by LAURA HARNER
I did not want to share. Every piece of the memory was horrifying. Humiliating. Shameful.
Owen seemed to sense my reluctance because he offered comfort in the form of an explanation. “You need to tell us all of it, KC. We’re going to become your secret keepers. Once a secret is shared, it no longer has the power to turn against you. Once you share this memory with us, no one can twist it inside you ever again. They would have to bespell all three of us, and that can’t happen. I know this is hard, but you need to tell us, so we can keep you safe.”
I turned my sight inward, remembering. This was not a story I ever thought I’d tell anyone. Gripping my hands tightly together, I stared into my lap. With a sigh, I started.
“There was a court appointed guardian who was supposed to check on me and make sure the judge’s orders were followed. She couldn’t find me. There was no official record of where they were holding me, she said I got lost in the system, somehow. It took nine weeks to locate me in the juvenile isolation unit. I was no longer the well-fed, well-groomed young girl that had been sentenced to eight years of juvenile detention.
“When she took me back before the judge, he allowed that some misuse of power might have occurred. Due to the circumstances, he authorized a state provided abortion, and he reduced my sentence by two years. Because of that, I was released when I turned nineteen, instead of twenty-one.” I might have left out a detail or two, but that was the crux of the memories.
There was a long pause, then, “Foster raped you for nine weeks?” It was Quinn’s voice, harsh, whispered.
I cut my eyes in his direction, then quickly looked back down at my hands. “Yes. Him and others. I don’t know how many. It was mostly guards, mostly men, but not all.” My voice was detached, as if I was relating a bad plot to a movie I wished I’d forgotten.
“What happened to him? To all of them?” he asked.
Shaking my head, I answered, knowing he wasn’t going to like what I had to say. “Nothing. I didn’t talk. It would have been my word against all of them. There was enough evidence to know something bad happened. Enough so that I could be moved someplace safer. But, like you said, Quinn. My parents were felons. Who would believe a thirteen-year-old con artist over another cop? Cops trust cops. That’s always been our problem, hasn’t it?”
I raised my eyes when I asked that question. I looked into Quinn’s face and saw the narrowed eyes, the edges of white around his flared nostrils, the hard, straight line of his mouth. Oh he was angry, no doubt. I wasn’t going to wait for him to say something…I wasn’t finished. I poked my finger at his chest.
“You can’t get over the fact that I was in jail, and I can’t get over that you’re a cop. I’m sick of your attitude. I was good enough to fuck, to put a notch in your holster, but not good enough for you to help me when I needed it.”
I turned to Owen, breaking the connection with Quinn. “I’m tired Owen. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Not with Quinn here. It doesn’t help. He just makes me feel dirty.”
I heard the sharp intake of breath behind me, and wondered if I’d finally pissed Quinn off for good. Maybe he would leave me alone. He’d been treating me like a second-class citizen and I was tired of it. I’d worked hard since I was released from the CYA. It might not have been Quinn’s idea of an upstanding job, but I’d been an entertainer, not a con artist.
The things they were doing in Juniper Springs were just a con on a different scale. So what if werewolves really existed? It didn’t change the fact that the town was creating an illusion to bring in tourists in order to make money. The sheriff was just helping to perpetuate the lie.
“What do we need to do to break this spell or potion so I can go to bed?” I asked.
Owen looked over my shoulder at Quinn, and neither man spoke for a long minute. Finally, with a deep sigh, Quinn put his hand on my shoulder and I went stiff at the touch. “Look at me, Katie. Please,” he added, softly.
I turned on the couch to face Quinn, but I scooted back and Owen repositioned himself so that I could press my back into his broad comfort. Owen snaked an arm around my waist, and I held on to it. I glared at Quinn. I was feeling vulnerable and a little bit scared. I spoke first.
“Let’s get something straight, Quinn. According to what you’ve both told me, someone put a potion and a spell on me that would make me relive my darkest memories, in an effort to drive me insane. Is that right?”
