Lure of the Wicked

by Karina Cooper

  “Why?”

  That was easy. “Because he didn’t have to deal with the pain of his wife’s rejection. That killed him way before any rope did.”

  “His wife.” Her tone was light. “Not your mother, but his wife.”

  “She was never my mother,” Naomi replied flatly, turning to face the old witch the same way she’d face an opponent. Chin up. Fists tight. Eyes level.

  She’d be damned if the old biddy bested her now. She’d been through too much to eat this. “Even when she was there,” she added. “He loved her.” And so had Naomi. Once. When she was too little to understand that the polished, beautiful creature who came by now and again was every bit as shallow and merciless as a reflection.

  “What about Phin?”

  This voice came from behind her, feminine and younger. And with enough matter-of-fact sting to tell her without looking that Jessie had followed her. Which meant Silas wasn’t far behind.

  Naomi didn’t turn. “What about Phin?”

  “How did you feel when you left him?”

  Empty. Hollow. Aching. “Relieved,” she repeated, but even to her own ears, it lacked the same certainty. Naomi shook her head, answering the question she knew would follow. “Because it cuts him from this life. He made a mistake; I didn’t hold him to it. Clarke was a good time, for the circumstances.” Her voice flattened. “He was there, I was there. He’s a good lay, and that’s it.”

  Silence filled the corner edge of the bay, filled only with the faint brush of the autumn breeze. With the wind above and the odd, silent pulse of growing things.

  And with the beat of Naomi’s own heart, solid and strong. Even now, she could feel it underscored by something liquid smooth, golden, and warm. The fountain.

  Witchcraft.

  Finally Jessie sighed. “Okay, fine,” she said, in a tone that said she’d let it drop . . . for now. “So we’ve ascertained that this isn’t about you.”

  Naomi bit her tongue before she said something she’d regret. That Silas would regret—she owed him more than that.

  “Now we have to figure out what it is about,” Jessie continued.

  “And what we can do about it.” Silas’s voice rumbled as it always did, always so much louder than he meant. Naomi jerked as one large hand settled on her shoulder. “Naomi, I know it’s hard. We’re all displaced here, and we’re lacking everything we’re used to having. Orders, for one,” he added, and she glanced over her shoulder to find his lips quirked up.

  “Jonas, for another,” she admitted reluctantly. “We have limited information.”

  “Just what I can glean,” Jessie said as she crouched by the water’s edge. She trailed her fingers into the water. “And that’s as much chance as it is anything else. I can’t spy on your . . .” She paused. “On the Mission because I don’t know where to look now. The one place I knew of was Peterson’s.”

  “Little Miss Parker got her own pad,” Naomi muttered.

  Matilda watched silently, gnarled hands firmly in her pockets.

  “But we’re all agreed,” Jessie continued, rising, her golden brown eyes serious as they touched on each of them in turn. “We have to do something. Sometimes I get lucky and a vision comes my way—”

  “Which is how we learned about Timeless,” Silas interjected.

  Jessie nodded. “But we can’t rely on that.”

  “There’s more to consider,” Matilda offered. Naomi glanced at her, shoving her own hands into the pockets of a pair of jeans the witch had loaned her. “As far as the Church is aware, you both are dead.” Her head tipped toward Naomi. “But you’ve gone outlaw, my dear.”

  “Which means,” Silas said, voice edged, “a bounty.”

  “And a sizeable one,” Naomi offered. She grinned, a wide slash of teeth as Jessie tilted her head curiously. “Next to Silas, I was pretty hot shit. That means they’re going to hedge their bets.”

  “You were better than me, Nai.” Silas furrowed his brow. “It was close, but you were better.”

  She shrugged, but the compliment—the statement of fact—did at least a little to ease the knot in her chest. She’d been good at something. A damn fine missionary.

  “Lousy at everything else,” she said, half to herself.

  Jessie blew out a hard breath. “We need an information network somewhere.”

  “We need a place to start,” Naomi pointed out.

  “We need,” Matilda said, and somehow her quiet, easy authority cut through everything else, “to get Naomi into shape.”

