Boundary Crossed

by Melissa F. Olson

  “Or girl,” Elise said, fake offended. Anna grabbed a throw pillow off the couch and chucked it at her. Elise batted it aside with a stagy karate chop.

  I shrugged. “Just a friend.”

  Cara, who was nearly as soft-spoken as her husband, asked, “Where’d you meet him?”

  Oops. I couldn’t sound too enthusiastic about Quinn—or like I was working hard not to sound enthusiastic—or my whole family would think I was in love. “He was on my softball team over the summer,” I told them. “He’s a nice guy. We go hiking once in a while.” Well, we’d gone on one long hike together, anyway. I just wasn’t going to mention the body-disposal portion of the evening.

  I jumped in the shower and spent fifteen minutes blow-drying my hair so that Cara, an actual hair stylist, could pin it up in big curlers. Then I made everyone some coffee and sat at the counter, listening to stories about Brie’s sons and Cara’s daughter Dani and Anna’s history professor and a hilariously drunk guy whom Elise had arrested after he walked through a plate-glass window at McDonald’s. I didn’t talk much, but I laughed and asked questions, my heart warmed by the familiar patter of my family.

  Their lives had been dramatically unlike mine since long before I found out I was a witch. When I was a soldier, shotgunning energy drinks, patting down Iraqi women for bombs, and saying prayers every time I got in a Humvee, I couldn’t believe I’d ever had a life that revolved around a big, sloppy, loving, exuberant family. And when I was with them, it was hard to believe I’d ever buzz-cut my hair and challenged the guys under my command to pull-up contests. But by the time I came home between tours, I’d realized both roles were an integral part of me—the soldier and the scion.

  When I’d come home from the hospital in Germany after my second tour, it was harder to remember how to be in the family, how I was supposed to talk and react and smile in front of the people who loved me. Even now there were days when I felt like I was still adjusting to being back, after three years in Boulder. But without my family, I knew a big part of me would have died.

  Well. Bigger part.

  When my hair was done, I sat down at the counter and swiped on some mascara and lipstick, figuring that was good enough. But Anna gave me a long-suffering sigh and made me sit back down at the counter. She proceeded to put about thirty different substances on my face, only about half of which I recognized. When she finally put the cap back on the last tube, she blew gently on my face—“to get the extra powder off”—and pronounced me done. I went into the bedroom to put on my dress.

  There was a stranger in my room. I jerked, backpedaling a step before I realized I was looking at my own reflection. Anna’s makeup had transformed me from my usual youthful-steely look into something softer and more . . . glamorous. Wide, shining curls framed my face in a curtain that dipped over one eye. I shook my head in amazement, watching the curls bounce. “Not too shabby, guys!” I yelled. Or rather, the stranger in my mirror yelled.

  At six-thirty, the limousine arrived for my cousins. I tried to bid them good-bye, since Quinn wasn’t picking me up until seven, but they unanimously decided to wait for my date to show up so they could give him the once-over. “You guys, this isn’t the prom,” I reminded them. “I don’t need a chaperone.”

  Elise snorted around one of the apple slices I’d put out for us to munch on. “That’s for sure,” she said, her mouth full. “I’ve seen you shoot, woman.”

  My other cousins tittered. “And you’ll see him at the party,” I added. “You can meet him then.” I made a shooing motion, but none of them left their perches around the room. In their long gowns and sculpted hairdos, they looked like the world’s most belligerent bridesmaids.

  “Oh, we’ll all be busy with husbands and family stuff then,” Brie argued. “Come on, Lex. We’ll give him the eyeball, make sure he knows you’ve got backup.” She tilted her head to give me a pointed, lazy-eyed stare. I laughed. It was nice to see Brie have a chance to be goofy.

  When the doorbell rang at seven, Elise, Brie, Anna, and Cara exchanged wide-eyed looks of glee. They began to get up, but I jumped to my feet first. Mostly because I hadn’t put on my shoes yet. Shoes still kind of hurt just then. “Stay!” I ordered them. In unison, all four of them raised their right arms and saluted, giggling hysterically. I rolled my eyes as I padded briskly down the hall, my skirt swishing at my calves. The dogs were barking madly, but that happened so frequently I barely registered it anymore. I pulled the door halfway open and saw Quinn.

