So Tempting

by Jean Brashear

  Her arms went around him. She was a tall woman, but still not near his height. Hunched over awkwardly, he wished to be a boy again, small enough to burrow in her lap.

  But if he'd ever been one, it had been many years, regardless that he was only twenty. He hugged his mother for another brief span, then straightened and dashed away the moisture.

  Caterina needed him. He could not be weak.

  His mother's eyes filled with pride. "You are a good man, my son. You will know the words when the time comes."

  He picked up his bags. "I pray you are right."

  * * *

  Her father had not wanted to let him in, but at last he had relented. Now Dante stood in the doorway, watching her lying so still in dappled shade.

  The golden tones of her skin had washed away to parchment. To fragile onionskin. Bruised shadows stained the hollows of a face that he'd last seen full of tears for the parting but also brimming with life and hope for the future.

  She was insubstantial now, the sweet curves that had tempted him so badly melted away, leaving sharp bones and visible suffering.

  Finally, he forced himself to look there, at the precious span where he'd imagined his children growing one day. It was the only rounding on her body, but it loomed huge, like a tumor. A parasite draining every drop of juice and youth and happiness from her delicate frame.

  He knew little of pregnancy, but even he could tell it was far too late to rid her of the child. In his bones, he heard the whisper of fate.

  This child would kill her.

  Just then she stirred, long, lacy lashes drifting upward, moth wing-light. Fear bloomed in her eyes, and he wanted to do murder. When she curled up protectively, it destroyed something in his soul.

  He crossed the room, discarding first one phrase, then another. Rage, hope, love, fear...they were fire and fury in his blood.

  In the end, love spread oil over the storm's surge. He dropped to his knees and grabbed her hand. "I love you. Let me help you."

  She rolled quickly, giving him her back. "Please...go away," she whispered. "I do not want you to see me." He heard only despair, as though there was no love left in her.

  The loss maddened him. He pulled her to face him. Her eyes remained downcast.

  "Fight, damn it," he demanded. "Fight for us."

  Hopeless tears leaked from her eyes, and he wanted to shake her. Her, his love—

  Anger as hard as a rock, as brutal as blood, spread like acid. He would kill whoever did this. For her, and for himself.

  Suddenly, he felt her touch and realized he was weeping. Tears of torment she drew to her lips and tasted.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know, I swear it. He told me—" Her face contorted in agony. Suddenly, she doubled over and cried out.

  "What? What's happening?" He saw her hand cup her belly. "Is it the child?"

  Her other hand gripped his sleeve so tightly her knuckles were white. She jackknifed to her side with another cry of pain.

  He scooped her up and ran for the house.

  The hours afterward wore away at all of them like water dripping on stone. At every sound, he leaped up. His mother prayed endlessly; her father did so, as well.

  There were no prayers in him. Frantically, he thought through every spell, each potion he'd ever learned at Papa's knee, but her father had put her in the hands of men in white coats. Impotent rage kept him on his feet. If he'd had the amulet—

  The Eye of the Magos heals when honor defeats hate—

  He laughed without mirth. Was this his punishment for failing to protect it?

  Finally, the doors opened. A solemn man emerged. In his eyes, all was told. "I'm sorry," he said. "There is nothing more we can do. She wants to see you, but I warn you: she does not have long."

  No one asked about the child. The young man knew he would not. Fury rode high in his chest. She could not die. He would not let her. As he followed her father into the room, hope and determination stirred.

  Until he saw her.

  And knew.

  He waited until her father had kissed her and held her and listened to the words so urgently whispered. Finally, the older man stood back.

  Her hands were so cold, yet she gripped his with a fierce strength. "Promise me," she demanded through cracked lips.

  "You are not going to die. I will not let you."

  Her smile was fond and full of pity. "You cannot change what will be."

  "I have—" But he stopped. Once he had believed his father that he had magic in his veins. He believed no more. "We can fight this," he said urgently. "You cannot give up."

