Ari didn’t answer me, didn’t comment on our surroundings at all, his expression made of granite.
We jumped again, stepping out under a cloudless sky, redwood trees towering over our heads. I admired their majesty though I could have done without the nausea. A flash of movement caught my eye; a man on a zip line silently whipped past high above. A group of people stood on a platform in a nearby tree awaiting their turn.
Ari’s face was covered in a faint sheen of sweat and he was paler than normal.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Now you care?”
I bit the inside of my cheek.
Our third stop landed us in a massive plaza flanked by a cathedral and stately buildings that I guessed might be for government use. We stood in the shadow of an enormous flag flying proudly in three colors that all looked varying shades of green in this light, with a coat of arms on it.
Ari gazed up at it. “Mexico City. One more jump and we should be there.”
I took a couple of deep breaths, glad that while my stomach still lurched in “après one too many spinny rides” fashion, I didn’t need to hurl. I wished I could hear the music that the buskers in Aztec costume danced to or the rapid-fire Spanish of the fashionistas sashaying through on high heels. A hub of human activity, this plaza was life cranked to eleven but stuck on mute.
As opposed to the sub-arctic glower emanating off of Ari.
“Why can’t you support me in this?” I asked.
“Because you have so many issues with the Brotherhood that it’s clouding your judgment. Where’s your loyalty?”
I dabbed my brow. “Where’s yours? I’m your sister. Have you even noticed how I’ve been treated by this wonderful organization of yours? For the heinous crime of having a vagina?”
“How should they treat you? Sure, you’ve taken out some demons, helped on a mission, but the rest of us spent twenty years being tested. Proving ourselves. Earning their respect. You want it easy.”
“I didn’t get the–”
“Chance because they didn’t check for a girl. Yeah, we know. But if you were capable of seeing anyone else’s viewpoint, maybe you’d realize that soothing your hurt feelings aren’t exactly a priority given the ongoing fight against evil.”
“Especially if they’re busy playing both sides.”
Ari growled, curling his fingers and shaking his hands like he wanted to throttle me.
“Forget it. Jump us.”
We clasped hands, our hearts separated by the Grand Canyon.
I tumbled out of the darkness into the Emerald City POV of this new location, sprawling on my ass on a carpet of rotting leaves. They were rotting and leaves only by sight. The air was odor-free and the ground under my hands was a textureless smoothness, much like a Barbie doll’s va-jay-jay. “Ari?”
And then there was one.
22
My brother may not have been there, but I wasn’t alone. The log next to me slithered deeper into the jungle. Squeaking, I leapt to my feet, a burst of magic shooting from my palms at the anaconda.
My power dissipated, unable to pierce the veil between the Emerald City version of the dense rainforest that I was in, and the actual rainforest. Once my adrenaline rush shaking had subsided, I set off looking for Ari.
I have no idea how long I wandered under the canopy of trees, doing my best to keep any suspicions that he’d deliberately abandoned me at bay. The utter silence didn’t add to my mental state. My warbled singing was a slight improvement but at least trying to recall actual lyrics instead of the phonetic gibberish I usually butchered songs with kept me occupied as I searched.
Even in my contained panic, my neck had a crick in it from gawking at the macaws, tiny frogs, and monkeys that I passed, but nothing was as impressive as the jaguar that slunk past me, tailing swishing, its spots close enough to touch. Being in an actual jungle, even in EC mode, was way more impressive than the illusion that the cù-sith had spun.
Night fell. Not that it got dark here in EC, but the all-pervasive green light deepened. I collapsed on a stump, now stripped down to my bra and boy shorts. I wasn’t sure if the normal heat of the jungle was amping up the already high temperatures of Ari’s magic, but damn, it was blistering. I was roasting, my skin hot to the touch, but unable to produce sweat. My mouth was dry and sticky and my head throbbed.
I blinked slowly at the welcome sight in front of me. “Oh. There you are.” I stumbled forward, reaching for the red Solo Cup that I’d left at the frat party and tipped it back. Empty.
