A Fistful of Frost: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Madison Fox Adventure Book 3)

by Rebecca Chastain

  My insides caved and the phone squeaked in my fist. Take action. What a lovely euphemism for murder. Jamie had been out of my sight for only a few hours, and already Niko threatened to kill him.

  “Good-bye, Niko.”

  The cuff of pain circling my left ankle dulled, overpowered by the fiery cramp of my neck muscles. Even after hours of searching the skies for Jamie, the bitter mix of hope and desperation prevented me from looking down for more than ten seconds at a time.

  The tyv remained elusive, which made every minute more frustrating than the last. For the tyv to be hidden from Brad’s and Pamela’s sensitive soul radar, she had to be cloaked by Jamie. Since the tether between us forced Jamie to stick close, we should have encountered the tyv eventually. For her to remain out of sight despite all four of us running a nonstop grid through the subdivision meant Jamie had to be herding her away from us, choosing again and again to protect the soul-devouring tyv rather than return to me. My emotions swung between heartsickness and fury, the erratic pendulum inspiring nauseous cramps in my gut.

  Pamela dismissed me after midnight, well after the number of drone sightings had dwindled to fewer than two an hour. She and the other enforcers would remain behind in the hopes that with my departure, Jamie would be forced to uncloak the tyv. I couldn’t tell if Summer resented me for getting to cut out early or if her contemptuous expression had frozen on her face. I was beyond caring.

  They all walked me back to my car—not even a disgraced enforcer could be left unaccompanied while a tyv was on the loose—and I drove home on autopilot. I called Brad when I pulled into my parking space and cut the engine.

  “Anything?” I asked.

  “Nothing. It’s too early for the tyv to have gone to ground. Jamie must have followed you with the tyv in tow.”

  I rested my forehead against the steering wheel. “Should I look for her? Is Pamela on her way?”

  “No. We’ve decided to send everyone home, but you’re on call. If the tyv turns up, I’ll notify you. Until then, let the pooka wear himself out while you get some rest.”

  How? How could I possibly rest while Jamie was out there terrorizing my region, upset with me?

  I clung to the weak hope that he would be waiting for me upstairs, but no pooka graced my welcome mat, and when I turned the key in the lock, I swung my door open into a dark apartment. A heavy thump followed by a series of increasingly loud meows announced Mr. Bond. I flicked on the light, and he and Dame Zilla blinked at me. I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, the heaviness of my heart sapping my will to move.

  Her belly low to the ground, Dame Zilla crept up on the pile of muddy pants and towels I dumped at my feet. Mr. Bond ignored the laundry to twine through my legs, scolding me at top volume for letting his food bowl get empty. I took two steps into the apartment, unclipped the knife from my belt, and collapsed, flopping onto my back. My ankle throbbed at the change of pressure against the tracker, but the rest of my body welcomed being prone. Mr. Bond switched tactics, stomping across my stomach and settling on my chest. I wheezed in a breath and adjusted the soul breaker between us so it wasn’t jabbing my breasts; then I rested a hand on my cat’s soft back and closed my eyes. Mr. Bond started purring.

  The serene moment lasted less than five seconds before Mr. Bond yowled and launched from my stomach. I gasped for air and sat up. Dame Zilla stalked from the towels to my feet. She sniffed the soles of my boots, then wrapped her tiny body around a boot and sank teeth and claws into the leather.

  “Hey!” I shooed her away. She ran to the dirty towels, grabbed a hunk with her front legs, and disemboweled them with her back, her stubby tail slashing.

  If Jamie had been there, he would have laughed and used my phone to take pictures.

  Sighing, I removed my boots. The tracker hung loose enough around my ankle to fit my finger through the gap, and I savored a moment of holding the heavy band away from my bruised flesh. The left boot was ruined, the leather permanently stretched at the ankle in the square form of the tracker.

  After allaying Mr. Bond’s fear of starvation and plopping both wet and dry food down for him and Dame Zilla, I tossed everything I had on plus the second set of dirty pants and the muddy towels into the washing machine. Then I walked naked down the hall to the shower. No pooka meant no modesty necessary.

  It didn’t feel as freeing as I’d hoped.