  He wore a black tuxedo with a long black tie that was on the thin side. His hands were in his pants pockets, and for a breathless moment I just . . . looked at him. He quirked a private smile at me, giving me a once-over. My dress was made of deep emerald satin, with a simple high-cut halter neckline that showed off the lean muscles in my arms and shoulders but covered most of the scars on my back, including the new ones. The full skirt flared out from a fitted waist, swirling as I walked. Anna, who’d picked it out, had decided the simple gown needed a little something extra, so she’d added a wide metal belt of braided silver links that sat at my waist. We stood there gazing at each other for a long moment, and I felt heat creep up my chest, flushing my cheeks under the makeup.

  Then I heard my cousins giggling behind me and remembered myself. “Mr. Bond, I presume?” I said, cocking an eyebrow.

  Quinn gave me a small smile. “Does that make you Miss Moneypenny?”

  I shrugged a bare shoulder. “I’ve been called worse.”

  The giggling intensified, and Quinn raised his brow inquisitively. “My cousins,” I explained. “They’d like to meet you.”

  A flare of discomfort crossed Quinn’s face. “It’s okay. I can make this really easy,” I reassured him. Without checking behind me, I banged the door wide open—exposing the four of them, who were huddled in the hallway. “Cousins, this is Quinn. Quinn, some of my cousins.” Before any of them could speak, I grabbed my peep-toe heels and my silver clutch from the hall table, stepped across the threshold, and swung the door shut behind me. “Shall we?” I asked innocently.

  Quinn grinned at me.

  Chapter 30

  My parents, both CU graduates, had a thing about the Glenn Miller Ballroom, which is located in the University Memorial Center on campus. They’d been holding major events there for years: most of the cousins, including Sam, had had their wedding receptions in that room. My parents had hosted a big thirtieth-anniversary bash there a few years back, and before I managed to talk them out of it, Mom had even wanted to host a welcome-back reception for me there when I got out of the service. With one thing and another, I’d been coming to this specific venue for most of my life.

  But I’d never seen it look like this.

  Through a combination of lighting and decor, the whole room seemed to be done in warm fall tones, which perfectly complemented the harvest-red centerpieces. The centerpieces, in turn, perfectly matched the cummerbunds on the members of the seven-piece orchestra that was playing on the short raised stage. Starlight gleamed faintly through the skylights, and the whole effect was magical, like we’d walked into an autumn garden party for fairies. Quinn whistled. “You gotta hand it to my mom,” I observed as Quinn and I stepped into the enormous room. For the first time in my life, I was almost glad to be wearing heels—the shoes put a different kind of pressure on my feet, keeping my weight off the worst of the cuts. “She knows how to throw a shindig.”

  Quinn gave me a sidelong look. “Shindig?”

  “Hootenanny?”

  The corners of his lips turned up. “I’d lean more toward ‘soiree.’”

  “Nah, that’s playing right into her hand,” I said, but fondly. I pointed left, to where my parents were standing in a loose receiving line. “Come on, let’s get introductions over with.”

  We joined the line, where several of my parents’ friends and extended family members were already waiting. I started introduc
ing Quinn around as my friend from softball, which everyone seemed to accept, although my Aunt Violet and my cousin Paul both sent me knowing winks, like “friend from softball” was some dirty sex position. Which, I supposed, was possible.

  We got to the front of the line, and my mom waved us over. She was wearing a sparkly gold dress with a jewel-cut collar, looking radiant and a little self-satisfied as she basked in the glow of the party’s success, whispering occasional comments in my dad’s ear. My father is not a particularly handsome man, especially because he refuses to lose the short white ponytail that’s the last vestige of his hippie childhood, but he certainly looked dashing in his tuxedo. He had a particular stoic expression I recognized from my high school graduation and Sam’s wedding photos. It meant “I’m playing it cool, but secretly I am doing a proud happy dance.”

