Light shimmers and flecks from the ends of my fingers. It looks so pretty, but this is raw, pure energy that singes Jonas’s truck seats where stray sparks land. I try to keep it as controlled as I can, but the day has been so long and so full of insanity, my hand shakes and jumps and the power focus wavers.
Jonas’s hands cover mine and he draws his fingers along my skin over and over again, murmuring incantations that sound similar to the ones my mother uses, but older and rougher, like he’s weaving the words through from some ancient, sacred doorway that hasn’t been accessed for a thousand years. The shower of sparks from my fingers narrows, and the blue and white ball in my hands jumps and dances, then falls with a cool, heavy thud in my palm, a pure, clear blue.
“Here.” Jonas scoops it up and holds it to my forehead. I close my eyes, and all of those memories unfold in my mind like a beautiful, perfect film reel. The image of Bestemor so healthy and happy breaks down the last of my strength, and I put one clammy hand up to cover the boble and Jonas’s fingers.
We sit for a minute, then he says. “We have to go now. I shouldn’t have let you stay this long.”
I nod. He reaches down to his boot, yanks the leather lace out, and pulls it loose. He ties the boble securely on it, and ropes it around, so it’s a necklace. “These work best close to your heart.” He slips it over my head, and his large hands rest on my hair, moving down to squeeze my shoulders. He rubs his thumbs on my skin and looks at me, his face wide open but swathed in secrets I’m too tired to wonder about.
I’m too tired for any of this. The last few weeks have altered every single aspect of my life, and I’m sapped, wrung out, beaten down, and pounded on. “Thank you.” I manage.
He starts the engine, reaches around me, depresses a lever, and reclines my seat. “You’re welcome. You better rest. You’re going to need it.
Chapter 23
Sakura’s bubblegum pink nails press into my throat. She holds me by the neck, her fingers fishing for my windpipe, and I know she knows exactly how much pressure will crush it. In her other hand, she holds Loki by the tail, limp and unmoving. Why isn’t Loki moving?
Her face mangles into a tormented, ugly-featured version of itself. Then it morphs into Bestemor’s face.
I scream, and the Sakura/Bestemor image disappears and is replaced by the oncoming lights of a sixteen-wheeler speeding directly toward me. My screams go from panicked-as-hell to I’m-about-to-die, and I throw my hands up over my face, a useless gesture in the glaring headlights of imminent death.
But death doesn’t come.
Instead, I’m held tight by my seatbelt, and Jonas’s hand, reached across the seat, rubs my knee. “It’s okay. Nightmares are part of the whole thing.” His voice is cool and soothing as aloe to a sunburn.
“What whole thing?” My voice comes out like I gargled with gravel.
“Becoming a full-power shieldmaiden.” A reluctant smile half-curls up one side of his mouth, and I’m shocked over how my heart flutters when I see it. “There were good reasons that I didn’t want anything to do with shieldmaidens.” He shudders slightly, just a quick shake of his broad shoulders, but it’s enough to let me know that he’s disgusted by me and my…general weirdness.
“I’m so sorry my vivid, horrifying nightmares are so offensive to you.” I shake his hand off of my knee and resolve to be pissed at him for being so self-centered. Then I realize I have to pee, my stomach is twisting itself into knots, I have to tell him these things if I want any relief, and he’s on this whole wild, stupid fox chase because of me. The truth plucks my conscience like an out-of-tune harp. “Sorry. I guess I need another nap.”
“No worries.” This time his smile stretches all the way to his back teeth. “And you have to be starving. I am. You wanna get a bite?”
“Sure. What time is it?” I glance at his front dash, but the clock is dark. “Where are we?” I look out the windows, but it’s pitch black, and we’re cruising down a highway way too fast to see anything anyway.
“It’s probably two or three in the morning, and we’re fifty miles outside of Geneva, Ohio.” He pulls off at the next exit ramp.
“Ohio?” Bestemor and I never traveled all that much, and what little traveling we did was mostly up and down the coast.
“There’s a base camp over in Michigan, somewhere old and good for hiding. That’s our ultimate destination.” He pulls into a big, bustling truck stop with a fluorescent-lit diner-like eatery.
