoon. Anyway, we’re just talking.”
“Right. Details later, okay?”
Julie decided to move to safer subject. “Did the whole neighborhood lose power?”
“Yep. The guy said there was some big electrical surge that blew the circuits. They have no idea what caused it. Anyway, I’ve got to go. I’m on my way to the school to pick up the boys.”
“Drive carefully. The traffic lights will be out,” Julie cautioned, then disconnected the call and shoved her phone back in her pocket. She looked toward Harry, who now stood the length of the kitchen away. “One of us blew the local power grid.”
“I’m not surprised.” His voice still had that distant quality.
“Really?” She tried to remember recent power glitches. “Does this happen often when energy wielders kiss?”
“No.”
Then why wasn’t he surprised? She started to ask when the phone rang again. Hoping it was Tasha, Julie picked up.
“Mrs. Dancer?” Julie recognized the voice of Tasha’s roommate, Leslie.
“Leslie! Hi! Is electricity out at the dorm? Is everything okay? I’ve been trying to get in touch with Tasha.”
“Oh, that means she’s not with you.” Leslie hesitated. “Tash wasn’t in the history class we have together after lunch. I can’t reach her on her cell. I thought maybe she went to your place after meeting with that guy.”
“What guy?” Tasha didn’t currently have a boyfriend.
“She texted me earlier today that she was heading to the food court at the Union with someone.”
“Luc Deschamps.” Tasha wouldn’t be so stupid. Would Tasha be so stupid?
“That’s the name. Look, I’m sorry to bother you.” Leslie tried to backpedal, obviously realizing Tasha might not want to be found if she had her phone off and was with a guy. “Her phone battery is probably just dead. I’m sure she’s fine.”
Tasha finished retching into the tall weeds that sprouted around a fire hydrant and took the handkerchief Luc handed her. She wiped her mouth and crumpled the cloth in her hands. She straightened, embarrassed beyond words. “Thank you. American guys don’t carry handkerchiefs.”
“They’re all heathens,” he said mildly. “Are you okay now?”
“Yes, thanks. Next time I’ll take some Dramamine before we travel that way.”
He smiled. “Your system will become accustomed to it.”
Tasha gave him a doubtful look and tucked his handkerchief in her pocket. She finally took in her surroundings. The neighborhood they stood in looked familiar, and yet it didn’t.
Rows of gray stone buildings crowded the sidewalk. Trees grew in the tiny patches of grass tucked between the walk and the street. Cars hugged the curb, jammed fender to fender. Tasha frowned and looked down the block. A small park occupied the corner, currently deserted. “I think we’re on the wrong block. Grandma lives on the other side of that park.”
Sometime during the trip here, she’d heard Luc asking her for directions. How a mass of molecules—or whatever she’d been on the way over—could hear something was beyond her. Maybe it was more accurate to say she’d become aware that he wanted directions and somehow she’d relayed them to him. She looked around the neighborhood. She’d obviously been a bit off. Not like her usual precise self at all.
Luc took a step toward her and Tasha backed away. “Let’s just walk there.”
He nodded. “I’ll need time and food before we travel by energy stream again”
Good. Tasha started off a brisk pace toward her grandmother’s. Her steps slowed, however, as her she looked around. The afternoon was cloudy, the atmosphere somber.
Every house they passed had a bright light gleaming from the porch, even though there was still daylight. Shades were drawn tightly against windows. No toys or bikes littered the tiny lawns. Not a single person sat on their steps, or loitered on the sidewalk talking. “There’s nobody around. This feels a little creepy. Grandma talked about an increase in crime. I wonder if that’s why everyone is tucked in their houses.”
Luc took her arm. “There’s no need to worry. I won’t let harm come to you.”
The confidence in his voice was comforting. He might even be telling the truth. Maybe Luc could put a force field around them, or something.
Tasha slowed even more as they skirted the park. There was something sad about the empty playground. Young trees draped in shadow stood like sentinels on the far edge of the park. A swing set and slide rose from faded woodchips. Angled to the side was a picnic table, where parents would sit and chat while their children played. The faint, decaying scent of leaves, mixed with the bus fumes and sewer smells of a big city, brushed against her. Her neck tingled with an uncomfortable feeling she couldn’t ignore.
“Luc,” she whispered, tugging his arm when he came to a standstill in front of the park.
He scanned the grassy area, an intent look on his face. “I sense it, too.” He spoke more to himself than Tasha. “Not Penumbrae, Walker or Dancer.” He bent and scraped up a handful of dirt, cradling it in his palm. “Something more akin to earth energy, than light.” He blew gently on the dry scrabble in his palms.
The dirt suddenly burst forward out of his hand, billowing and growing into a large swirling cloud before transforming into soft crystals of light. The park lit up, as if the clouds had parted, letting through the rays of the setting sun. For a moment, Tasha didn’t see anything, dazzled by the spectacle, amazed by what Luc had been able to do. Then the tall shadows at the opposite end of the park began to move. Six men, dressed in black, walked slowly toward Luc and Tasha.