  She bristled. “I don’t—”

  Understanding dawned on Jessie’s face. “Right. Look,” she added, turning to face Naomi fully. She wrapped her hands around Naomi’s arms, just above the elbow, and leaned in until she was nearly nose to nose with her. “Listen to me closely. Okay? It’s important.”

  Bemused, Naomi said nothing, letting the much shorter woman keep a grip on her. Partly because Silas was within easy reach, and he’d toss her on her ass if she so much as lifted a finger against his woman, and mostly because Jessie’s occasional flex of steel spine amused her.

  And impressed her.

  “You’re a witch now,” Jessie said, slowly and clearly. As if talking to a child, which didn’t amuse Naomi quite as much. “And you’ve pretty much sworn off guns, so you have to get yourself strong in the magic department.”

  “I can still fight—” she began, only to cut herself off as Jessie shook her head.

  “We’re small enough a group as is, Naomi. If one of us dies because you don’t know how to use that fountain, we’re screwed.”

  Naomi didn’t have an argument for that. “So.” She shrugged off Jessie’s grip and bit back an edged smile as Silas stiffened, then visibly forced himself to relax. “I’m a magical healing genie, then.”

  “No,” Matilda said, but amusement made her eyes dance. “Close. I’ll help you hone your control, my dear. That I can do freely. And,” she added dryly, “without motive. Every witch needs to learn control, no matter what the gift.”

  Slowly Naomi flicked her tongue over the divot in her lower lip, her gaze sliding from witch to ex-missionary to witch again.

  What were her options?

  Run, as Silas had offered. That wouldn’t last long. Go back to the Mission, which would end in her inevitable discovery and subsequent execution.

  Sit on her ass and do nothing?

  Like hell.

  “Fine,” she said, but pointed a finger at Jessie. “But if I’m going to be playing doctor for you, then you’re training with me.”

  Jessie’s smile flipped crookedly. “I’m pretty good at the control stuff already, but if you want, I can sit in.”

  “I don’t mean with witchcraft,” Naomi said, and knew she sounded smug. Silas’s features suddenly took on a worried glower. “I mean training, hand to hand, self-defense, cripple and run. You fight like a girl, princess.”

  Jessie opened her mouth. Hesitated.

  Silas slid both hands down her arms and murmured, “You don’t have to, but like I said, she was better than me.”

  Jessie’s eyes narrowed as they met Naomi’s. “Deal.”

  Success. Pounding the blond princess’ face into a mat would give her something else to think about.

  The empty nights were something else, but if she was lucky, between magic control and bone-rattling beat-downs, she’d be too tired to do anything but sleep. Dreamlessly.

  “We still need somewhere to start.” Naomi sighed, but at least her fingers uncurled. Tension leaked out of her, leaving behind a weariness—a soul-deep ache that hadn’t left her since Timeless.

  Silas nodded. “Give me a few weeks. You ladies work on your lessons and whatever—”

  Jessie snorted. “Way to make it sound like a knitting circle.”

  “—and I’ll see what I can rustle up,” Silas said over her, but he drew her back into his arms. Rested his chin atop her blond hair with so much obvious devotion, Naomi had to look away. Her throat ache
d.

  “Where?” Jessie asked.

  “I might have a few ideas. It’ll take time.”

  “Oh-kay,” Naomi drawled. And turned back to point at Silas, her eyes narrowed. “But I want something from you, too.”

  “Name it,” he said, so seriously that for a moment the words froze on her tongue.

  Damn it. The man had a way of getting around even her. Missionaries, once. Partners for life. Slowly her lips curved into a wide, wicked smile. “Anything?”

  “Fuck me,” Silas muttered, and Matilda gave a crack of laughter. “Yes,” he said warily. “Anything.”

  “Good. There’s a name of a guy who owes me. I want you to collect some things from him.”

  “Things?” She tapped her lip with her index finger, and Silas’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Oh. Why not? Sure, I’ll get you your face full of metal again.”

  They were all smiling, she noticed. Relaxing.

