by Joey W. Hill
“Later, I realized she’d cut it. In that total dark, I jumped for her, grabbed her. I was totally out of my head. Hammered at her with my fists, with an old board on the floor. She was always collecting debris from the tunnels, bringing it into her living space, using it for different shit. The board had nails stuck all in it. Blood was on my face, my hands. Then she lit a candle.”
He couldn’t look at Marcie now. She would guess where this was leading. They all would. Instead, Ben found himself staring at Mikhael again. His face could have been carved of stone. It wasn’t indifferent; he’d likely heard it all, seen it all. Whatever cosmic judgment was handed out for such a thing, he was just the guy carrying out the sentence, or the cop bringing the perp in, so saying it to him was like saying it to a priest, in an odd sort of way.
“You said I’d have to face your boss one day. Is that as reassuring as it sounds?” he asked. “A way to get clean, once and for all?”
What might have been a hint of surprise passed through his dark eyes, but Mikhael inclined his head.
“Okay then.” Ben nodded, to himself. “Elagra had moved back, left Amy in her place. She’d hobbled her with rope so she couldn’t get away, but her arms were free. I couldn’t tell the person trying to protect herself from me wasn’t Elagra. She’d taped Amy’s mouth shut so she couldn’t scream.”
Amy had stopped being pretty long before Ben met her. Some guy had carved her up instead of paying her ten bucks for the blow job she’d offered him. So she’d learned to do other kinds of hustles. She also had a knack for talking restaurants into giving up their leftover food at night instead of tossing it into the trash. He remembered she’d scored him chocolate cake one night, the best piece of chocolate cake he’d ever had. She’d given it all to him, had only taken one bite. She said watching him savor every bit was better than eating it herself.
She’d been seventeen years old when she died.
“She had red hair. A brown eye. The other one was gone. And a laugh like a mule with laryngitis. But she could still laugh. Until that night.”
Now everything had vanished except Amy, watching him eat cake. He was getting too deep. It was too fucking hard to dig this stuff up. He needed to skip ahead. He cleared his throat.
“So anyhow, it was as Elagra said, in that creepy way of hers. ‘You gave me seed and blood, a murderous rage. The life of an innocent.’ I had hurt her badly…maybe, if I could have gotten her to a hospital, she would have made it. But Elagra wouldn’t let me leave. Said I had to finish it, but she wouldn’t push me.”
Her voice had gotten that gentle note to it. The horrible thing was, even now, the memory of it brought back how badly he’d wanted that illusion of maternal love to be real.
You are a man, she’d said, her eyes fixed on him like a snake’s. You can decide when the suffering is enough.
“Amy eventually begged me to kill her,” Ben said. He knew his voice had grown as hollow as the dank and cheerless crypt they’d entered to seek out the witch. “Took me another half hour before I could. When I did it, Elagra called me a good boy.”
His fists were clenched. The rage was there, boiling, festering. It was spreading out, wanting to take over. “I thought about going back down there, killing her,” he said, his voice too flat, too emotionless. “So many times. Don’t know why I didn’t.”
“Ben.”
It was Derek who snapped him back into the room, with the one syllable spoken in a voice that was as calm and steady as the deepest part of the ocean. The Guardian had pulled in his feet, was leaning forward, his large hands braced on his knees as he regarded him with those ancient eyes.
“She is a powerful witch. Far more powerful than we anticipated. That power has increased over the years, but there is no doubt even then she was still far more than any mortal could have overcome. She tore up your soul, and some part of your subconscious knew how close she’d come to taking it altogether. If you had gone back as that child you were, you never would have left her again. The longer you’re in the world she’s created below ground, the more it holds you down. She draws power from those who get trapped there. Staying away, you starve her.”
“But someone always comes to feed her,” Ben said. “Like that kid we saw tonight. She hunts us out. She’s not trapped. She’s got all her props and spooky magic show shit going on down there, but she goes above ground when she needs new meat, or has to do errands no one can do for her. She doesn’t like to do it, since seeing her buying her own pickled eggs ruins the mystique, but sometimes she doesn’t have a lackey to do that mundane shit. Hell…that’s it. That’s all of it. I need to leave for a bit. I’ll be back in a few.”
