“Yeah, the paint job is still practically pristine,” Lani said, taking a moment to admire the Mustang. “No salt damage, so I figured you’d been in a hot climate.”
“Salt?”
“You know, from the roads.”
Roads weren’t made out of salt.
Lani glanced at me. “Though I guess it’s more chemicals than salt now, isn’t it? And it didn’t snow much last year.”
“No.” Right. They salted the roads to melt the ice and snow in the winter, to keep them clear.
“So …” Lani typed something into her phone with her thumb. “That Aiden is hot as hell.”
Completely thrown by the segue, I didn’t answer. Actually, even with forewarning, I wouldn’t have known how to answer. I also didn’t know where Lani had picked up Aiden’s name.
She flicked her gaze up to look at me, grinning. Then she returned to glancing back and forth between the engine and adding to her list on her phone. “I saw him as I drove in. Might have stopped to interrogate him. Apparently he’s fixing your fence.” She laughed in a way that presumably meant she was at least partly joking about the interrogation part. “He’s as closemouthed as you. Though he didn’t have any issue declaring his peaceful intentions.” She eyed me again, tilting her head. “I figure everything must be okay. If Christopher is cool with Aiden being here.”
I nodded, again not certain what parts I needed to elaborate on or lie about in order to move beyond the subject.
“Going cold turkey is tough,” she said, looking at me expectantly.
I had no idea what she meant by ‘going cold turkey.’
“He’s gorgeous, of course. In that ‘tear out your heart, hollow out your soul’ sort of way. But anyone with eyes can see he’s missing about twenty pounds of muscle. Possibly due to rapid weight loss. And pairing that with his appearance in the diner and your reaction, I figured … smack?”
She paused again as if I was supposed to fill in the blanks, but I had no idea what she meant by ‘smack.’
“So … you’re helping him detox? That’s a big responsibility.” She eyed me again. “I’ve been there, on your side and his, if either of you need to talk about it.”
Right. Lani thought Aiden was a drug addict. Oddly, I was pretty certain she was right about the addict part, except the sorcerer craved magic. Power. I was also pretty certain the offer of support she’d just made was a very big deal.
“Thank you,” I said.
She grinned, returning her attention to the engine and her phone in equal measure. Triple-checking her list.
“He’s hot?” The question came out more tentatively than I’d planned.
Lani laughed. “Yeah. If you like that sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing? The soul hollowing?”
She shook her head. “Men.”
“You … don’t?”
“Oh, I do. I mean, enough to appreciate it when it’s all sweaty, swinging tools, and carrying around lumber right in front of me. But if we’re being serious, I was holding out hope that you’d at least consider batting for the other team.”
“I’m … not sure …”
She waved her hand. “No matter, I was fairly certain you were straight. And the way you looked at Aiden in the diner made that pretty obvious.”
“Oh, you’re gay.”
“Yeah.” She laughed. “Is that a news flash? Though I guess ‘fluid’ is a better description. And I tend to flow toward girls.”
I frowned.
She barked out a laugh. “Your literal streak is a mile wide, Emma. Women. I tend to date women.”
“I thought that was called … I thought that made you a lesbian.”
“Right. Except I switch around.”
“That’s … bisexual.”
“It is if it’s at the same time. I tend to be attracted to one or the other in different parts of my life. Some people refer to that as phases, but ‘going through a phase’ is so … derogatory.” She glanced at me, laughing again. “Let’s just say that it depends on the person for me.”
“Okay. I can understand that.”
“So I can appreciate the pretty boy … man … swinging a hammer on the northeast corner of your property, or I can acknowledge that your brother looks like a Greek god, but not want to wrap my legs around either.”
“I always assumed a god would be taller,” I said.
Lani lost it then, actually leaning against the car as she laughed. “Jesus … he’s tall enough. You’re just an amazon yourself.” She wiped tears from her face. “Anyway, I knew what I was getting into when I bought the mechanic shop. Small towns aren’t fantastic for the sexually fluid.”
“Why not?”
She shook her head at me. “You don’t watch the news often, do you?”
“I watch Downton Abbey mostly.”
“Well, there you go. There’s a gay character on that show, isn’t there?”
I frowned, putting together where she was trying to lead me. “Homosexuality isn’t illegal in Canada.”
“No, of course not. Canada is very progressive, but in a small town … it’s hard to be different.” She eyed me for a moment. “You already know that. But you chose to come here, settle here. Because you think this is the best place for Christopher, right? We all thought maybe you were running from someone, then Aiden shows up and everyone is ready to go mob scene on him. But before the torches and pitchforks can come out, you motor down to the station, pick him up and bring him home.”
“I did do that.”
“So …” Lani shrugged. “We’ll be outsiders here, together. How about that?”
Not quite certain what I was being asked to agree to, I didn’t answer.
She closed the hood. “You got any of that amazing fruit iced tea?”
“It might not be ready. I just started cold brewing it this morning. But I could bake some ginger snaps.”
“Yeah, you could.”
I gave her a look, not quite understanding her phrasing.