Sports bottles I couldn’t open, empty soda cans, and a river that flowed just out of tiptoe reach, I couldn’t get hold of anything to quench my desperate thirst.
I sat back down on my director’s chair and snapped my fingers. “Craft services!”
No cool bottle of water was delivered. I made a note to fire that department, surveying the film set before me. The lighting wasn’t bad, but what was with all the animals? My extras casting director sucked balls.
A massive beetle scuttled out of the bottom of my director’s chair. I drew my feet up to my chest. “Speak English?” It continued to ignore me. “Parlez-vous français?”
Nothing.
I gave an understanding nod. These poor animals weren’t making any noise. They were deaf mutes. Not a problem. I knew a couple words of ASL. I signed out my name. The beetle didn’t sign back. I signed the horns and flicking hand for bullshit.
“Yo! Give me fifty percent less beast and a hundred percent more male. Where are my half-dressed, fully ripped men?”
No one jumped to obey.
I swear, this was the worst crew in the history of mankind. “Music.” That always got me going so maybe it would bring out my deadbeat workers. Since apparently I had to do everything around here, I started singing the movie’s soundtrack myself. I’d gotten through Aretha’s “Respect,” Destiny Child’s “Independent Woman,” and was swaying on my feet, halfway into my phonetic interpretation of Janet Jackson’s “Control,” before the parade of loincloth bedecked man candy deigned to arrive.
Had I hired clones? Each one had dark hair, dark skin, gold eyes, and an identical unrepentant smirk.
I shooed them away.
The bastards multiplied, marching around me like the brooms in the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, their faces set in challenge. I stomped my feet. “This is not what I called for!” It wasn’t until I invoked the higher power of “I Will Survive” ordering them to walk out that door that I drove them off, using my last bit of energy.
I collapsed onto my knees. Since my eyes didn’t throb when I shut them, I did that, too.
Ari caught me before I fell over, sweeping me into his arms.
I giggled, poking him in the chest. “Why are you wearing a Superman outfit?” My laughter ended on a croak. “Oww. I hurt, Ace.”
“Hang on.” His voice was shaky.
I smoothed out his eyebrows with my finger. “All is well. Don’t panic.” Then the world gave a weird twist. My stomach lurched and I swallowed hard.
“We’re home,” Ari said.
The reassuring scent of pine needles blew over me before a door clicked shut cutting off the stream of cool night air.
“Water,” I mumbled through thick lips.
I opened my eyes as far as they would go. Kane was ripping open a small square package. I repeated the word, touching my mouth with my finger in case he didn’t understand.
“Stay still,” he said. “I have to get this isotonic saline in and rehydrate you.”
Hands held me down as a needle pierced my flesh. I cried out, my skin strung so tight, I’d swear jagged cracks splintered out from the needle’s point of entry.
“It’s in. I’ll put you to bed now,” Ari said.
“Bed good.”
I woke up with a scratchy throat on sheets possessing a thread count that didn’t exist in my department store shopping reality. An IV drip was in my arm, the almost-empty bag hanging off a pole.
A small lamp
was draped with a scarf to diffuse the light, bathing everything in a mellow rose glow. Rohan, earbuds half fallen out of his ears and his fist closed tight around something, was asleep on a chair next to the bed.
His bed.
Apparently my idiot brother required specific possessive pronouns because when I’d said “bed good” I’d meant my bed.
I pulled the drip from my hand. Between the IV and my own accelerated Rasha healing, I felt fine. The rip of tape sounded way too loud, but the music spilling out from the earbuds tempered it somewhat.
Rohan didn’t stir.
I eased the blankets off, swinging my feet onto the floor, fully intending to sneak out, except curiosity got the better of me. Step-by-step, I inched toward Rohan, watching for any change to his posture or breathing. When I got within arm’s range, I carefully slid a finger under the earbud wire, easing it toward me, and screwed the earbuds in.