He moved abruptly toward the suite door. When Marcie started to rise, her brow creasing, he held up a hand. “No. Stay with them, brat. I’ll be back.”
Before Marcie could protest, he had his hand on the door latch, had turned, pulled it open and was through it.
Marcie would have chased him down, but Raina stopped her, rising from the couch and stepping in her path. Marcie shook her head. “I need to go after him.”
“I think you need to hear what I have to say first,” Raina said firmly. “And I think you already know he needs some space. You’re just worried about him, but you know he’ll be back. He said so. Let’s go sit in the hotel bar and chat.”
Marcie blinked at her, not sure how to change gears and be on board with that, but Raina forged on, her logic an irresistible force. “We’ll regroup here when Ben comes back,” she said smoothly. “Mikhael will let me know. That will give him and Derek time to go over some Guardian-level variables about all this, and for Ruby to get here. Even more importantly, Ramona will have opened up her store. We’re going to need to talk to her, and it’s easier to open a portal there, rather than at her home.”
“Ramona?”
“A chaos witch,” Raina said. “Elagra used chaos magic, tangled it with dark.”
“Whatever is going to erupt out of the Mississippi will be enough to decimate the levies and flood out the entire city,” Derek said. “Unchecked, it will be as bad or worse than Katrina. Especially if it disrupts the ley lines.”
“Bourbon Street will smell better than it ever has,” Raina noted. “Which might make it worth it. But regardless, this definitely calls for the insight of a chaos witch.”
“Goddess help us all,” Derek muttered.
“And the great Lord,” Mikhael added. Then he closed his eyes and templed his fingers once more.
Chapter Eleven
Marcie knew Ben had killed before. He’d never spoken of the details, the who or how many, and she would never ask. Not because she couldn’t handle it. She’d hear anything he ever needed to tell her, but that one fell in the same category combat situations did for Peter or Dana, who’d both done military tours in the Middle East. Some things a person didn’t dredge back up unless there was an unavoidable reason to do so. And you didn’t go there without their express invitation.
Like this. The things he’d done, that had been done to him, he kept buried deep, but never deep enough. He slept better now than before they were married, but more often than she liked she woke in the middle of the night, missing his warmth. She’d find him on the small balcony on the second level of their Garden District home, sitting silently in the night. Listening to voices of the past, centering himself with the peaceful stillness of the present.
Marcie shifted restlessly in the elevator, but when the doors opened and they stepped out, she hung back. “I really feel like I should check on him.”
“You can of course do as you like,” Raina replied. “But I think you should give him the space. Later he’ll steep himself in you to handle the horrible things he just told us. But right now, he’s collecting himself to deal with the tactical portion of our discussion.”
“Like a boxer who’s gone through a couple hard rounds, and is regrouping to come back into the fight.”
“Yes.”
Up in the suite, Ra
ina had revealed, somewhat, how she had that insight, and Marcie knew enough about Ben to reluctantly acknowledge she was right. But it didn’t make her struggle any less with it. Regardless, she followed Raina to the Carousel Bar. True to its glittering carnival appearance, the bar rotated, and so was always a popular spot, but they were in the small hours between midnight and dawn. She was surprised it was even open, but the one bartender and waiter were apparently doing some stocking and maintenance.
Raina didn’t take them to the bar. She led Marcie into the lounge area, where intimately facing two-seat arrangements of deep wing-backed chairs were nestled up against the wide windows facing Royal Street. Raina slid into one and gestured Marcie into the other.
Even with Raina’s energy buffered, Marcie wasn’t surprised the waiter was almost on top of them before they settled into the chairs. He was a twenty-something with nose ring and a tattoo of a black dragon wrapped around his forearm. The design was revealed by the rolled-up sleeves of the dress shirt he wore under his hotel vest and with neatly pressed slacks. He had a bit of the computer geek look to him, with a husky build and intent, slightly squinted brown eyes behind wire-framed glasses. His nametag said Simon.
