“You were hit,” Conor said.
“I’m okay,” I said, staring helplessly at my sword. Bending down to retrieve it was going to hurt like hell.
Conor, reading my mind, picked it up and handed it to me. “No, you’re not. Can you sit in the car?”
“What about the Hunters?” I asked, nodding in the direction of their house.
He looked me over grimly. “I think we have more important matters to attend to.”
I finally dared to glance down and sucked in a breath. My shirt had been burned away by the spell, and so had a good few layers of skin, leaving a red welt on my middle that disappeared under the waistband of my jeans. The center of it was raw and scratched, with blood oozing from the worst scrapes.
My reeling brain conjured up the image of me, a gaping, bloody wound in my center, knocking on the Hunters’ door.
“Yeah, we should probably take care of this first,” I agreed.
Conor hefted my sword into the backseat of the SUV, along with his weapons, and then helped me in. I tried to ignore the pain as he drove.
Chapter 9
Thanks to the pain and adrenaline, I didn’t even bother to pay attention to where we were going. Normally when I got seriously banged up, I went to Adam for help. His medical expertise was pretty limited if you weren’t already dead, but he could sew a line of stitches in a pinch, and he always had drugs.
This injury was different. Normally I got scrapped up fighting with shifters or bitten by undead goblins, not hit with bursts of magical energy.
When Conor parked, I was relieved to see we weren’t at Watcher HQ. I didn’t think a Watcher doctor could sense the demon magic inside me anymore than Conor could now, but I was still reluctant to let any of them get too close. That was the thing about magical powers: just because they seemed standard issue for most people, there were always outliers with strange quirks of ability or heightened senses, and those people didn’t advertise so you never knew who might be able to see right through you and figure out your secrets.
Thankfully, Conor had brought me to a house. It was a modest-sized house on a narrow street with only a few neighbors on the same road and trees all around. It appeared to back up to a greenbelt or forest land. I hadn’t bothered to pay attention when we’d pulled off the freeway and had no real idea of where we were, except on the outskirts of the city.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“My house,” Conor said, unbuckling his seat belt. “Don’t move, I’m going to help you out of the car.”
I stared at the house. It was a small craftsman-style home with two stories and a single detached garage beside it. In the dark, it appeared to be blue, but maybe that was from the moonlight. I undid my seat belt, careful to pull it away from me so it didn’t slide against the injury, and then opened the door. Conor was already there. I tried to wave him away but he took my arm and helped me balance as I exited.
He held onto me tightly, as if I couldn’t hold myself up. His touch was warm, even through my leather jacket. I swallowed, my head still reeling.
“I’m fine, really,” I said, pulling away from him. I turned to get my sword and sucked in a breath as pain exploded in my middle. Okay, so I wasn’t totally fine. I’d just have to move a little slower.
Conor gave me a stern look.
“I need my sword,” I said. It sounded petulant but I was in too much pain to care.
Conor raised an eyebrow but got points for not saying something about how I’d be hard pressed to do much with a weapon in my current state. Instead, he retrieved the sword and helped me into the house.
I leaned against the back of a gray sofa in his living room, knowing that sitting would hurt too much. I set my sword next to me, on the off-chance an attacker came rushing through the door. Though the mages had left abruptly and I hadn’t noticed anyone following us.
“Let me get my first aid kit,” he said, and vanished up the stairs.
From the living room, I could see the kitchen which was around the corner, a stainless steel fridge and granite counter peeking out. A hallway led to a bathroom, closet, and another room. Not a large house, but pretty big for one guy, assuming he lived alone. And there was no indication anyone else lived with him. Only coats that looked like his filled the hooks near the door. It was a far cry nicer than my crappy little apartment, that was for sure.
I tracked Conor’s footsteps across the floor overhead and straightened up when I heard him coming back down.
He carried a small leather bag, about the size of a clutch purse. My first aid kit was a lot bigger, but then, I found myself in a lot of sticky situations.