A haunting violin and strings piece swirled around me. Albinoni’s “Adagio.” The music swelled, taking root in my ribcage. I took wing on the song, a dark knot of ugliness inside me unraveling with each note. Achingly beautiful, the music filled me with life as much as each lungful of oxygen did.
My heart fluttered, breaking open. Having spent so much time in the EC, I was unsure about the solidity of this world. If cracks appeared, what would slip through? Had cracks appeared in me?
I placed a hand on my chest, my eyes darting to Rohan for some kind of confirmation that I was real and solid, but he slept on.
Pressure crushed my temples like a vice, snaking down through my jaw and neck. My teeth throbbed. There was so much beauty in this music and so much darkness in me.
My nails gauged my skin.
Everything I kept so carefully contained was seeping out, the overstuffed box locked tight in my psyche vibrating harder and harder. The more the melody soared, the more my ribcage started trying to strangle me.
The adagio crested to the climax.
The box inside me expanded, straining at the seams, the lid about to blow right off. I ripped the earbuds out and raced for the door. I reached for the knob…
…and was swung up into Rohan’s arms.
I fought him, but he was too strong for me to break his hold. “Let go of me.”
He muttered something that sounded like “I wish I could.” But that couldn’t be right because he deposited me carefully back on the bed, folding the covers over my legs.
“Rest. I have the hawkweed for the spell.” He still clutched something in his fist, squeezing it in small pulses.
“How?”
Tighter and tighter he squeezed. The bones in his hands tensed. “I bought it and had it couriered.”
“In the hour or two I was gone?”
“Try fifteen.”
I blinked. “Still not possible. Couriers require overnight delivery.”
“I arranged it privately.” This was the first time it hit me that Rohan probably had a lot of money from his rock star days and if anyone could have arranged this, it was him.
Blood trickled out from between his fingers.
I grabbed his hand, forcing it open. “Ro. Stop. You’re hurting yourself.”
He’d been holding the piece of yaksas horn tight enough that its broken edges had sliced his skin.
I grabbed some tissues off his bedside table and dabbed at the blood.
“It’ll heal.”
“That’s not the point.” I glared at him. “Have you spoken to anyone about what you went through?”
Rohan pulled his hand away. “You.”
“Do any of you actually use our very fine medical benefits?”
Rohan blinked, the picture of dumb caveman with his uncomprehending look and half-open mouth. “Me kill. No undergo psychoanalysis,” he grunted.
I wadded the tissue up and put them on the bedside table since there was no trash can in sight. “Why do I bother?”
Rohan settled himself next to me on the mattress, sitting back against the headboard. “Tell you what. Pass on the name of the shrink you spoke to when you couldn’t dance anymore and I’ll call them right now.”
His arm brushed my belly as he stretched across me to reach his phone. His shirt rode up to expose a strip of ab muscle rippling under his brown skin.
I slid a pillow in front of me. “Oooo, you got me.”
“Shocking.”
“I didn’t want to bare my soul to someone who was being paid to listen, all right?” I snapped. “And there’s only so much I’d subject Ari and Leo to. Other people’s misery is boring and if you keep it up, you end up still miserable but then you’re alone, too.”
“What about this ex of yours?”
“Cole dumped me when it all happened,” I mumbled. That particular shame hadn’t been something I’d wanted to share with Rohan.
“He’s an idiot.”
“He said I shut him out.” I blurted the words out.
“You probably did.”
“O-kay.” I smoothed down a pulled thread in the blanket.
“When I lost Asha?” He shrugged, bending a knee, and bracing his elbow on it. “I couldn’t talk to anyone either.”
“Because you felt like if you opened your mouth the only thing that would come out would be a piercing howl and you’d bleed out from the inside?” I snapped my mouth shut.
“Aw, Sparky.” Rohan put his arm around me.
“Don’t you dare pity me, Mitra.”
“I don’t. I understand you.”
“You do understand me. God.” I laughed, shaking my head.
“And if I’d been there,” he brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes, “you could have talked all day or been silent for a week. I wouldn’t have left.”
As if. When my world had come crashing down, Rohan had been on top of his and indulging in all his worst excesses.