Quinn nodded, and looked as though he wanted to add something.
I continued before he had a chance. “You said it was something personal, and I take that to mean someone close by. It had to be someone with access to my personal belongings. And it all started the night you threw me in jail. Quite a coincidence, considering the nature of my worst memories.
“It makes me wonder if you aren’t the person who’s doing this to me. Maybe that’s why you’re trying so hard to avoid touching me. It might let us see what you’re doing. What I want to know is what you expect to get out of this? What do you hope to gain?”
“Don’t, Katie,” Quinn said quietly, his face pale. “I didn’t do this to you. I wouldn’t. God, I don’t see you that way, at all. I should have told you why the curfew was important, that the werewolves were real. Christ, I was so scared when you called me from the Ranch on the night of the full moon. All I could think was to get out there and get you safe. If I could take back putting you in the cell I would. It was the only way I could be sure you wouldn’t go back out there.”
“G&O is the safe house, Quinn. You know that. Why didn’t you bring her to us?” Owen asked.
Quinn glared at Owen, and if looks could kill, Owen would have dropped dead on the spot. He finally responded to Owen, even if he didn’t answer the question. “Fuck you. You know why,” he said. “And God help me, I was wrong!”
It was getting hard to breathe. With Owen pressed tight against my back, and Quinn leaning toward me, there was too much man in the room for me to think straight. I pushed to my feet, causing both men to lean back out of my way.
I wanted to run. Not run away, just go for a nice, long run, and have everything be back to normal when I returned. Neither Quinn nor Owen were acting as I expected them to act. Owen was all protective and had some sort of superior power, as if he was in charge of the situation. Quinn was acting jealous, even though we both knew he didn’t feel that way about me. It was as though there was some long-standing competition between the two men. Newsflash: I will not be a pawn in their game.
Pushing aside their little pissing contest, I started to pace and to think. I hated the thought that someone wished me harm and had come close to succeeding. I really hated that I needed to somehow depend on these two men for protection against this magick. Despite what I said to Quinn, I didn’t really think he was behind the attack. There was just something wrong with the emotions in the room. We were getting our signals and our words all tangled.
I turned to face the men and found them sitting next to each other, both turned toward me, both with hunger on their faces. I’d remarked once before how similar the two men were. Not similar as in brothers, but similar in build, similar in their movements, similar in the power that emanated from each of them. Right now, they were similar in their stillness.
I shivered, and not with the cold. I touched my fingertips to the spot on my neck where Quinn had left his mark. Owen had run his tongue over the marks when they were fresh. Shit. I knew there was much to discuss, but I needed this first question answered above all else.
“Are you a werewolf?” I asked, looking at Quinn. The question I really wanted answered was whether I was a werewolf after Quinn’s bites, but it was easier to ask this way.
Quinn shook his head, and so did Owen beside him. It was really a bit eerie how much the two of them reminded me of each other. If I took the head shakes to mean neither of the men was wolfy, it still left the question of how they knew about spells and such.
“What are the two of you then? Wizards or som
ething? Because I know you’re something. I can feel the power that rolls from you. You know about spells. Can you perform spells, too?”
Again, both men shook their heads, and then Quinn buried his face in his hands. Not as though he were lying, but as though he just didn’t want to talk any more. The atmosphere in the room was changing. It was electric, as if heat lightning was about to crackle over our heads.
Owen draped an arm over the larger man’s shoulder, offering comfort when I hadn’t realized any was needed. The two men sat together, hip touching hip, Owen’s arm around Quinn. I stared, all anger suddenly turned into a white-hot desire.
I had a sudden flash of Quinn on his back, his beautiful hair spread over red satin sheets, his hard body stretched endlessly before me. Naked and most definitely interested. What the fuck?
Chapter Eighteen
This was a dream, wasn’t it? I was standing in my living room, not naked in a bed with Quinn. I was still enough in control of myself to realize that this vision of Quinn was something other than real. Oh God, the dreams were coming for me again. I was breathing fast, first from the promise of pleasure, now from the beginnings of panic.