“Take off your shirt,” he said.
It was my turn to raise a brow. “No.”
He gave a half roll of his eyes. “Don’t make this something it’s not. This is purely a medical intervention.”
That took the wind out of me fast. Not that I wanted it to be more than patching up my wounds, but the way he said it, like he’d never even entertain anything else, was a bit of a slap. I mean, he was an attractive guy and while I wasn’t going to win any beauty pageants, I wasn’t a bridge troll.
Gingerly, I pulled off my leather jacket and laid it on the back of the sofa. Then I looked down at my torn t-shirt, trying to remember which bra I’d worn that morning. I seriously hoped it wasn’t the black one with the fraying edges. I was overdue for some new lingerie, just as soon as it was in the budget.
Another wave of agony rushed through me, hot and searing, and I tore my shirt off. Conor hissed. I started to say “Thanks a lot,” when I realized he was staring at my wound and not my tattered bra (of course the damn black one!)
“Did you see what hit you?” he asked, digging through his bag of tricks.
“I’m not sure. It was a green ball of energy,” I said. My middle burned sort of like a chemical burn, a constant low wave of pain that occasionally crested and burned like fire.
“It was strange magic. I’ve seen mages throw fire and water. Rare to see them flinging balls of energy,” Conor said. He pulled out a little black bottle with a hand-written label. My own first aid kit was more Walgreens than witch, though I did keep a few salves and potions on hand for really bad injuries.
He pulled out a white cloth and opened the bottle, pouring some of the clear liquid on the cloth. The smell of peppermint hit my nostrils. Peppermint was common in healing potions. He set the bottle down on the end table and met my eyes. “This might sting.”
“Can’t hurt worse than it already does.”
With one hand, Conor touched my side to steady me, his hand warm against my skin. With his other, he pressed the cloth against the worst, bloodiest scrapes of the wound. It burned. I swore.
“I was wrong,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Sorry. This is an effective healing agent, but it has alcohol in it, along with peppermint oil. Not the nicest potion but it works.”
I nodded. Tears welled in my eyes as I clenched my fist around the back of the sofa to keep steady. Gradually, the searing pain dulled to an ache.
He removed the cloth and studied the results. Apparently satisfied, he lifted the bottle again. “Now you need to lower your pants.”
Heat rushed into my cheeks. My underwear wasn’t in any better shape, and frankly, I wasn’t taking my pants off for a guy I barely knew. I held my hand out. “Give me the rag and direct me to the bathroom.”
He smiled faintly, as if caught out. But he re-wet the cloth and handed it over without argument. In the small bathroom down the hall, I addressed the wound where the waist band of my jeans had apparently cut into my skin. The top scrapes were already healing. His potion hurt like hell but it was effective.
I came back out, still in my bra and trying not to think about that too much.
Conor wasn’t wearing a shirt.
I froze in the hall, afraid I’d caught him before he was ready. But then I realized the guy had his own room in this house, and if he didn’t want to be seen s
hirtless, he would have gone elsewhere.
He was turned slightly sideways, looking away from me, and pressing a cloth against his shoulder. I swallowed and stole a quick look at his back: muscular and lean, as expected from the cut of his body. And what a body it was. He wasn’t as pale as I’d imagined, his skin glistening with sweat.
I shook that off. Given that we were both half naked, those were definitely the wrong kind of thoughts to be having.
Or the right ones.
I cleared my throat. “It’s working,” I announced. “I didn’t realize you’d gotten hit, too.”
“Just grazed,” he said, turning and meeting my eyes, before dropping his gaze to my bra and quickly looking up again. He smiled, abashed. “I’ll live.”
“I don’t suppose you have a shirt I could borrow? Mine is toast.” Almost literally. The ball of magic energy had burned through half the fabric.
“Of course,” he said, eyes still averted. He set down the cloth and I saw the ghost of a red streak on his shoulder. “One moment.”