“Gang members!” Tasha tugged on his arm. “Run!”
He didn’t budge. “Go. Quickly. Find your grandmother. Tell her the Skaven are here.”
She tried to tug him with her but Luc removed her hand from his arm, put both hands on her shoulders and gave her a push in the direction of her grandmother’s. “Get Jean Dancer.”
Obediently, Tasha ran half a block before she stumbled to a stop. She couldn’t leave him to face six men alone. God knew if her grandmother was even at home. He could be dead by the time she found help.
She turned back toward the park. Luc stood where she’d left him. In the odd light, she could see that he watched the approaching men with an expression more curious than scared.
Knowing it was the height of stupidity, she ran back to his side and stood with him, shoulder to shoulder. She dug the cell phone out of her pocket and flicked it open. Damn, she had it off. She fumbled for the “on” button and waited impatiently as the face lit up and icons appeared on her screen.
“Get out of here, Natasha.” Luc’s voice held a firm command. “Now!”
“‘Come when they
may, they shall not find us skulking and hiding.’” She apparently channeled Dickens in times of crisis.
“‘Be where your enemy is not,’” Luc shot back, adding “Sun Tzu, Art of War.”
Excellent advice. Tasha was definitely going to read that book when this was over. She dialed 9-1-1 and looked up as the men circled them. Luc put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.
The men appeared to be in their late twenties or early thirties—much too old to be strutting around Chicago streets dressed in black sleeveless T-shirts. Two were black, one was Asian, three were white. They all had different builds and yet there was something about them—besides the T-shirts—that marked them as similar.
Tasha gasped when she realized what it was. Their eyes were all ice blue, and they all held the same expression of cold malice.
The 9-1-1 operator’s voice squawked into the air between them. Eight pairs of eyes riveted on the phone in her hand.
“Excuse me.” Tasha held the phone to her ear and spoke calmly. “Officer down. Please send every available squad car to—” The phone flew out of her hand and crashed into the sidewalk, splintering into several pieces.
Tasha pressed herself against Luc. “Okay, now’s the time to do your energy thing. Beam us out of here.”
The circle of men closed on them as the six took a single step forward. A frown appeared on Luc’s face, and one of the men grinned.
She felt the movement of…something. A kind of hum in her bones that was there and gone. “Too soon,” he murmured, his quick glance at her calm and reassuring.
He turned his head and looked directly at each of the six men. “You cannot do this.” His voice roared out, forceful and commanding.
“Tell that to your Triad Council, because we don’t care.” One of the white men spoke. “One lone Walker boy against six Skaven.” He shook his head. “Destroying you will be a walk in the park.” He gestured to the park and all six of the strangers snickered, as if he’d said something really clever.
Skaven? Tasha tried to make her brain function through the fear. Was that the name of a multicultural street gang? And how did they know Luc was a Walker?
“Except it’s not just one lone Walker boy, Frankie. The Gigis are here.”
Tasha swung her head so hard she almost fell over. Grandma Jean strode quickly down the sidewalk toward them. A posse of about fifteen women, all wearing pink shirts with ‘Gigis’ written in script across a breast pocket, marched behind her. One pushed a walker and several carried canes.
They were going to get killed.
“Grandma! Run!” Tasha screamed out the words.
Jean hurried to the circle surrounding Tasha, breathing heavily. “Nice idea, sweetheart, but a brisk walk is all I can manage these days.” She turned to the man whose grin had been wiped off his face. “Frank, I’m getting very angry. I thought we banished you.”
“This is your granddaughter?” Frank looked at Tasha, a gleam in his too-blue eyes.
Jean didn’t even glance at Tasha. She held out her arms. “Gigis, form your Threes and send Frank and his fellows back to their dark alleys.”
The women moved quickly, each holding out a hand, forming groups of three. As their fingers connected, a surge of energy coursed through Tasha’s body, like a sharp, biting wind.
Frank tensed, and then laughed as his shoulders relaxed. “You are still weak from banishing the demons in Lincoln Park. Victory will be ours.”
“Stuff it.” Grandma didn’t look impressed. “We may not be at full strength, but we still have enough power to send dirty Skaven back to their nests.” Grandma stood up straighter. “Ladies, again!”
Luc spoke. “These really are Skaven?” He looked fascinated, like he wanted to interview the scum.
Frank ignored Luc. His face wrinkled in concentration, and the muscles in his arms bulged. He appeared to be battling an invisible foe. Four of the Skaven suddenly disappeared, and four large rats appeared in their place. One of the women limped toward them, swishing her cane with terrifying force. The rats scattered.
“A prize so precious as your granddaughter cannot be lost.” Frank gasped the words, his teeth clenched. He jerked his head toward the remaining man—Skaven, rat, whatever—beside him. The man’s eyes widened, but he pulled out a small flat silver rectangle from his pocket. Frank took it from him and nodded toward Jean. “For emergency use only,” he wheezed. He flipped open the lid of the rectangle with a shaking hand and pressed a button.