Quinn gently kissed me and chased away the edge of fear.
“Come back to me now, Katie,” he whispered, his breath hot against my mouth.
Two pairs of arms held me upright. With one at my front and the other at my back, the realization that I was now part of a Quinn and Owen sandwich brought me all the way back to reality. I was still wearing Owen’s shirt and Quinn was still in his blue jeans and tee. No one was naked and there were no red satin sheets.
Owen’s long arms reached around me from behind, his hands resting lightly on Quinn’s hips, keeping us all close. The warm cocoon of the embrace felt like the safest place in the world. Owen seemed content to hold me while Quinn chased away the dreams with gentle kisses.
The familiar earthy scent of Quinn mixed pleasantly with the equally elemental scent of Quinn. As if I were suddenly standing in the middle of a great forest, I inhaled sharply, drawing in the smells of pine, juniper, with an undertone of rich loamy soil. The kind I wanted to sink my hands into.
Quinn brushed his lips over mine once more then pulled back and stared at me, as though he was willing me to understand something. The message was lost to me in the sensations of the moment. I was drowning in pleasure, overwhelmed by the feel of these two men.
“Quinn? Owen? What’s happening?”
Without answering, Quinn looked over my shoulder at Owen. I glanced up just in time to see their gazes meet in a flash of heat lightening that left the three of us scorched and the scent of ozone in the air.
Before I could pull back in shock, Quinn bent his head for one last kiss. Then he turned on his heel and left my apartment, closing the door firmly behind him.
****
Once Quinn left, Owen and I moved apart. I headed for the couch, he for the kitchen to pour fresh drinks. “Is the spell really broken? How do I know the memories won’t come back the next time I sleep?”
“The spell is well and truly broken, KC. It couldn’t stand against the powerful magick the three of us called. The only dream likely to still linger is the one of your vision of Quinn.”
I shivered, only half with pleasure. “What was that?” I whispered.
“Powerful magick,” Owen answered just as softly, as he returned to sit near me on the couch. “You called magick, and his joined yours. Then I added mine.” He shook his head before I could ask. “I can’t tell you what you are, but there is an element of love to your magick. It’s the same with Quinn and me. That’s why the emotions were so raw, so confusing in here tonight.”
I started to ask what magick, but Owen cut me off. “No, KC, I’ll not tell you what kind of magick Quinn and I have. That’s for after you discover your own.”
I sighed. My naiveté was officially gone. Doubt and disbelief were luxuries I could no longer afford. Werewolves were real. Spells, potions, and witches were real. I was having real visions of the future when I told fortunes. What other fairy tales would turn out to be true? Vampires? Zombies? I tucked my feet up under me, sipped at my drink, and struggled to understand all that Owen was telling me.
Lightly brushing his fingertips over my arm, Owen continued. “There were two major elements to what happened to you. The potion made you susceptible to the spell. It lowered your natural psychic defenses. It wouldn’t have taken much, just a few drops into your favorite lotion or in your soap. Something that your skin came into contact with everyday.
“It was the spell that truly was dangerous. The Dark Maker spell is a dark magick. Only a few people would have the ability and knowledge necessary to cast it. The spellcaster was powerful enough to keep the spell attached to you even after you left the area,” Owen said.
“Who? Who would want to do this? Who could do it? The only witch I know is Amelia, and she brought me back here, so I don’t think it’s her,” I said. “I don’t know any other witches.”
Owen looked at me strangely for a minute. “How do you know Amelia is a witch?” he asked.
“She isn’t?” I gasped. “She said she was. Was she lying?”
Shaking his head, Owen allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. “No, Amelia is definitely a most powerful witch. What I asked was, how do you know Amelia is a witch?”
“Because she told me,” I said. I let the frustration in my voice show. I didn’t like playing games and I didn’t understand what it was that Owen wanted me to know.