  Her lids were drooping. Her face was drained of all color. "Please, there is no time." She swallowed with effort. "You must hide my child. Promise me."

  Her child? For a moment he was blinded by anger and grief for everything that was lost, all that might have been. How could he ever look upon the face of the parasite that had cost her life?

  "Please...the child is innocent. It is I who deserve punishment."

  "Why?" he asked, agony careening inside him.

  "I was the fool. I—I missed you so much. I was so lonely. When he came to me with your message and told me stories of your childhood, I welcomed the chance to feel closer. You'd never spoken of him, but he seemed to pine for you, too. I thought he cared for you as I did, but—" Her voice failed.

  If he'd thought he'd experienced the worst already, he understood that what had transpired before was only a pale shadow. He sensed the truth before she told him, but still, he wanted the words.

  "What message?" His voice cracked. "Who was he?"

  For a long time she was silent as if gathering her strength for one last climb to consciousness. Death hovered around her with pale wings.

  Finally, her eyes opened, and they were fierce. "It was a lie, wasn't it? I was wrong to trust him. You must despise me, but I swear to you, I did not welcome what he did. He was so strong. So brutal. He—he laughed when he took what I had saved for you." Tears leaked into her hair, but she didn't seem to have the strength to wipe them.

  He did. His own eyes burned with moisture he would never shed, but as gently as he knew how, he absorbed hers with his skin. "I could never despise you. None of this is your fault. It is all mine."

  "Why?" she whispered brokenly. "Why did he—?"

  "He hates me. He always has." Malice was an answering flame inside him, devouring all in its path. If he lost her, it was a sign. Love breeds Light. Light grants Power. Where is the power now, Papa? Lies, all lies.

  He gripped her hand. "You have to live. You must rob him of this victory. Can't you see it's what he wants? I don't care if I will not be the first—you have to live, damn it. For your child. For—" His voice broke. Live for me.

  He saw her struggle, but she had nothing left. She could not win, no matter how hard he willed it. Brokenly, he bent over her, pressing their cheeks together. "I love you," he murmured into her ear. "I will always love you. I will avenge you, I promise you that."

  Her breath was a rattle now. "The child...promise..."

  He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to howl out his rage. "I promise," he managed, though every fiber of him resisted.

  But his fury would be reserved for one person. He would make his brother pay, if it cost him his own life.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She wanted him to be here.

  She hoped to hell he wasn't.

  Jace stood in the doorway of The Club's newest location, Halliday at her side.

  "Cardozo's gonna shit when I tell him about this outfit," Halliday spoke next to her ear so she could hear him, his gaze traveling down the short red spandex halter dress.

  "You're gonna die if you do," Jace warned.

  He flashed a grin filled with mischief. "Oh, yeah? How can we settle this, Jace? Hand-to-hand combat?"

  She poked him in the ribs. "I've whipped guys bigger than you."

  "Probably because you flashed those legs, and they went blind." He laughed, do
dging her elbow again.

  "Shut up, Halliday. Let's get to work, but remember what I told you about the smoke. Take frequent breaks and stay away from where it's thickest."

  "Yes, Mom." He flashed her a grin and grabbed her hand and made for the dance floor. "One dance first."

  "I'm serious, Halliday."

  "I know, I know."

  But he didn't know. Couldn't. As she danced with him, her gaze scanned the crowd and she wished she could forget the threat of Dante. Some of the faces, even masked, were becoming familiar to her by now; she'd try to talk to some of them about the girl, Sarah Brown. See if anyone remembered her.

  When the music segued, she waved goodbye to Halliday, crossing the floor to see what attention she could attract. Somebody in this place was bound to have seen Sarah Brown.

  She danced with several partners, the task of avoiding groping hands and brushing bodies occupying her nearly enough to forget for brief stretches to look for Dante.

  She should be glad—she was glad he didn't seem to be here. Neither was Cassandra, it appeared, though someone so tiny would be hard to spot in this madhouse. Jimmy was nowhere to be found, either.

  Someone moved in too close, and Jace glanced up with a ready retort.