  I stood in the tub for several minutes after the water had warmed, holding the tracker under the gushing spout, hoping to drown it. An ugly bruise circled my ankle beneath it like a shadow. A dozen more purpling bruises marred my thighs and ankles, and my side had a fist-size black smudge below my ribs, though I didn’t remember injuring myself there.

  Good thing Alex and I aren’t at the seeing-each-other-naked stage. Clumsiness could explain away only so much.

  After showering, I took one look at my yellow polka dot and pink bunny pajamas—the ones Jamie had insisted on getting for himself, too—then dressed in sweats and a frayed UC Davis T-shirt. I switched the laundry to the dryer and forced myself to eat, alternating between staring at the door, willing Jamie to knock, and pretending the door and pooka didn’t exist. Mr. Bond hid beneath the table, lying like a loaf across my slippered foot, while Dame Zilla tore around the front room, chasing a fake mouse covered in feathers.

  Despite the late hour, I didn’t want to turn out the lights and be forced to confront my emotions alone in the dark. Instead, I laid out an old towel on the table and placed Val on top. Using a damp cloth, I wiped mud and grit from his cover, then buffed his leather jacket with a water-resistant polish. I took my time caring for several deep scratches, but I didn’t say anything while I worked. I tried not to even think. Every time I let my mind wander, it circled back to Jamie, the tyv, my deteriorating region, Jamie, the damn tracker on my leg. Jamie.

  Finally, I opened Val. “What can you tell me about getting Jamie back?”

  You didn’t let me speak to Pamela! His words filled the page, indignation in every spiked letter.

  “I didn’t think you’d want me to.” I reassembled the polishing kit and folded the towel, wiping my fingers off on a clean corner. If I kept my motions calm, maybe I could fool my emotions to follow suit. My gaze slid to the door, and I jerked it back to the book.

  I TOLD you I wanted to explain my side of the story.

  “But then I’d have to explain mine. Like how you’re supposed to help me, but all you do is complain. And how you put in the minimal effort possible and get in a huff when I ask for more. And how you let your prejudices obstruct your ability to do your job, and how if you’d explained how to handle Jamie earlier, I’d still have him under control. For the sake of complete honesty, I might have needed to include how you enjoy kicking your partner when she’s down and playing the blame game.”

  Words started to form on his page, but I didn’t read them and I didn’t stop talking.

  “But then I thought about how much you want Pamela to like you, whereas you only want me to be your caretaker, pamper you, carry you everywhere, and make sure you aren’t bored. So I thought it best to hold off on chatting with the inspector—for the sake of your reputation, of course.”

  A flurry of words appeared and erased faster than I could follow, which I took to be Val’s equivalent of sputtering.

  “Well, you’re all cleaned up and it’s time for bed, so let’s get you set up with your next audiobook. Good night, Val.”

  I closed him gently, though my fingers trembled with suppressed anger. Maybe I should give him to Pamela. Permanently. I could let the two of them bask in each other’s stunning personalities.

  The conversation had weakened the numb buffer between me and my emotions, and after I settled Val in the closet, the day’s disappointments scrolled unbidden through my thoughts. Val’s selfishness. Summer’s holier-than-thou attitude. Ignorantly involving Brad in the prajurit peace talks. Jamie’s behavior during my date with Alex. The tyv loose in my region. Jamie running awa
y. The tracker on my ankle. Jamie’s absence.

  My whole body vibrated with the urge to pummel something, and I watched enviously when Mr. Bond threw himself against his scratching post, wrapping his pudgy body around a leg and pummeling it with his back claws. I needed a human version of a scratching post.

  Flopping into my gray recliner, I stared at the door with eyes gritty from fatigue. My body was spent, but my mind refused to turn off. After an hour, when Jamie still hadn’t appeared, I stuffed a spare key under the mat, left the front room light on, and went to bed.

  A soft, snuffling sound woke me from a deep, dreamless sleep. I blinked at the dark wall, confused. The front room light. I’d left it on, but now the apartment sat in shadows.

  Groggily, I rolled over. The tracker cut into my bruised ankle and I kicked out in annoyance, freezing a second later when I spotted Jamie. He stood in the center of the bedroom in his Great Dane shape, his body a dark outline in a dark room.