“Exactly. She told you. Yet you are magickal enough that you should be able to sense when someone is a powerful witch. Close your eyes, KC. Think back over your encounters with Amelia, what can you sense—no, that’s not quite right. What can you taste that is different about her? Have you met any others with that same…flavor?”
I closed my eyes and pictured Amelia in her glowing neon caftans. I tried to look past the fluff of her, to taste the essence. I poked around in the memories, tested the sense of her when we were in a room together. It was like staring at one of those hidden pictures. I could only see it one way. Then my inner gaze shifted and suddenly I could see another image of Amelia superimposed upon the first. It was a smoky and diffused light, a blurring of the edges. It didn’t hide her, it was as though another layer had been added to the image of her in my mind.
I gasped and opened my eyes. “I can see it,” I said excitedly. “It’s like I’m seeing her through a different lens.”
Owen smiled. “Yes. Now, think over others you’ve met since you’ve been here. Look for a pattern. Is there anyone else that has a similar layer?”
I started a hit parade of memories walking through my mind, picturing people I’d met since I’d been at the Honey House. The first hit came with a ghost.
“Joanne! I can see it with her, too.”
Owen laughed delightedly, and I shivered at the sound of it. I pressed on. Not Gabrielle. Not Melissa.
“Oh my God—Susan!”
“Yes,” Owen agreed. “Any others?”
“I’ve been through all the women,” I said.
“A little biased, are we? How about the men?” Owen laughed.
Well, call me Miss Unenlightened. I hadn’t even considered the men. I wasn’t even going to think about Owen or Quinn. Comparing those two men to Amelia or Susan would be like comparing saber-tooth tigers and house cats. The women might be dangerous in their own rights, but their power was nothing to what I sensed from Owen or Quinn.
On to the others. Raymond, no. Jason, no. Malcolm…Merkham, no, no.
Another gasp. “Gregory!” I exclaimed.
“Very good. Now think of the three witches you know, examine their interactions with you, look at the layers, does one of them fit this act? Is one of the visions darker when it comes to you?”
Without thinking, I wanted to shout out Susan’s name and Owen knew that. He slowed me with a finger against my lips and instructions to examine the memorie
s first.
“Oh my God…” I said.
“Yes,” Owen answered on an unhappy sigh. “Quinn is on his way there now.”
Chapter Nineteen
Be careful what you ask for. I knew that better than most, but last night I hadn’t been able to resist asking Owen about my recently gained sex appeal. I knew I was reasonably presentable, and I knew that my stand-offish vibes attracted a certain type of man. Those facts didn’t help explain why every man who’d been in my apartment had made moves on me.
According to Owen, there was some sort of spell on the owner’s apartment that interacted with my unique magick and affected the people who came into my personal space. He didn’t seem particularly interested in learning more about the cause or about the effects. He said I could learn to live with it.
It wasn’t exactly like a love potion, he’d explained, more like the lust that surrounded the goddess Aphrodite. I found that comparison extremely unsettling. He’d laughed at my discomfort and suggested I read Joanne’s Book of Shadows to get a feel for the difference between spells, potions, and personal magick. Of course, he wouldn’t tell me any more about my magick, just reiterated that I would discover it in time.
So this morning I was outside on the patio, eating my breakfast, and trying to read. Unfortunately, the focus necessary to read was absent. I was most definitely bothered by the things Owen had told me. Especially when I thought of my night with Quinn.
Had it taken some external influence to bring us together in such an intimate fashion? I’d been the one to crawl on his lap and initiate the activities. Somehow, given his obvious dislike of me, we’d spent a long night on the loving. To find out that maybe his passion was the result of a spell and he’d been unable to resist me? Gah! That left it feeling a lot like date rape.
Add to that the whole sexual goddess bullshit. It didn’t matter where you put the emphasis. Fucking spell or fucking spell. None of the men were attracted because of who I was. It had more to do with where I was. It doesn’t get any less flattering than that.