Waking the Serpent

by Jane Kindred

  Phoebe sat back on her heels as he let go of her. “Oh, God. I’m sorry, Rafe.”

  “Don’t be sorry. That was incredibly hot.”

  “But I shouldn’t have pressured you.”

  “You didn’t pressure me.” Rafe tried to put himself back together nonchalantly. “It was a great idea. It’s just...not going to work out.”

  Phoebe pulled her robe up over her shoulder and swung one leg off his lap, leaning on her hip beside him. “Us, you mean?”

  “Well, this, anyway.” Rafe made a vague gesture at the still uncomfortably prominent bulge in the pink-striped pants. “This” usually meant “us” eventually. And judging by the other night, this was something Phoebe particularly enjoyed. And who didn’t? Except him.

  Phoebe studied him. Probably trying to figure out how broken he was. Wondering if he was a fixer-upper. “I don’t mind watching movies.” She gave him a saucy smirk. “Even if you spoil them from time to time.”

  Rafe laughed. “I did pretty much start it, didn’t I? I seem to get a little out of control around you, Phoebe Carlisle. I’m the one who should apologize.”

  Phoebe rolled her eyes and curled up next to him again, grabbing his arm to wrap it around her as she tucked herself under it. “Hey, I asked you to stay the night, and kept walking around in my tiny robe when I could have gotten dressed.” She grinned as his mouth dropped open in mock surprise. “Let’s both not be sorry. Like I said, it’s not a deal-breaker.”

  He drew her close, amazed she wasn’t sending him packing.

  Phoebe played with the hair on his arm. “Is there...anything you need me to do? Anything you need to go...do?”

  Rafe chuckled. “No, I’m good. Falling asleep with you is all I need right now.”

  She glanced up again, searching his eyes. “You sure? Don’t feel like you have to be stoic about it.”

  “I’m sure.” Rafe smiled and held up his hand in the three-fingered Boy Scout salute. “Scout’s honor.” He kissed her before she could protest further.

  As Phoebe closed her eyes and snuggled against him, Puddleglum hopped onto the bed and wedged himself between their legs.

  Rafe grinned at the domestic picture, the grin widening at the sight of Phoebe’s robe slipping open again to bare her breast. Domestic with a touch of soft porn. But the grin faded as he noticed something on the pale swell above her nipple. She had a love bite. And Rafe sure as hell hadn’t given it to her.

  Chapter 19

  Rafe was distant in the morning, as if he’d lain awake thinking better of the previous evening. Phoebe offered to drive him home but Rafe, already up and showered before she’d woken, had called Carter Hamilton to get the spare keys from his father’s place so he could get back into the house.

  “We could just meet him there.” She didn’t particularly want Carter anywhere near her house after whatever had happened at his hotel. Not that she wanted to see him at all, but a minute or two through a car window would be better than here.

  Rafe stood leaning back against the breakfast bar with his arms folded. “I need to talk to him, anyway, about my father’s funeral arrangements.”

  A twinge of guilt twisted in her side. With everything that had happened, she’d forgotten he was dealing with the loss of his father.

  “Besides, I have a feeling he knows his way around your neighborhood pretty well by now.”

  It took her a moment to process the last part. What was that supposed to mean? Phoebe opened her mouth to ask but Carter’s horn sounded on the drive.

  Rafe pushed himself away from the bar. “Don’t forget to keep your curtains closed and your doors locked. I did a little protection spell work around the perimeter this morning to keep the necromancer out, but I’m not sure it’ll hold against nosy reporters.” He moved toward the door but turned back as if trying to decide on the right protocol for almost-sex on an almost-date. “Thanks for putting up with me last night.” He leaned down and gave her a chaste kiss. “Sorry if it was a little disappointing.”

  “It was not disappointing. I like having you here. And I like sleeping with you. Just sleeping. It’s nice. Anything else is just a bonus.”

  A half smile formed on his lips as if it had surprised him. “Well, anyway...thanks.” He turned to go and Phoebe followed him to the door.

  “Rafe.” She latched the screen after he stepped out, studying his face through the mesh as he turned back. “Is something wrong?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched, but not with a smile. “Why would anything be wrong?”

  “I don’t know. I feel like I’ve done something to upset you. I thought we were good last night when we went to sleep.”

  This time he did smile, though it seemed forced. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just...me. Figuring out some things.”