  “Jamie.” Relief, raw and unfiltered, filled my voice.

  Jamie raised his head, and his golden eyes glowed in the faint light. He took a tentative step closer to the bed. I stretched my hand out to him and rested it on his forehead. Contentment flowed through me, unwinding tension embedded deeper than muscle.

  I smiled. Jamie licked my hand, turned in a circle, and curled up as close to the bed as he could get. I wriggled to the edge of the mattress and dropped a hand over the side to rest on his back. We exhaled in unison, and I closed my eyes.

  I had so many things to say to him, but the spell of the darkness, the bond singing harmoniously inside me, and his warm side beneath my hand stole the words from me.

  The bed shook as Mr. Bond landed on it. He settled against my feet, his upper body propped across my soles. Dame Zilla curled into the crook of Jamie’s leg, purring as loud as a mountain lion, lolling me back to sleep.

  When I woke, Jamie was gone.

  19

  Caught between a Strong Mind and a Fragile Heart

  The snarled bond throbbing in the back of my head informed me of Jamie’s absence before I opened my eyes. Squinting against the sunlight, I stared at his empty bed and tucked my dangling hand under the covers. For one sleepy moment, I wished he’d woken me and taken me with him. Then the weight of heartache, resentment, and anger settled once more on my chest, and I berated myself for doing nothing to stop him from leaving.

  A heavy pounding rattled the front door. Throwing back the covers, I lurched out of bed, waking a chorus of protests from the muscles of my body. The tracker bounced against my bruised ankle, eliciting a throb of pain. Groaning, I hobbled across Jamie’s bed, the fluffy blanket cold beneath my bare feet.

  Sitting as tall as possible, with his ears stretched to elongated points, Mr. Bond stared at the front door from the safety of the kitchen, his blue eyes saucer round. Dame Zilla crouched behind him, poised to escape down the hall. When I stomped past, she hunkered lower, ears flicking in alarm. Given their nervousness, the knocking had been going on for some time.

  I glanced from the crystal blue sky outside my third-story window to the clock on the microwave: 7:31. I’d had less than four hours of sleep.

  A fist pounded on my door again, loud enough to wake neighbors. I peered through the peephole. Pamela’s white-blond head with its shock of bright auburn over her temple filled the fish-eye viewer. When she leaned back, her face telegraphed impatience.

  I hesitated, then threw back the dead bolt and tugged the door open as I blinked to Primordium. Pamela burst into my apartment, icy air billowing over my bare toes in her wake. The inspector gleamed with a radiant strength reminiscent of Niko, though the jagged edges of her region-defined soul looked painful.

  “Is the pooka here?” she demanded.

  “No.” The heater kicked on and I shut the door.

  Pamela gave me a once-over, then swept the apartment with the same critical stare. I glanced around, seeing the empty cat food bowls, the cat toys, yesterday’s mail strewn in front of the TV, a forest of plants shoved around the edges of the living room, and not a single drop of atrum.

  Thank you, Jamie.

  Dame Zilla decided she had been brave enough, and she slunk down the hall and disappeared into the bedroom. Always an eager host, Mr. Bond swung his tail up and sauntered up to Pamela to sniff her pants. The inspector bent and sank her fingers into his thick coat, sending a discreet trickle of lux lucis into Mr. Bond. He flopped onto her foot, purring.

  “What did you just do to my cat?”

  “Wait here.” Pamela straightened and marched down the hall.

  I ran my hands over Mr. Bond. If I knew Pamela, that’d been some sort of test, but Mr. Bond didn’t look any worse for it. Giving him one last pat, I hurried to catch up with Pamela. She might be a high-and-mighty inspector, but this was my home, and I’d go where I chose in it.

  Pamela stopped just inside the bedroom, and her eyes lingered on the dog bed taking up most of the floor space. The folds of my cotton sheets held lingering traces of lux lucis, but Jamie’s bed looked charcoal gray in Primordium, free of a single speck of lux lucis—or atrum. I let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding.

  “Make a net over your heart,” Pamela said, turning to face me.

  My spine snapped straight and I crossed my arms over my chest. “Right now?” Hadn’t this wake-up been intrusive enough?