I try to smooth my hair down, but I can feel it’s sticking all over my head like crazy. I’m not sure if I even have my purse with me, but Jonas hands it to me when he sees me searching down by my feet and behind my seat. For a minute, I just hold the bag in my hands, because it occurs to me that what he just did is a very boyfriend thing for a guy to do.
Which is just wishful thinking.
Because Jonas isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my magus.
I don’t even know what that actually means, but it’s so disappointing, it almost makes me lose my appetite.
Until Jonas swings open the glass door that leads into an old-but-scrubbed-clean interior that wafts the heavenly scent of banana cream pie. I practically float in, and I’m sorely tempted to march up to the counter and order an entire banana cream pie all for myself.
But I have to pee. Chew a few breath mints. Take a good look at my hair and try not to faint. Contact Vee. Which I want to do in private because Jonas is lurking over me, and I have a feeling I maybe shouldn’t, but I need to hear her voice and plan to keep it short and sweet, not ask permission, and keep my fingers crossed that I’m not breaking some major ancient rule.
Jonas gets us a booth and promises to order me a big, steaming mug of coffee, and I head to the bathroom. Once I’ve emptied my bladder and shrieked over my insane wig of hair, I fish through my bag for my phone.
It isn’t there.
I reach in again and look slowly and carefully, taking measured, even breaths to keep from losing it. Then I dump every damn thing on the stainless steel counter, cracking my compact mirror and sending a few tampons rolling under the sink.
My phone isn’t in my purse.
I won’t be able to tell Vee I’m okay. I won’t be able to text my mother and check on Bestemor. I’m cut off entirely, and Jonas Balto knew exactly where my bag was when I reached for it in his truck.
When I catch my reflection in the mirror, my eyes are a hot, glowing gold, and I look ready for a thrown-down, knock-out fight.
By the time I stalk back to the booth, I’m so pissed I can barely string sentences together. Jonas’s eyes sink back in his skull, red-rimmed and droopy-lidded behind his glasses, and there’s not a hint of surprise on his face when he sees my fury. “Have a cup of coffee.” He slides a mug across the scrubbed-smooth laminate with one finger.
I shove the mug back so hard steaming, dark coffee flies over the rim and makes a puddle on the table. “I don’t want a damn cup of coffee. I want my phone. Now.”
Jonas pulls out a few napkins and mops my mess up, and a flash of shame creeps over me. “Please, Wren? Sit down and at least let me have some coffee. I feel like the walking dead.” His voice is an anvil squashing all the wild out of my temper.
I plop into the booth, the cushions so worn I can feel the wood frame and coiled metal springs underneath. I drag the mug back toward me and add a little creamer and a lot of sugar. “Where is my phone?” My voice is gun-in-the-holster ready, and I’m determined to blow his head off with it if he doesn’t explain. Fast.
The waitress who comes over is young but haggard-looking, like this is her third double shift in a row. The overtired, frazzled, weary waitress who will always live deep inside me bleeds for her, and I stop interrogating Jonas long enough for us to place our order and for me to give her a tiny smile of sympathy that she stares at blankly.
She does smile at Jonas. A bright, sweet, totally unfrazzled smile that shows off a cute dimple.
I kick my feet out under the booth table,
irritated that I’m so irritated by our snide waitress’s flirtation attempts, irritated that my entire life has been shaken like a snow globe, but instead of artificial snow flakes, all that’s fallen around me is black feathers, bad luck, and a huge list of questions that gets longer with every passing second.
Jonas pours so much sugar in his coffee, there’s no way it can possibly dissolve, then starts talking to the silver spoon he’s stirring with. “My gram noticed I had what it took to be a magus when I was little. At first, I thought it would be kind of cool.” He raises one eyebrow and rolls his eyes, I’m guessing at the memory of his younger, dumber self. “I’m a guy in a big family filled with mostly women. It’s kind of rare for shieldmaidens to get married or keep guys who are married-in around. Their own male children are fine, of course. But anytime a kid is born into a distinguished coven, boy or girl, it’s basically all about power. I wanted to be bigger and stronger and smarter and more fucking magical than all my cousins and siblings.” He finally takes a long sip of his coffee, which has to taste just like hot syrup. “At first.”