  Maybe, just maybe, she could get there, too. Given enough time.

  Enough space from the city that had almost claimed her life.

  From the man who had tried his damnedest to get his fingers into her heart.

  “Great.” She jerked her head back toward the house. “Let’s get started on this shit, then. The sooner we get all this out of the way, the sooner we go back and kick ass, right?”

  “Right,” Jessie said, and took Silas’s hand in hers, fingers lacing tightly. They moved almost as one, Naomi realized, watching them go. Step by step, his longer stride shortened to match hers. He tipped his head over hers as Jessie said something up at him, and his chuckles resonated like thunder.

  Beside her, Matilda sighed. “Love, huh?”

  “I guess.”

  The woman smiled. Crooked, rueful. “So.”

  Naomi glanced at her. Narrowed her eyes at the gleam she found reflected in Matilda’s. That knowing fucking gleam again. “What?”

  “I’ve been thinking of dismantling one of the wards I’ve got placed on this sanctuary,” she said, as conversational as if she was talking about the clouds.

  Why the fuck would she care? Naomi turned back toward the path, shaking her head. She didn’t have the time, the patience, for this.

  “Not the protective ones, of course,” Matilda said, following behind her. “Just the one that detects falsehoods spoken in the area.”

  Falsehoods.

  He was there, I was there. He’s a good lay, and that’s it.

  Naomi stopped so suddenly, she half expected the woman to collide into her back. That she didn’t told Naomi everything she needed to know. She spun, fists tight, murder in her voice as she warned, “You stay the hell out of my life.”

  The woman smiled. Sad. “I can’t, my dear. You’re in my home. You’re part of this—” One hand swept across the foliage, the bay. Sanctuary. “And for reasons I know I’ll learn someday, Silas truly admires you.”

  Tears clogged her throat. Burned her eyes. She swallowed hard. “Phin Clarke,” she said, every word strained through a crack in her heart that she didn’t dare acknowledge, “belongs topside. That’s his life. It’s where his grieving mother is, it’s where his friends are. It’s where his money is. He can rebuild his spa and his life and mourn in peace. That’s what matters.”

  Matilda nodded. Slowly. “I understand what you’re saying. And,” she added quietly, “what you’re not. I’ll respect your request, Naomi West, and leave you only with this piece of advice.”

  “Can I stop you?”

  Matilda’s smile gentled. “The ache never really goes away. But it eases, with time. I’ll try to keep your mind busy.”

  The tears threatened to overwhelm her as Naomi nodded curtly. “Thank you,” she managed.

  Matilda passed her, pausing only long enough to lay a wrinkled hand over Naomi’s chest. Just over her heart. “I’ll give you some time to settle. We’ll see you back inside when you’re ready.”

  As the witch walked away, Naomi stared at the obsidian flagstone beneath the sole of one boot. A symbol was etched into it, something she supposed was witchy. But even if she knew how to read witch symbols, she couldn’t. Her vision blurred as the tears finally slid over her lashes.

  Relieved.

  He’d get over her. He’d find a pretty girl to love and spoil; an adoring thing with soft hands and sweet smiles. Who liked leather seats and champagne, and didn’t have a network map of scars over her silken skin.

  Maybe he’d go back to Andy.

  Her lips curved, but even Naomi knew how sad her smile really was. Deliberately, she drew her arm over her eyes, her mouth, and carefully rearranged her expression into one of determination.

  “All right,” she told the air as she strode back to the house. “A few weeks. And then ready or not, I am so getting out there and kicking ass.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The storm roiled overhead, twisting, coiling knots of black and gray. Lightning arced across it, lit up the mass of clouds like a flare of purple-white light smothered in a black veil.

  It wouldn’t rain with weather like this. This was New Seattle’s winter specialty. Freezing-ass cold and wired to blow. But the charge in the air was only one part electricity.

  The rest was all her.

  For the first time in twenty-seven fucking days, Naomi was on a mission.

  The past month had been hard. On all of them. The secret cove had been great for healing her array of bloody wounds and bruises, but a month of constant supervision and unending exercises in witchcraft left Naomi ready to reconsider her newly found aversion to homicide.