He pulled his shirt back on—shame, really—and ran upstairs, only to return with a plain black V-neck. It was a little too big but that was fine. Better than walking around in my old, faded bra. Not that Conor had seemed to mind.
“We should eat,” Conor said.
I laughed, surprised. “Are you asking me out on a date?” I waggled my eyebrows playfully. Apparently the combination of adrenaline and seeing him shirtless had me acting like an idiot.
“No,” he said, frowning slightly. “But we should replenish our energy after that fight. Do you like Thai?”
I thought of the remaining cash in my pocket. There wasn’t a lot left.
Conor ignored my hesitation and went to his landline phone, which was a thing that he had. It was hanging on a dock on the wall of the dining area next to the kitchen. He put in an order and then offered me a beverage.
“Got any beer?” I asked.
That got a smile, and a warmth shot through me. He had a handsome smile that lit up his face and made him look less stuffy and uptight. I took a seat at the oak square table in the dining nook. It was big enough for four, with a chair at each side. I sat with my back to the wall, facing the kitchen. Conor pulled out a couple of India Pale Ales and I practically swooned.
He popped the tops and set a cold bottle down in front of me and took the seat opposite.
“So, we should discuss what happened out there.”
My stomach knotted. I took a sip of the cool beer, in part to stall. Had he noticed something about my demon magic? I hadn’t used it in that fight, much as I’d wanted to. If I’d been able to fry those guys, I wouldn’t be sore and bruised in ten different places.
“Those mages had extraordinary magic. I saw them throw up a wall against your attack without a shield wand.” Conor shook his head, as if he still couldn’t quite believe it. “And worse, I sensed a hint of demon magic.”
“Demon magic?” My voice went up slightly and I cleared my throat. “Granted, that was some weird mage magic but it was definitely mage magic.”
“I believe they were using brimstone,” he said. “That would explain their heightened powers. It doesn’t explain why they attacked us and ran.” He frowned, as if trying to puzzle that out.
The knot in my middle eased and I took another sip of the hoppy, bitter beer.
“You can sense brimstone?” I asked, surprised. I couldn’t, beyond seeing the purple glow around it with my shadow sight. Brimstone had a distinctive smell, like burning coals and sulfur, but it wasn’t particularly strong.
“I am a trained professional, you know.” He smiled. It was meant to be flirty but it just made a wave of nausea rise in my stomach, another reminder that he was trained to detect demons and demonic magic.
“I’m aware,” I said. If he could sense the trace amount of demonic energy in brimstone, how likely was he to sense it in me? A shudder ran through me and I drank another sip to cover it. “I think that Wilder guy sent the mages after us.”
Conor furrowed his brow and set down his beer. “What makes you think that?”
I couldn’t tell him that I’d seen shadows around Wilder. So I said, “It’s just kind of suspicious that we leave his secret night club and suddenly these guys appear and attack.”
“No one followed us,” Conor said. “I’m always vigilant.”
“They didn’t have to follow us. They knew where we were headed.” Conor opened his mouth to argue and I held up a hand. “For all we know, he sent a second crew to Wentworth’s residence to cover his bases, no matter who we decided to interview first.”
“That’s quite an investment of resources,” Conor said, unconvinced.
But I was sure of it. Wilder was up to something. He hadn’t liked our appearance at his club and he’d wanted his goons to distract us, maybe get us off his trail. “He tried to direct us to Wentworth, not the Hunters. Maybe the goons were there to see we didn’t speak with them. Or maybe they would have attacked us no matter which guy we tried to interview.”
“Or maybe this Wentworth guy acting strange is a real lead,” Conor said tersely. “We don’t know.”
I did not roll my eyes but it was an effort. “Okay, sure, it might be. But I don’t trust this Wilder guy. And who else would attack us?”
Conor considered that point, tapping his fingers against the tabletop. “I’ve made my share of enemies in this profession.”
“So have I. But what are the odds one of our various enemies decides to attack now, tonight, near the Hunters’ house? And it worked, in terms of keeping us from our interview, didn’t it?”