Tasha groaned, hit by the immediate wave of pure, sharp power. She heard Luc swear and felt him turn her into his chest, both arms wrapped tight around her. Night shredded into a million silver molten drops that pierced her skin. Her bones began to melt. Grandma yelled her name and then there was nothing. Nothing but endless pain and the insistent sanity of Luc’s strong grasp.
Chapter Eleven
Sun tinted the horizon when Julie finally fell asleep on the couch. Harry took a folded wheat-colored afghan off the back of a chair and shook it out. A single kernel of popcorn skittered across the floor. This must be Julie’s movie-watching afghan. He tucked it around her, arranged a throw pillow under her head and gently removed the phone from her fingers. He went into the kitchen and plugged it into a charger. Then he returned to the living room and sat in the chair across from her.
Even in sleep, a worried furrow marked her brow. He stared at the wrinkle and willed himself to stay in his chair. He wanted to rub his thumb over the small crease to smooth it out. He wanted to comfort her. Hell, he wanted to get naked with her and pump himself into her body.
It wasn’t like him to want what he couldn’t have.
Harrison leaned his head back and closed his eyes to shut out the image of Julie. He’d avoided sleep for much of the three weeks that Marguerite had been in his head. When external activity ceased, her presence inside him seemed to grow to boulder size, a dead weight dragging at his consciousness. And this was nothing compared to what would happen if she succeeded with the second tie. She wouldn’t be merely an irritation; she’d know his thoughts, and he’d know hers.
The thought of such forced intimacy repelled him.
His eyes opened, and he stared at the woman lying on the couch. How would he feel if Julie were in his head? He waited for the sour curdle of distaste. Instead, warmth grew, hard and solid, in his chest.
Being close to this woman didn’t repel him, not in the least. He was drawn to her, to the circle of light that she broadcast, not through her power, but through her personality. She brightened his world and drew feelings to the surface that he’d long ago buried. Feelings like that ridiculous thing he’d do when he was four years old. As soon as the nanny would shut off his bedroom light, he’d dive under the covers and pretend that she had stayed in the room and he wasn’t alone. He’d imagine he could feel her weight as she sat on the side of the bed and he’d hum himself to sleep, pretending it was her. The fantasy game had stopped when he moved to boarding school at age five and began to fully understand his role and his duty.
Now here were those feelings of not wanting to be alone again. He wanted Julie in his bed at night. He wanted to delve into both her mind and her body. He wanted to belong to her, be part of her golden circle.
She scared the hell out of him.
A quiet knock sounded on the door. Bascule stood on the porch when Harry opened it.
“You don’t knock on doors.” Harrison stood back to let him in.
“Julie doesn’t like it when I just pop into a room.” Bas shrugged and handed Harrison a leather-bound book. “You left your copy of the Mots de Sagesse in Australia.”
Harrison frowned at the book. “So I did. Thank you for bringing it to me. How did your trip go?”
“Well enough, though I cut it short when news reached me of what is happening here. How’s our Jewel doing?” Bas lowered his voice when he saw the sleeping Julie.
“She’s worried about Natasha.”
Bas nodded, his expression
grim. “And so she should be.”
“What do you know, Bas?”
Bas walked quietly through the living room to the kitchen and began gathering what he needed to put on a pot of coffee. He wore a pair of khakis this morning, and an untucked button-down shirt decorated with koala bears. His bare feet were stuck into a pair of leather loafers. “I know that change is painful.” The scent of ground coffee filled the kitchen as Bas took a foil bag out of the cabinet and opened it. “I know that the chrysalis becomes nothing more than a coffin if the butterfly doesn’t have the strength and courage to struggle free.”
“Jesus Christ, Bas.” The soft words exploded from Harrison. He didn’t have patience for obscure analogies.
Bas put the empty carafe under the faucet and filled it with water. He turned and stared calmly at Harrison. Bas didn’t hold with taking God’s name in vain, any god’s name for that matter.
Harrison took a deep breath and tried not to feel like a chastised nine-year-old. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Let me rephrase that. What the fuck are you talking about?”
Bas didn’t say anything until he’d pressed the button that started the coffee maker. Then he leaned against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. “You must know she’s special.”
“Of course she’s special. She’s a Dancer from a powerful family.”
“Untrained Dancers don’t wield energy without intending to. They can never change a person’s luck or their destiny. It takes Triad children years of practice and concentration to effectively wield energy.”
“Is she a wild power?” Harrison forced himself to ask. He would be required to banish Julie if she were.
“Understanding Julie’s heritage is only the beginning,” Bas responded, not answering the question.
Harrison didn’t push, but changed the subject. “Why did you say the chrysalis could become a coffin? Is Julie in danger?”
Bas turned and jiggled the coffee pot, as if that would speed the rate of dark liquid dripping into it. Harrison curbed his impatience, having learned the futility of trying to rush Bas.
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