  I smiled and kissed his cheek. “Happy birthday, Dad,” I said, then turned to gesture at Quinn. “This is my friend Quinn. Quinn, these are my parents, Christy and Richard Luther.”

  Quinn extended a hand, which my dad shook heartily. “Nice to meet you, sir,” Quinn said politely. To my mother, he added, “This is a beautiful party, ma’am.”

  “You’re so sweet,” my mother responded, beaming. She touched the back of her hair. “I hope you two are having a good time.”

  Quinn assured her that we were, and she leaned forward to ask him a question about what he did for a living. While she was distracted, I leaned forward and said conspiratorially to my dad, “How are you holding up?”

  He grinned at me. “Your mother went way overboard, you know,” he said in a voice that was fighting not to sound exuberant. “It’s just a birthday. I don’t need all”—he gestured helplessly at his tux, the ballroom, the decorations—“this trouble.”

  “You deserve it though, Dad,” I said, pecking his cheek again. “I’m so proud of you.”

  And I was. A decade before Sam and I were born, my dad and his brother had started designing vegan shoes as a sort of hobby. Nobody was more surprised than they were when the business took off. Now you could buy a pair of Luther Shoes in Paraguay.

  “I’m proud of you too, baby,” my dad said, lifting his arm to give me a one-sided dad hug. He glanced at Quinn. “Glad you’re doing better.”

  Quinn and I moved on, letting the flow of people lead us toward the dance floor. I was thinking about my dad’s words. Was I doing better? I was a frickin’ witch. I had access to magic that no one should be able to touch.

  Without looking at me, Quinn took my hand and tucked it into his arm. I smiled faintly. At the same time, it was nice to have purpose again, even if that purpose went no deeper than turning myself into a valuable asset so I could do scut work for a vampire. Maybe Quinn and I wouldn’t be able to find the person behind Charlie’s kidnapping, but I would keep training with the Pellars. I would learn a couple of really solid defensive spells, like Lily had suggested. And I would protect Sam’s daughter, whatever it cost me personally. I set my jaw.

  “You okay?” Quinn said, sensing the shift in my mood. I nodded, hoping the gesture would help clear my head. “Dance?” he asked. I nodded again.

  The band was playing jaunty dance songs, like you hear at wedding receptions, mixed in with a bit of swing music. Incredibly appropriate for the Glenn Miller Ballroom. As we stepped toward the dance floor, they swung into a snazzy rendition of “Dream a Little Dream of Me.” Quinn held out his hand, and I let him pull me toward his chest.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d danced with a partner, if you didn’t count my cousin’s kids standing on my toes as I shuffled them around. My parents had paid for dance lessons when I was a kid, mostly because Sam liked them. I was the athlete, but she thought tutus were the coolest, so we’d kept up with the lessons for nearly six years. I could tell that Quinn’s movements were technically perfect, but he was keeping his body just the tiniest bit rigid, like he was afraid to relax. I bit down a smile.

  “What?” he asked, with a slight raise of his eyebrows. “Did I step on your toes?”

  “No, no,” I reassured him. “You’re good. Very . . . proficient.” I hesitated for a second, then added, “Thank you for coming tonight. It means a lot to me.”

  He nodded, his eyes searching mine for something. Then we resumed dancing, but Quinn seemed preoccupied. “What is it?” I asked, as the band began the first chorus of Billie Holiday’s “Solitude.” We had automatically slowed down for the song, and my cheek brushed his as I craned my head back to see his face.

  Quinn gave me a little shake of his head. “I shouldn’t be here,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t be doing this with you.”

  I stopped dancing. “Then go,” I said in a whisper. “My dad already saw us together. Go if you need to.”

  Quinn stared at me, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that took me aback. I lifted my chin and looked right back at him. Heat sparked between us, and Quinn broke first, looking away. His arm around my waist tightened as he drew me back in. “That’s not what I meant,” he said.

  We danced through the song, not speaking. The tension grew unbearable, so I started babbling. “When I was a teenager, Sam and I watched Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” I said. “You ever see that movie?”