  “The pooka was here. I felt him leave not twenty minutes ago. And yet here you are in your pajamas, looking like you slept through it all.”

  I tugged self-consciously at my holey shirt, but my embarrassment died when I caught sight of the tracker protruding from the hem of my sweats.

  “So, yes, right now,” Pamela said, squaring off in front of me.

  I wanted to protest again, but I had let Jamie waltz through here. In my drowsy state last night, I hadn’t checked his soul before I touched him—or any time thereafter. Spreading my fingers, I examined the backs of my hand and my buttery soul. I looked clean, but what if Jamie had done something to me on a deeper level than I could see? Yesterday morning, I would have instantly denied the thought, but after he’d threatened Alex, left me to the hounds, and helped a tyv escape, I could no longer afford the luxury of trusting Jamie.

  My hands curled into fists, and I dropped them to my sides. I gave my soul a push, centering the net above my heart. Pamela inserted her hands, cycling her lux lucis through mine, and my empty stomach roiled.

  “You’re clean.”

  I retreated to the front room, keeping my back to Pamela until my relief no longer showed on my face. Blinking to normal sight, I turned on a light and petted Mr. Bond.

  “What happened with the pooka?” Pamela asked. She’d followed me, detouring to check the laundry room before planting herself between me and the front door. Did she think I’d make a run for it? Barefoot?

  “Nothing happened. He came home after I was asleep.”

  “What time?”

  “I don’t know. After three?” I sidled around the dining room table and sat, stacking one cold foot atop the other. Putting the table between me and the inspector helped settle my ruffled soul. If I were feeling polite, I would have offered Pamela something to drink, but the purity test had excised my manners.

  “What did you do?” Pamela asked.

  “We slept.” I wouldn’t explain the contentment I had experienced when I’d laid my hand on Jamie; the moment had been too private—a shard of peace in an otherwise crappy week. I wouldn’t tarnish it by giving it to Pamela to judge, especially since she’d misinterpret it as something nefarious.

  “I thought Jamie and I would talk this morning,” I added to fill the uncomfortable silence.

  “Mmm.” She uncrossed her arms and settled in the seat across from me, palms down on the table. Her eyes never left my face, but her expression softened. “I understand this all must be confusing, especially with the bond influencing you. A pooka bond is a double-edged sword. Through it, you can influence the pooka
to choose lux lucis, but if the pooka goes dark, he can use it to influence you to choose atrum. You might not even recognize what’s happening; the bond resonates his and your emotions between the two of you, which can muddy the distinction between your desires and the pooka’s. More than one enforcer has been led astray by the bond’s false feelings of harmony.”

  Harmony perfectly described what I’d felt last night, the pooka and I in sync for the first time in twenty-four hours. But it didn’t mean Jamie had led me astray. It meant we’d taken a breather from our fight. Maybe if Pamela had ever been bonded with a pooka, she would have understood.

  “You probably don’t think I know what I’m talking about,” Pamela said, eerily echoing my thoughts, “but I’ve seen the aftermath of several pookas who’ve gone dark and taken their enforcers with them. And Jamie has all the signs of turning evil. It’s not pretty when they do.”

  “I know. He’d have to be . . . stopped.” I couldn’t make myself say killed.

  “There’s that, but there’s also what he’d do to you.”

  The compassion in her tone made me shift uncomfortably in my seat. It’d been easy to brush off her warnings last night when we’d both been angry, but her concern proved harder to ignore.

  “He has the ability to flood you with atrum, and if you are in any way complicit, it will change you. We would do everything in our power to save you, but not even extensive rehab always works. If it didn’t, you would spend the rest of your life in prison where we could ensure you would never hurt anyone.”

  Prison? The anklet sat heavy against my leg—a foreshadowing or a warning?

  I glanced away from Pamela’s knowing green eyes. Had I let the bond sway my thoughts last night? Jamie and I should have talked, at least a little. I should have thought to make him promise to stay with me. Or better yet, I should have made him swear he’d not help the tyv again. Instead, I’d fallen asleep with my hand on his side. It’d felt so right, but . . .

  My lips twisted. So much for preserving the memory of last night’s peace.