Conor sipped his beer and stared at the window, which was covered with blinds. “You have a point,” he grudgingly admitted.
I smiled smugly. “So what do we do about it?”
“I propose you stay the night.”
Heat crept into my cheeks, helped by the alcohol. I stole another look at his chest, the t-shirt too loose to really see anything. “I—”
The doorbell rang. I didn’t know whether to be annoyed or relieved. Conor got up and paid for our food, bringing the bags to the kitchen and unloading the containers. He’d ordered yellow curry with rice, pad thai, spring rolls, and a fried chicken dish with garlic sauce. The aroma of curry and garlic made my stomach growl. I hadn’t even realized how ravenous I was until now.
“I’ll put sheets on the guest bed after we eat,” Conor said, pulling silverware out of a drawer and sticking a spoon in each container. “You need to heal, and even with the potion, sleep will help that. Tomorrow we can start chasing down leads and figure out where these mages are coming from.”
Ah, the guest bed. That made sense.
I refused to be disappointed. After all, what was I going to do? Have a one-night stand with a guy who’d turn me in the moment he learned my secret? Yeah, no. Not a good idea, no matter how hot he was or how much my body wanted it to be.
Plus, I was injured. The potion was helping (sitting was no longer agonizing) and so was the beer, but I wasn’t exactly in peak condition.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said, scooping rice onto my plate and smothering it in curry.
“I hope you like it spicy,” Conor said.
It took me a full minute to realize he was talking about the food. Oh, boy I was in serious trouble.
Chapter 10
I awoke with a hazy head in a strange place and it took me a minute to remember where I was. The healing potion and the injury itself had done a number on me and I felt dizzy as I sat up to check the time on my phone. It was after one in the afternoon, meaning I’d slept over ten hours.
I slid out of bed and crept into the hall. The guest room was upstairs, down the hall from Conor’s room. His door was still shut and the house was silent, so I assumed he was still sleeping. I went into the guest bathroom and saw Conor had left a stack of bath towels near the shower for me, so I stripped down and scrubbed up. The wound in my midsection had almost completely healed, le
aving only a light-colored bruise. I got dressed in the same jeans and borrowed t-shirt I’d slept in. It wasn’t the greatest feeling but if I was honest, it wasn’t the first time I’d worn an outfit two days in a row, either.
My building had a laundry room on the ground floor but the washers were coin-operated and I had trouble keeping quarters on hand. Plus, Silas was not great about keeping the appliances in working order. And I could only convince myself to trek to the laundromat about once a month.
Downstairs, I dug through Conor’s cabinets until I found the coffee (conveniently located in the cabinet above the coffee maker) and started a pot brewing.
Conor came down a half hour later, freshly showered and smelling of basil and mint shampoo. He wore gray pants and a gray long-sleeved t-shirt, the Watcher uniform. Though without the vest and with his damp hair, the uniform was far sexier than it should have been.
“I see you found the coffee,” he said, getting himself a cup.
“I hope that’s okay. My brain was pretty fuzzy.”
“The potion has that effect,” he said. He joined me at the table with his mug. “How’s your injury?”
“Mostly healed. I don’t suppose you’re willing to share the potion recipe?” I was mostly joking. Witches were pretty protective of their spells and potion recipes. Usually they were passed down in families, and only sparingly shared with close friends.
“I learned it from my mother. She didn’t write spells down. She burned my grandmother’s spellbook, in fact. She was paranoid about it falling into the wrong hands.”
I blinked in surprise, then took a sip of coffee to keep from blurting out something insensitive. I was thinking, that’s nuts.
Despite how closely most witch families guarded specific spells, witch magic itself wasn’t a secret. Most witches could do pretty much the same things, even if they had slightly different tweaks on how to do them. It was sort of like recipes. Families all over may have recipes for lasagna or fried chicken or pasta salad, and plenty of people had the same basic recipe, while others had variations, but all produced more or less the same result.
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