  Her friend from the first visit, the blond man, smiled at her. Hi there, he mouthed.

  Jace seldom blushed, but embarrassment surged through her body at the thought that it could have been his hands on her that first night, whatever she'd imagined. She forced a smile. Hi, she mouthed.

  They danced together, him very close but making no move on her. The heat was overpowering, and Jace began to feel dizzy.

  Want something to drink?

  Sure. She'd get a bottled water, the contents of which she could monitor. He was as good a place as any to start asking questions.

  Grasping her hand, he led her off the floor. He looked surprised when she wanted only water but didn't complain. She watched carefully to see that the bartender took it out of a cooler, gesturing that she would open it herself.

  Her companion glanced down. "You're very cautious." The music was still loud over here, but she could hear him.

  She shrugged and broke the seal, lifted the bottle to her lips and swallowed several long pulls. Sighing, she wiped one hand across her sweating forehead. "Pays to be careful. That girl was here, I heard. The one who died."

  "Yeah, I saw the news on TV."

  "You ever notice her?"

  He pushed out his lower lip as if thinking hard. "Not that I can recall."

  "You must come here a lot."

  One shoulder lifted. "I guess so. You?"

  She didn't want to discuss her own visits. "Not so much." To change the subject, she went on. "Surprising number of kids. Isn't that a little dangerous?"

  "Why?"

  "Well, I mean, this isn't exactly the most wholesome place. A young girl could get into trouble."

  "They aren't as young as they seem. They know what they're doing." Something in his smile chilled her. "They're reclaiming their power."

  Jace went rigid. "What did you say?"

  "They're claiming their power as women. Women have their own might, you know." His words showed respect, maybe even admiration. His tone indicated something very different.

  She made a stab in the dark. "Goddesses and priestesses...they've been around as long as mankind has told stories."

  His head moved almost negligently in her direction, but his eyes could have sliced her to the bone. His voice, however, was neutral. "You're interested in priestesses?"

  "I heard of a religion once where the priestess initiated the young men of the tribe. Led them to the Light, I think they called it." She observed him carefully for any sign of recognition.

  His eyebrows rose. "Hmm...sounds interesting. Exactly how did she do this initiation?" Leaning in, he placed one hand at her back.

  Jace forced herself not to react, not to tell the creep to get lost. "There seems only one way to make it truly a powerful experience."

  He pulled her closer, his erection unmistakable. "You're interested in powerful experiences?"

  "I'm intrigued by more than sweaty sex."

  The gleam that flared was not simple lust. The hairs on Jace's neck rose.

  "There is much I could show you, if you're interested."

  "Oh, I am," she all but purred. His gaze turned avid.

  "Could we go now?" Jace asked.

  His eyes went cold. "You do not understand."

  "Then help me."

  "I don't believe you're serious. I don't waste my power on someone frivolous." He scanned the room, then dismissed her. "Excuse me, please. I see someone over there—"

  "Wait." Jace grabbed his arm.

  With barely leashed contempt, he dislodged her. "You're no different than most of them." He nodded at the crowd.

  "I am, I can prove it." She couldn't let him get away. "Look, let me meet you someplace where we can talk without all this noise." When he remained skeptical, she adopted an air of penitence. "I do care about what you're saying. I—I'm sorry if I offended you. I didn't meant to."

  "I don't know. Give me your phone number and perhaps I'll call you." Superiority rang through his every word.

  He wouldn't call.

  "Listen, I don't have a phone yet. I'm new in town, and I'm saving up money. Leave me a note at that place, Hearts...something."

  "Hearts Speak True," he supplied.

  "That's it! You know it?"

  "I go there from time to time."

  "Leave me a note on that bulletin board, giving me a time and place we can meet."

  "What's your name?"

  She hesitated only an instant. "Justine. What's yours?"

  "Simon." He scanned the crowd, edged away.

  She put out a hand, watched his expression change. Jace held on. "I really mean it, Simon. I want to know more. Please teach me."