She dropped the grin, then nodded. “Ginger snaps and iced tea sound lovely, thank you. But I’ve got an engine that needs an overhaul in the shop. Another time?”
“Okay. Yes. That would be nice.”
“We’ll sit out back and you can dish on your Aiden. He looks like he went through hell to get to you.”
I didn’t nod in agreement. But I did wander back to the house to pour Lani a glass of water while she went over her list of Mustang parts and the order in which she wanted to replace them.
An email was sitting in my inbox from Ember Pine. The subject line read Aiden Myers. The lawyer hadn’t replied to my original request, but had sent a separate email. I didn’t know what that indicated, if anything. But it made me pause for a moment, fingers hovering over the screen, before I opened it.
It contained a simple biography, with details suggesting it had been pulled from Aiden’s passport.
Aiden Myers.
DOB: June 23, 1987.
Height: 185 cm
Hair: Brown.
Eyes: Blue.
Citizenship and address on record: French; Paris, France.
That was interesting, I hadn’t picked up anything particularly ‘French’ about the sorcerer. I kept reading.
The sorcerer’s surname and the address on record are likely used for mundane purposes, as I find nothing to corroborate either in my quick search. This, of course, is not unusual among the Adept, as I’m sure you are well aware.
Yes. Even before coming into possession of my own falsified documents, I had known that Adepts often had an official persona with which they moved through the mundane world, rather than using the name they were born with.
The Myers surname does have roots in the magical community. They are witches by blood, focusing on delicate, precise magic, which doesn’t make them particularly valued — for lack of a better way to explain it — among the more powerful witch families, such as the Camerons, Fairchilds, or Godfreys. But they do hold
a seat on the witches Convocation.
It would not be completely unusual for a sorcerer to rise from a witch bloodline, but it certainly wouldn’t be typical.
Well, I knew all about atypical magic, didn’t I?
There is an Aiden Myers represented by the law firm of Sherwood and Pine, out of the Paris branch. Which seems to line up. But of course, his dealings with the firm would be confidential. If you need any contracts drawn up, I’d be happy to discuss the parameters with you and take them to my Paris partners. I have a few more ‘feelers’ out — requests for information in less easily accessible databases. But on the surface and using the name Aiden Myers, the sorcerer hasn’t been involved in anything that could give me cause for concern if you wish to continue your association with him.
I laughed quietly, wondering what contracts Ember expected to draw up with a sorcerer I was thinking of ‘associating with.’ But the lawyer’s next sentence wiped the smile from my face.
If you wish to provide me a DNA sample, I can have an analysis done, with full confidentiality, of course. If both parties agree, the Sherwood and Pine database could provide a detailed family tree, including anything of note. As well as a magical compatibility report.
Anything of note?
And … Ember could build a family tree with a DNA sample? Not only did that feel utterly intrusive, it also triggered too many unanswered questions. Including questions I’d never bothered articulating, not even to myself. Because I truly didn’t care where my genetic material had been scraped together from. I was the sum of those parts, yes. But I had no desire to meet or interact with any Adept who would have willingly aided the Collective in creating me.
And a magical compatibility report? Why would … she meant …
I laughed, the sound harsh even to my own ears. Ember thought …
I was trying to figure out if I needed to kill the sorcerer, and the lawyer thought I was thinking of breeding with him. That was ridiculous on so many levels.
Yet my chest inexplicably ached as I typed my reply to Ember, thanking her and asking her to let me know if her contacts uncovered any other information she deemed pertinent. I didn’t address the option of obtaining and analyzing a DNA sample, knowing that she wouldn’t mention it a second time. Ember prided herself on being professional, offering her clients a wide range of services but following their directives explicitly.
I sliced the chilled ginger snap cookie dough into half-inch rounds, then pressed one side of each round in brown sugar. I carefully arranged each slice on a parchment-covered cookie sheet, sugar side up and as evenly spaced as possible.
The oven pinged behind me, alerting me that it was up to temperature.
Aiden appeared at the base of the patio stairs, glancing in through the open doors and spotting me working at the island. He slowly climbed the stairs and removed his shoes, setting them off to the side of the mat. Then he crossed through the eating area.
“Hello.” I turned, sliding the tray into the oven and setting the timer.
“Hello.”
The sorcerer had showered, but hadn’t bothered shaving. His loose jeans were slightly short, showing off his bare ankles and feet. Given his broad shoulders, it wasn’t a stretch to guess he’d recently lost weight, as Lani had indicated. I remembered the sight of him shirtless on the exterior stairs of the barn, illuminated only by a sliver of moonlight. He probably wouldn’t bulk up much. His musculature would be lean, taut and —
Shutting down that line of thought harder than I’d ever had to shut anything down in my own head before, I started evenly slicing the second roll of dough, dipping and placing the rounds on the second parchment-lined cookie sheet.
Aiden placed a wooden baseball bat and a length of copper piping on the island across from me. Both appeared to have been scrubbed clean. Then he crossed around and poured himself a glass of water. He stepped back into my view, tipping his head back as he downed it.