“A couple late night customers,” he said. His voice had a youthful pitch, but was confident and affable. “Or early morning, depending on what you ladies are more comfortable calling it. Kitchen’s closed for another couple hours, but I can scare you up some nibbles if you need them.”
Raina didn’t smile at him, but her gaze was warm. “Two Diablos, please.” She looked toward Marcie. “In honor of the males we love.”
“You got it. Two Diablos for the kind of women who could inspire a man to dance with the devil.” He made a double thumbs up gesture at them and headed back to the bar.
Marcie lifted a brow, chuckling at Raina’s pleased expression. “One of the many reasons I love New Orleans,” the witch said. “Rich with colorful characters.”
Present company included. Marcie realized Raina hadn’t donned shoes, and no one in the lounge was saying anything to her about it. Elagra’s feet had been bare, too, neither witch obviously uncomfortable, despite the rough ground. As a result, Marcie would have expected Raina’s feet to be callused. But, what seemed a lifetime ago, she remembered Raina on the bed, Mikhael lifting his mate’s shapely leg to kiss her insole. Her feet had been soft and smooth, Mikhael’s hands gentle and strong on them.
Like Ben’s hands were when he touched her.
She wasn’t surprised every thought was leading back to him. That was true on a normal day, but she particularly wanted to be with him right now. She hated for him to be alone with his demons, but Raina was right. Sometimes Ben needed his space. When it was time to share his pain, she’d be the one he’d come to for that. Literally. Giving herself a little breather made sense. Going right from one intense thing to another was a sure-fire way to lose perspective, miss details.
“Don’t they hurt?” she asked the witch. “Your feet, like when you were walking in the tunnels?”
Raina shook her head. “Witches…certain types of witches, we pull a great deal of power from the earth, so it contours to us, so to speak. I don’t get affected by gravel, sharp glass, that kind of thing, not as long as I’m connected to that energy. If my focus falters, well then, the relationship becomes less smooth. Like the relationship with many things.”
Simon was back with their drinks. “Two Diablos,” he said, putting them down with a gallant flourish. “The bartender put in a couple raspberries. Extra plump and juicy.”
While instinctual and innocent, there was no way for a male to look Raina’s way without his gaze touching on her generous breasts, the cleavage and appealing shape of them noticeable in the scoop-neckline of the cotton dress she wore. When he recognized how his glance and the comment might be put together, he colored up to his hair. “I mean…I…”
Raina chuckled and picked up the drink. “You intended no offense, young sir,” she said, giving him a nod. “Don’t distress yourself. You are a gentleman, through and through.”
He recovered nicely, Marcie noted. Still flustered, but he sketched a credible bow. “My lady is very forgiving,” he said with a courtly air. “My thanks.”
There was a man who’d spent time at some fantasy cons for sure. And likely dressing up for them in some admirably detailed costumes.
The two women watched his hasty retreat and exchanged another amused look. It helped, Marcie realized. Doing this, taking her mind off things.
Raina lifted the glass to the light to study the red coloring and the several dark fruits floating in the top before she took a sip. “Oh, that’s good. The blackberry and grapefruit work well together.”
“And tequila always works,” Marcie added, taking a healthy swallow. At Raina’s raised brow, she shrugged. “Sorry, I needed a good shot there.” Though she’d sip the rest, because when it came to drinking, she was a definite lightweight. However, the warmth it would spread inside her would help her loosen up further, let go of some of the darker things.
“Can I ask you about Mikhael?”
Raina had her lips wrapped around the slender black drink straw. The cocktail had given her mouth a distracting light gloss. “Depends on what you want to ask.”
“Is he as scary as he seems?”
“He’d like to think so.” Raina flipped her hair over one shoulder. Marcie could well imagine how the witch would use the move to goad Mikhael, their own provocative brand of foreplay. But then the witch’s expression became more serious. “Yes. Scarier, if you’re something he’s hunting. Elagra knew that. Did you notice she wouldn’t look at him? Part of that was her petulance, but the other part is in that environment, without any other reinforcements, she’s outmatched by him, several times over. She won’t get on his bad side unless absolutely necessary.”