  "Perhaps. I have to go." Setting his glass down, he disappeared into the crowd.

  Jace watched him leave, her scalp crawling. She'd ask around about him. There was definitely something off with this one.

  Two hours later, dizzy and head pounding even with frequent breaks, Jace sought out Halliday, ready to depart. She hoped he'd found out more. Despite her best attempts, she'd learned next to nothing about this guy Simon or Sarah Brown.

  But the night hadn't been totally wasted; this Simon had Jace's hunches itching like crazy. She wished the masks weren't part of the scene, but she'd remember what she'd seen of his face and she'd keep looking. Santa Fe wasn't so big.

  And maybe he'd come through and leave a note at Myra's. Despite the lack of concrete results, she thought she'd just found a way to track down Jimmy's cult.

  She only hoped it wasn't too late for either Cassandra or Jimmy.

  * * *

  Jimmy Carroll leaned against the building across the street from tonight's venue of The Club, his vision blurred, stomach rebelling at the cheap whiskey he'd drunk. Two days spent searching for Cassie, to no avail. Two days wasted in useless wondering how to get himself out of this trap over Sam's death.

  With bleary eyes he watched people enter and exit, hoping he was here for no reason, that Jace had found Cassie and she'd heeded his warning. If only he knew Cassie would be safe, he'd split town right now and never look back.

  Just what Jace would expect of you. What you've always resorted to before—run when the going gets tough.

  Not this time. Drunk as he was, the liquor had not dimmed his understanding of what he'd done. He hadn't killed Sam, but he'd damn sure introduced Cassie to the dark underbelly of life. He could try to tell himself that she'd been so determined, she'd have found her way in here whether he helped or not—but he knew different. Another time, she might never have attracted the eye of the Keeper. If he hadn't brought her here when he did, she could have had one night of fun and been satisfied to leave it at that.

  No, Cassie was his responsibility. He'd walked away from it often enough in h
is life—Jace had always been there to handle things, so he'd been superfluous.

  But this was squarely his mess to clean up. He was tired and hungry and weary to his soul, but as soon as he was sure Cassie wasn't in The Club tonight, he'd resume looking for her again.

  Maybe he'd even call Jace.

  Jace. Suddenly he saw her and straightened. She was here. Coming out of The Club with some guy.

  Jimmy retreated into the shadows. He could walk right over and talk to her, and maybe she'd...

  He was drunk. To know he was drinking would hurt Jace more than anything. After all they'd suffered at the hands of their mother, he couldn't let Jace see him this way. As he shrank deeper into the darkness, a movement in the doorway of the club caught his eye.

  The Keeper. Watching Jace. Staring at her receding back, the lines of his body revealing his true nature, not the façade most people saw.

  He'd told Jimmy he knew who Jace was. He could hurt her, too, and he would. Sure, she was a cop, and probably a very good one. Jace never did things by halves.

  But his sister was fair, and the Keeper was pure evil. Still, she'd been around.

  Cassie hadn't. Strong-willed, adventuresome Cassie was far too innocent to understand her danger.

  When the Keeper left in a different direction, Jimmy followed. If he couldn't warn Jace or locate Cassie, he could at least keep an eye on the man who would do them both harm.

  * * *

  Jimmy could barely see to stay on the road, but he squinted intently, determined to follow Simon to his destination. When the other man's car pulled behind one of the larger old homes near downtown, Jimmy stopped on the street, noticing too late how crookedly he'd parked.

  Never mind. Have to find Cassie. Got to make Simon leave her alone.

  He stumbled, crossing the driveway in the darkness. Leaning heavily against the back corner of the house, Jimmy glanced around the corner to spot the Keeper ascending a set of stairs to a garage apartment.

  Was she in there? Should he leave and get Jace?

  No, man, what are you gonna tell her? You don't know if Cassie's here. She could be anywhere. Go up the stairs and find out.

  Grasping the banister with both hands, squeezing his eyes shut, then opening to clear them, Jimmy lurched upward, biting back a groan when his shin hit the sharp edge of one step.