But the idea that someone I loved would have understood that I was terrified? That I hadn’t been shutting Cole out so much as holding myself in check every single second because if I didn’t I was convinced that I’d shatter? That there could exist a reality in which I could have that one person who’d have my back in every way that mattered like I could have his and he wouldn’t cause grievous emotional harm?
That’s what I’d sacrifice everything for.
I jumped to my feet. “Let’s do the spell.”
While Rohan gathered the ingredients, I made us coffee. A dull dawn light cracked the clouds open enough for the mist to shimmer silver against the silhouetted trees out back.
The coffee pot stopped burbling. I turned from the window and poured myself a cup.
Which led to me wondering after I’d downed half of it if I should perhaps take one to Rohan. He liked his caffeine as much as I did. I took a second mug out of the cupboard.
Yikes. Did this telegraph “girlfriend?”
I put the mug back.
Except… We were friends and fellow Rasha. I’d get Kane one if he needed it.
I pulled the mug back out. Set it on the counter. Poured coffee into it.
Eyed it like it was a cobra about to strike.
Rohan loped into the kitchen, freshly showered, in a pair of sweatpants that molded to every inch of him, and that white T-shirt of his that was so soft and worn, patches of his skin were exposed. Humming, he opened the fridge, his back to me.
He’d shaved. His gorgeous face was a good thing, but I really liked his stubbled, unpolished edge. Bah. I shot his back the finger. His presence was doing squat to help me deconstruct all the possible meanings, permutations, and ramifications of me giving him a cup of coffee.
Dummy got out the milk.
I glared at him, shoved the mug into his hand, said, “Enjoy your damn coffee,” and stomped downstairs to the Vault.
I sat cross-legged on the padded blue mat flooring and read over the spell. It was super straight-forward and I was positive I could do it, but my sum total of spell casting was limited to creating and undoing wards, and only under supervision. It
was better that I didn’t attempt this on my own.
Rohan entered carrying a mason jar of purified water mixed with a variety of different tiny rock salts and the shredded deep golden-yellow petals of the hawkweed. He also had a thin paintbrush hooked between two fingers.
“We good to go?” I asked.
“Hit it,” he said.
I slapped my palm against the scanner on the interior wall. The iron door to the room imprisoning the gogota slid open.
A rotten meat stench whacked me in the face. I threw my arm over my nose.
The demon could barely lift his head, whispering “Gel. Man.” in a slow, broken chant, as he lay curled in a piteous ball next to the iron chair. He’d been leeched of all color and was shriveled to two-thirds of his normal height.
Rohan sat down beside him, placing the mason jar of water and paintbrush out of the demon’s reach. “Okay, buddy. This will all be over soon. Nava. Do you remember what to do first?”
“Control experiment.” I sat down next to the jar and snapped a hair elastic off my wrist. Setting it on the ground, I zapped a bit of electric magic into it, wrinkling my nose against the charred odor. I picked up the paint brush, dipped it twice in the water mixture, then painted the precise vine pattern detailed in the spell on it. “Galah.”
The elastic cycled through a rainbow of colors before gently pulsing pink.
“No way,” I said. “If I have gender-stereotyped magic, heads are gonna roll.”
I handed Rohan a dried fig which he stabbed with his blades. Once more I did the spell and once more rainbow colors appeared before settling into the pulsing pink.
“Equal opportunity,” I said. “Better.”
“I rock pink,” Rohan said. He lined up the two objects. “That’s the winner then. Indicative of Rasha magic.”
We tested my hamsa ring that Rabbi Abrams had glamoured up when I’d gone to Prague, to see if rabbi magic manifested the same way as Rasha magic. Rasha magic was inherent to us, whereas rabbis had a limited number of spells they cast, mostly around the rituals involved in testing and inducting hunters.
“Seems we’re on the Barbie Dreamhouse end of the pink color spectrum with rabbis being more Barely There lip gloss.”
The Unlikeable Demon Hunter Collection: Books 1-3 (Nava Katz Box Set) Page 81