I wanted to wrap my hand around the back of his neck. I wanted to thread my fingers through his hair, feeling his muscles flex in response to my touch. I wanted to coax the slow simmer of his recovering magic into a full boil.
I focused instead on slicing perfectly uniform rounds of cookie dough, half an inch thick, careful to not crush the roll with my knife as the dough warmed and softened.
Aiden set the glass down, nodding toward the unbaked cookies. “I’d surmised that Christopher was the cook.”
“He is.”
“But you bake.”
“I bake ginger snaps.”
“I see. Because you want to bake ginger snaps. And how does something make it onto your list of wants, Emma?” One side of Aiden’s mouth curled into a smile as he waited for me to answer.
I didn’t. There was nothing more to say on the subject.
“Am I interrupting you?”
“No.”
Aiden settled down on a stool at the far corner of the island, giving me as much space as he could without actually leaving the room. Though perhaps that distance was for his own benefit.
“The baseball bat?” I prompted.
“May I have it? Christopher thought it might have come with the house. I found it when I was sorting through the toolshed.”
“And the copper pipe?”
“Must have been replaced when you renovated the kitchen. I’m surprised the contractor didn’t salvage it. Though …” He eyed me. “I doubt you get ripped off very often, Emma.”
“He never met me.”
“An honest person. Excellent find.”
“It’s a small town.”
“Yes. On the west coast of Canada.”
“You’re remembering more?
“It was news to me.” He smiled tightly. “My first visit.”
“And you still don’t remember the trip?”
“No.” His tone was stiff, almost angry. But at the situation, not my questions. He raised his hand palm up and flexed his fingers. “The magic is seeping back. Slowly.”
“It must be frustrating.”
“It wasn’t to you?”
I didn’t answer.
He softened his tone, his gaze on the bat before him. “You said you knew what it was like. Outside the police precinct.”
“The RCMP. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police have mundane jurisdiction here.”
He nodded.
“I do know what losing your magic is like. But …” I hesitated, feeling as if I was exposing myself along with the confession. Though how it might possibly have been used against me, I didn’t know. “It wasn’t a burden. For me.”
Aiden hummed thoughtfully. The noise did strange, gooey things to my insides. I ignored the feeling as he placed his fingertips on the bat, looking up at me questioningly.
“It’s yours. And as much of the piping as you need.”
“Thank you.”
We stood there in silence for what seemed a long while before the oven timer went off. I checked and rotated the cookie sheet, then set the timer for another seven minutes. I leaned back against the counter, just looking at Aiden, taking him in. Trying to look beyond the fierce attraction that had permeated my every sense, trying to weigh him as he truly was. Not as some part of me apparently hoped he could be.
He sat still and silent, looking at me in turn.
“You said you aren’t here to harm us. Or to bring harm to us.”
“As best I know.”
“That’s a different way of putting it.”
He looked away, gazing out at the yard. “Swift magical depletion can cause memory lapses, but … it never has for me before.”
I already knew that draining someone’s magic could result in temporary amnesia. Or, in my experience and under my not-so-tender touch, permanent amnesia. But it was telling that he had personal experience. “But you must know the witch who drained you?” My question was more pointed than I’d intended. It wasn’t any of my business what he did, or with whom. I only needed to know if any fallout was heading our
way.
His shoulders stiffened. “Yes. Of course. I don’t remember the actual … final casting, but I know who was at least in the position of spelling me. What I apparently didn’t know was that she wouldn’t take too well to being refused.”
“Most of those seeking power by any means don’t.”
“Are you placing me in that category? At first sight?”
I wasn’t. And no, I had felt something quite different at first sight of him. The thought made me feel exposed, concerned that he could read my mind, my intentions. “I should be.”
He nodded stiffly.
I looked away, checking the timer on the oven. Only two minutes had passed.
“Aiden. Did this witch send you after me, or after Christopher?”
“Not that I know of. And …” He spread his arms to the sides. “Well, I’m a little useless, aren’t I? It would be a hell of a sneak attack.”
Right. Except if the witch knew who I was. Unless she’d set Aiden on me intentionally, so that I’d amplify him and expose myself.
But to what end?
Setting aside all the weird reactions I was having to the sorcerer, I knew that an attack from the Collective would be more overt. If they were going to grab us, they would do so with resounding force. Because that was the only way to contain us. If we got a chance to fight, they’d have to kill us to keep us. And even after everything we’d done to them, the Collective wouldn’t throw us away.
No. They would keep us, harvest our DNA, and use it to build their next generation — because we had destroyed all their research when we’d broken out of the compound. Maybe they wouldn’t even kill us when they were done. Maybe they’d keep us comatose or otherwise incapacitated. Forever.
The thought made me feel utterly ill.
“Are you running from someone?” Aiden asked quietly, even gently. “Hiding? You don’t seem … suited to this environment.”
“No.” We were, in fact, running from several someones — assuming they were still looking for us.
He narrowed his eyes. “Care to elaborate?”
“No. Do you?”
He chuckled quietly. His teeth were white against his tanned skin, just like any part of me would have been paler when held up against him, pressed against him.
Demons and DNA (Amplifier 1) Page 9