  Looking surprised, he nodded. “It was Sam’s favorite,” I continued. “There’s this line, when Ferris is talking about his friend—he says he’s wound so tight that if you stuck a lump of coal up his ass, in two weeks you’d have a diamond.”

  Quinn’s lips quirked up. “You’re saying I’m like Cameron?”

  “Maybe a little . . . Were you like this as a human?”

  He led me through a careful spin. Very controlled. “No,” he said, leaving it at that.

  I thought about his voice from the night before. Are we friends? I still had friends from the army. None of them were geographically close, but we communicated now and then, because we could only talk to each other about certain things. The ones who had spouses often said they were afraid to go near them. To get close again.

  Quinn had hurt his wife.

  The melancholy song ended, and without really discussing it we both turned and headed toward the side of the room, moving off the dance floor. It wasn’t until we reached the refreshment table at the far end of the room that I realized I’d been holding Quinn’s hand the whole way. We let go and I grabbed a bottle of water, gulping down half of it. Then I leaned against the wall, a little tired from the dancing.

  Quinn watched me, obviously waiting to speak until I was finished. “Lex,” he began, “this isn’t a good idea.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Us being friends?”

  He nodded. “Or anything along those lines.”

  I put the cap back on the bottle, twisted it tight, and set it down on the table, considering my words. “I’m not afraid of you, Quinn,” I finally said.

  “You should be.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Why, exactly? Because you can press me? Nope, wait, you can’t. Can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do. Because you’re physically stronger than me?” I shrugged. “I spent a decade serving with guys who were bigger and stronger than me, and I managed to survive.”

  “Presumably, they weren’t trying to drink your blood,” Quinn said, his voice strained.

  I felt my expression harden. “No, but some of them wanted other things from me, and I held my own. Always.” Quinn shook his head a little, unconvinced. “Is this because of what happened in the parking lot?” I asked, a little more gently. “Because you liked how my blood smelled?”

  He nodded. The song ended, and the band moved seamlessly into “I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl.” Great song.

  “You had the chance to attack me when I was bleeding,” I reminded Quinn, keeping my voice low. “You didn’t.”

  “But I wanted to,” he said, his voice husky. “I haven’t wanted anything that much
since I turned.”

  I reached up, putting one hand on his cheek. I moved just a little bit closer, putting my mouth right next to his ear to make sure no one overheard me. “I will not ever let you hurt me,” I whispered to him. “Don’t worry so much.” I leaned back so I could see his face. “Do you understand?”

  I saw the relief break out over his face. “Yes, sir,” he whispered back.

  Chapter 31

  Quinn and I danced for a few more songs, and then I noticed that two of the servers, young women in their early twenties, were waving at him. “Ex-girlfriends?” I asked.

  He let out a short bark of surprised laughter. “They’re baristas at Magic Beans,” he explained. The girls each grabbed one side of a full keg, heaving it toward the bar at the opposite end of the ballroom. “I should probably help them with that,” Quinn remarked. “And then I might say hi to the couple in the corner, they’re regulars. You’ll be okay for a minute?”

  “Of course.” While Quinn was gone, I looked around for my cousins and realized they were all occupied: dancing with their spouses and laughing, enjoying this rare opportunity to dress up and go out. They all looked so happy and grown-up. I smiled. For the first time I sort of appreciated my mother’s decision to make the party black tie. It was like looking at the most beautiful version of everyone.

  Grief is a funny thing. I hadn’t even been thinking about Sam, not really, but suddenly I was hit by a tidal wave of longing for my sister. I wanted her to be here, smiling and laughing and teasing my father. She’d be dancing like an idiot, a gorgeous gown swishing around her as she did silly, unselfconscious dance moves with John, drawing him out, making everyone crack up. God, I missed her.

  As if reading my thoughts, the music suddenly faded into silence, and I glanced toward the raised platform where the band sat. Most of the members of the band were stepping off for a break, but as they shuffled offstage they left behind a pianist and a guitar player. The guitarist paused for a moment, pushing hair behind her ears. Then she closed her eyes and began playing the simple, haunting chords to a song I recognized instantly.