“That’s reassuring.” Marcie considered the enigma of the Dark Guardian. “He’s so quiet. But not like shy quiet or even broody quiet. Or lake quiet. I can’t put my finger on it.”
“It’s the silence of time,” Raina said. “Time makes no noise. It just waits, watches. Marks the passage. There is nothing more powerful than time. It’s unstoppable and eventually sees and knows everything. It predicts, it stores memory. It holds and captures the moment. Everything of importance relates to time.”
Marcie digested that. “You’re right. It’s exactly that. How old is he? Late thirties, early forties?”
Raina shook her head. “You are an old soul in some ways. It makes it easy for me to forget you are mortal and not of our world, the paths we walk. Mikhael is over thirteen hundred years old.”
Marcie nearly spit part of her drink back into the glass. “You’re totally shitting me.”
Raina chuckled. “Your old soul makes me forget just how very young you are. That brought it all back.”
Marcie grimaced. “Now you sound like Ben. When he says that, I quid pro quo him. Tell him how often I forget just how immature he can be. Until he reminds me. Men can be such a pain in the ass. Thirteen hundred years old…wow.”
She shook her head. “The quiet makes way more sense now. Scary, quiet, totally hot. That works.”
“Yes, it certainly does.” Raina reached out with her foot, past the small table, and tapped Marcie’s sneaker braced by it. “He’s a good male. Not kind, not of the Light, but his way is true, and I trust him with everything I am. He knows the line between Darkness and evil probably better than anyone but Lucifer, the Lord of Hell himself.”
Marcie considered that. “So he can…I mean, something like Elagra. He could have ended her then and there. She certainly deserved it.”
“She did, no doubt. But she may still be useful. Plus, while he has a certain latitude to be judge, jury and executioner, he exercises it carefully, and after some thought. Since it’s impossible for most anything to hide from him for long, he has time to deliberate.”
Thirteen hundred years old. That would give him a perspective far beyo
nd hers, Marcie knew. Did that mostly answer her question? Or was it simply that the answer she really wanted was tied up with her fierce love for the man who’d been victimized as a child by Elagra, not a cosmic justice review? Even so, the question still felt unfinished. But she wasn’t ready to ask the other part of it yet.
So she left it for now, in favor of lighter things. “Have you flown with him? Like Superman and Lois Lane?”
Raina laughed. “Yes. Once, when I was fighting an enemy and fell into a fiery abyss, he dove in, caught me before I could be swallowed by the flames.”
“Righteous.” Marcie imagined it, Raina tumbling through fire, Mikhael swooping in under her, an avenging angel, catching her and bearing her back up to safety. “But do you ever do it for fun? Like, ‘hey, it’s a beautiful day, let’s go be birds’?”
Raina’s laughter, while distracting, was genuine and female. “I need to talk to non-witches more often. Ruby and Ramona have little wonder about such things, as they are already part of that world. He has other ways of taking me off my feet,” she allowed, “but if I wanted to do that, I’m sure he would take me for a flight.”
She adjusted her chair so she could stretch out her legs, put her feet in Marcie’s lap. Marcie comfortably laid her hand over her painted toes, studying them. “That’s so weird. Your feet are so clean. Like you just stepped out of the shower.”
“Also part of the magic. Though there are times when I want them coated by the elements for things to work properly, this is not one of them.”
“Handy to protect your pedicure,” Marcie noted.
“There is that.”
Marcie leaned over to retrieve her drink from the table and used the straw to sip from it so she could leave one hand on Raina’s feet. When the blonde tilted her head Raina’s way, her brown eyes were thoughtful, and a little mischievous. There was no mystery to why Ben was so besotted with this one. Raina was ready to take her home and convince her to join the bordello. She’d fit right in with the playful sex demons, and would make Raina even more money, always an important consideration.