“What changed your mind?” I’m suddenly chilly. And want to sleep in a bed. Preferably mine, even though I know that isn’t possible. I cup the mug between my hands and try to suck all the warmth from it.
“Seeing what the power does to people.” He swats an almost gold piece of hair from in front of his glasses. “When my gram asked me to watch you, I thought of it like I was a detective. She was happy about how seriously I took my job. Then my aunt tried to pump me for information about you, and she and my gram had a huge fight. My aunt moved out of the complex where we all lived, and my gram never said a word about it.” He rubs a hand over his face and pulls those adorable glasses off. “Once I realized who you were, I figured out that their fight was probably because my aunt wanted to recruit you to her shieldmaiden boot camp. My grandmother must have had a good reason to keep Magda away from you. I had no idea back then who your family was or what you were capable of. But I feel like I got you into this, and that’s why I agreed to be your magus, at least until you get Loki back.”
The waitress comes back over with our food—my bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich and Jonas’s medium-rare cheeseburger with bacon and tomato. “I’m not some pity project, Jonas. Like you said, I’m powerful. I don’t need you.” I douse my homefries with ketchup so violently, it makes me feel like I’m staging a diner food battle reenactment.
“I want to help you. I feel like being with you…as your magus,” he quickly clarifies when I abruptly stop drowning my food in ketchup, “is a good use of my powers. I’ve denied them because I just figured that, without my grandma around to help ward off the crazies, I’d get manipulated by my family. And you do need me.” He pulls the ketchup bottle out of my hands and makes a neat pool for his own fries. “Otherwise we’d have the Kråke on our asses right now. Seriously? A cell phone call? Even a low-level techie human can track one of them. Use your brains, witch.”
I open my mouth to unhinge a retort, but a laugh bursts out instead. “Screw off, warlock.”
He holds up his burger out so we can toast, and I knock it with part of my bacon, egg, and cheese between giggles.
“Is there a way to let Nevaeh know that I’m okay? Without getting her in trouble?” I ask when I finally stop picturing him in a tall pointy hat and flowing robes.
Jonas chews thoughtfully. “You’re a really powerful shieldmaiden. I know you can communicate though shield. But you’re a witch, too. I don’t know as much about that, but if you can talk to Loki in your head, you can talk to Nevaeh. Concentrate on sending her a message.”
“Now?” I gulp down a bite of perfectly fried egg and give the shiny diner a quick look, still too new with my powers to have any idea if I can whip them around in public without anyone noticing.
“No.” He shakes his head and his cheeseburger suddenly becomes the focal point of all his interest. “We’ll bunk down somewhere for the night. You can do it then. Before bed.”
And suddenly the delicious food in my mouth flakes into sawdust, and I’m chomping through a dense, tasteless substance because my tastebuds and brain and everything in between goes on temporary hiatus when it hits me that Jonas and I will be sleeping somewhere.
Together.
Tonight.
And, possibly, for many nights in the foreseeable future.
Chapter 24
Jonas is the one who pays the bill while I revisit the bathroom and examine my extremely pale reflection in the mirror. I try to connect to Loki, but there’s nothing but fuzz. I can’t call Vee. I can’t link with my mother, father, or grandmother, no matter how many incantations or shields I attempt. I hold my boble, the one Jonas helped me finish, tight in my fist and close my eyes, and the warm, bubbly laughter of those perfect days ricochets through me.
That breezy feeling levitates my steps all the way down to the doors of the diner. Jonas waits, hands deep in the pockets of his black hoodie, back leaned against the glass. When I get close, he throws his body weight to swing the door open, and we march to his truck, the only sound the crunch of the gravel under our feet. We get in and drive for a long, silent minute before he clears his throat and speaks.
“There’s a cabin a few miles from here. It’s not the one I want to get to, but it’s safe enough and close enough. We can rest and recharge, and you can try to channel Vee and your family.” His clear blue eyes stick to the road, squinting with sleepiness at the rare, speeding headlights that zoom by once every endless stretch of seconds.