  Jessie and Silas had both struggled to find a balance with her that didn’t tread on dangerous ground, and the older witch still got the hell on Naomi’s nerves. She felt as much a part of them as a wolf in a herd of sheepdogs.

  But it was getting better. Even she noticed it. Slowly, surely, she was coming to adapt to her new role as—her lips twitched—healer. Whatever the hell that meant.

  Still, they didn’t have much to do, and that was the wedge that still kept them going for each other’s throats. It was hard to act when the city still crawled with missionaries and Church men; when the bounty on her head was still fresh enough that any hunter with something to prove would be keeping an eye out.

  It had been Silas who saved her, and them, from a bitterly sardonic rant regarding the more murderous characteristics of knitting needles. “You’re going to go get us some work,” he’d said. “It’s time to get off our asses, don’t you think?”

  Fuck, yeah.

  Thunder overwhelmed the faint hum of the lower-level electricity. As she watched, gauging her next move from the shadows of an alley, the few lights in the apartment building flickered.

  So did every light on the block.

  Well, wasn’t that just peachy? The city had more than enough generators topside, but if the lights went out here, it’d be nothing but black. And silent. Perhaps for days.

  Breaking and entry in the dead quiet seemed a really bad idea.

  Play nice, Jessie had warned her.

  Naomi smiled as she sprinted across the road. Nice was all she played these days. It wasn’t her fault that her nice and Jessie’s nice didn’t match up exactly.

  Jessie’s nice involved way, way more effort.

  The grass crackled under her feet, already frosted into brown icicles. She left dark footprints behind her, but that was exactly why she came at the rendezvous point from the side.

  Her mission was pretty simple, really. Naomi slid onto the stoop, reached up, and caught the dim side bulb in her gloved fingers. A deft twist, a jiggle, and the light guttered out.

  Inside she’d find the apartment number with a contact waiting for her. She was to make sure the place was secure, get to the contact, and give him the small packet Jessie had put in her satchel.

  Simple.

  She felt a little like a dog getting a pat on the head, but Naomi would take it. She was sick to death of being cooped up while they waited f
or some kind of sign.

  Even if Matilda’s heated waters felt like a small slice of heaven on her faded bruises.

  Keeping a wary eye on the streets, Naomi tucked her hand behind her back and tested the knob. It squeaked as it turned, but it did turn.

  Did nobody believe in locked doors around here?

  The lights along the street guttered again, flashed on and off as the city struggled to feed power to the impoverished levels. As thunder boomed, loud enough to rattle the slat wall, Naomi slipped inside and shut the door gently behind her.

  The hall was like every other lower city hall she’d ever been in. Dingy, drab. Stained by life and time.

  Grimacing, she slid her tongue along the silver ring at her lower lip and checked the door numbers as she passed. She walked quickly, soundlessly.

  The appointed apartment was at the end of a short hall, its painted numbers all but peeled off the door. The outfacing window beside it had been boarded up long enough ago that the nails had eaten rust stains into the plaster. If she had to get out in a pinch, those boards would give way before she did.

  “Is this guy trustworthy?” she’d asked Silas while Matilda and Jessie prepared for her departure.

  He’d shot her a look that Naomi couldn’t read, inscrutable as all hell. “Probably.”

  Naomi realized that she’d taken that at face value, and that said a hell of a lot about her new role in life. A missionary could trust her allies. She could rely on the rumors of Church justice to keep her contacts thinking twice.

  A witch had a lot more to worry about. Probably was just another way of saying, There’s no other choice.

  Holding her breath, Naomi leaned into the door and pressed her ear tightly to the wood. Her fingertips hovered over the worn, stained panel. No sound. Not even the vibrations of footsteps. For a full five minutes, she didn’t move, strained to listen.

  All she heard was thunder, waves upon waves of it crashing overhead. It shook the building with every wild boom. Shattered through her bones as if the storm raged immediately overhead.

  If the contact was in there, he was either asleep or had the patience of a saint.