“And your family?” I don’t really know much about Jonas’s family. I’ve never heard anything about his father. Come to think of it, I’ve never really heard much about a mother either. I know for sure he lived with his gram before she died and I met Magda. And he mentioned a brother. That’s about all I know.
I notice the way his hands curl around the steering wheel until the knuckles go white. He slides his eyes in my direction, and they flash doubt twined with relief, like he’s glad someone finally asked but isn’t sure he should answer. “I got kicked out.”
My heart skids, a braked tire on the blacktop, and I lean back hard into the seat. “Because of me?”
His laugh is brisk and short. “You? No. Why would you think that? If they knew I was here with you, I’d probably be hailed as a returning hero. Total opposite. I wouldn’t…uh…become a magus. For someone else.”
A car speeds by fast, but the headlights bounce in the cab of the truck just long enough for me to see the faintest blush on the lean angles of his cheekbones. “You’re really against this whole shieldmaiden thing, aren’t you?” I shift in my seat so I can concentrate on reading him for clues, since he’s clearly trying to use brevity to its best advantage.
His swallow is audible. “I shouldn’t…there’s a lot about this, um, line of magic you don’t get. It’s darker than you might think. More…well, complicated. More twisted, I guess you could say.”
“Giant black crows tried to rip the roof off my house and attack my family,” I remind him. “You don’t have to be all careful with what you tell me. My own cousin is trying to kill my grandmother. This shit is dark. I get that.” Just the thought of Sakura brings a low jolt of hate jarring through me like a kid bashing her hands hard and fast over the keys of a piano.
“I know. It’s just…that’s kind of the obvious black if this whole thing is black and white. But then there are weird grey areas—” Jonas’s jaw petrifies, and I can tell he’s got whatever he wants to say trapped in the strong grit of his teeth.
I wait for some kind of explanation after he trails off, but the seconds tick by and he doesn’t offer anything more. “Okay.” I clear my throat gently. “I have parents who may or may not have abandoned me my whole life. I went years thinking I was completely unloved by two psycho narcissists, but now I might be that little princess whose parents let her get raised in some cottage in the woods so the evil witch wouldn’t find her. But I’m not sure because no one w
ill tell me a goddamn thing. Grey enough for you?”
Jonas chuckles and sucks in a long breath. “That’s pretty damn grey.”
I can practically hear his brain chewing on the but. “But what? I know you’re thinking it.”
“That’s sweet stuff. It’s not…deviant.” One hand claws through his hair and makes it stand up at weird angles.
I don’t need to wait for some car to pass to know that Jonas’s ears are on fire, and my curiosity is burning up right alongside them. “Deviant? Deviant like how? There are so many naughty thoughts running through my brain right now. You need to tell me.” I poke him in the shoulder with one finger. He cracks a tiny smile. “Tell me. Tell me right now, Jonas Balto, or I swear I will figure out how to put a spell on you. Eventually. And I’ll turn you into a toad or a honey badger or a sloth.”
He rubs one hand down his face in a long, slow pull, like an old man preparing to tell a haunted tale on a dark and stormy night. I sit up in my seat, every limb tingling.
“It’s weird,” he warns. I lob him an even, expectant look. Oh, I can do weird. I sure can. He nods slightly and starts the formal little explanation of shieldmaiden weirdness. “A magus and a shieldmaiden can bond a lot of different ways. There have been some really famous sibling teams. Sometimes a parent and a child can bond. Sometimes a more distant relative. But there has to be a connection. It’s a lot like what you and Loki have. And it can’t be forced. It can’t even always be explained.”
“Are we considered bonded?” My curiosity is peaked. As far as I know, he just volunteered to protect me. Can he do this for any shieldmaiden? Or am I special?
“We have a natural bond,” he explains. “It’s strong, especially considering we haven’t had any bonding ceremonies or done any official links. If we keep working together, it would get a lot stronger. It would get weaker if I started working with another shieldmaiden regularly. The bonds can flow and ebb, and sometimes they can be helped along.”
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