  Carter gave Phoebe a friendly wave from the car as Rafe climbed into it. Not wanting to alert Rafe that anything was weird between her and his lawyer, she returned the greeting before stepping back and closing the door on a full-body shudder of revulsion.

  * * *

  “Nice pants.” Hamilton gave him a sideways smirk as he backed down the drive. “When you said you’d lost your keys, I didn’t realize you’d also lost the pants they were in.”

  “They’re in Phoebe’s laundry.” Let him think whatever he wanted to about that.

  Hamilton eyed him sidelong as he turned onto the street. “I’m not sure it’s wise to be continuing a physical relationship with Phoebe Carlisle after the publicity you’ve already gotten. Despite its irrelevance to the law, you’re being tried in the court of public opinion, and your actions are giving the impression of a man who isn’t terribly concerned about the dead body he was recently found with. Or the death of his father.”

  Rafe suppressed a snarl. “Why don’t you let me worry about my public image?”

  “Part of my job, Rafael, is managing your public image. You’re paying me quite a bit for my advice, so I suggest you take it. And you might want to give a thought to Ms. Carlisle’s public image while you’re at it.”

  He couldn’t help the sharp laugh that escaped him. “Right. Like you were doing when you drove her from the courthouse straight to your hotel room.”

  Hamilton was quiet for a moment, concentrating on the road until he came to a red light. “So Phoebe told you about what happened.”

  “She didn’t elaborate. But she didn’t have to. It was fairly obvious.”

  Hamilton sighed. “Not that I have to explain myself to you—any more than Phoebe does—but I offered her a ride because the encounter at the courthouse had shaken her up and the reporters were mobbing her. They would have followed her home, so I offered to let her hide out in my suite for the afternoon and have a bite to eat. I didn’t expect her to spend the night, but things happen. In retrospect, I should have insisted she take a cab home after she had a little too much to drink with dinner, but she’s a very attractive, persuasive woman. As you’ve no doubt noticed.”

  Rafe’s fingers dug into the fabric of the seat as he tried to ignore the impulse to punch his lawyer in his smug face.

  “At any rate, I, at least, made an effort to be discreet. You, on the other hand, seem bent on drawing attention to both yourself and Phoebe.” Hamilton threw a sideways glance at the pajama pants. “As your lawyer, I’m asking you to think about what effect that may have on your reputation. And if not yours, then at least hers.”

  “I think Phoebe has demonstrated she’s perfectly capable of handling her own reputation.”

  “Then I take it she didn’t mention her involvement with you has cost her her job.”

  Rafe turned to look him in the eye. “What?”

  “She’s been suspended from the Public Defender’s Office while they investigate any possible conflicts of interest or misconduct.”<
br />
  “You’re shitting me.”

  Hamilton smiled his best lawyerly smile. “I assure you, Rafael, I would never ‘shit’ you.”

  * * *

  When Phoebe didn’t hear from Rafe over the weekend, she tried not to let it get to her. He had a lot on his plate, to say the least. But there was one thing she could take off it. Or try to, anyway. Unfortunately she’d have to ask Ione for help, because waiting around for one of the shades to make another visit on their own was too unpredictable, and potentially doing a shade-summoning spell wrong wasn’t a risk she wanted to take.

  It also wasn’t the kind of thing she could just call up Ione and ask for, like Mom’s recipe for lasagna. Phoebe would have to see her in person. Which meant, of all things, a visit to the Chapel of the Holy Cross.

  Phoebe hadn’t been near a church in years, but Ione insisted on going to the Taizé prayer service every Monday evening at five—meditative prayer in chanting and song. She always arrived half an hour early to sit and pray by herself, as if she could somehow be absolved of practicing witchcraft by being devout enough. It was absurd. Phoebe had long ago accepted that the church didn’t want her. She no longer belonged. And she hadn’t missed it. But Ione couldn’t let go of who she once was—who she thought she still ought to be. Maybe because she’d been closer to their parents, it was harder to walk away from the church they’d raised her in before her “sinful nature” had become apparent.

  Phoebe might have avoided the whole chapel scene by calling Ione and asking her to meet, but it wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have over the phone. Ione would manage to talk her out of it, or refuse to help and cut off the conversation, like she always did. She couldn’t afford to play Ione’s control games right now.

  At least the drive up Chapel Road was worth taking regardless of the destination. And the chapel itself was stunning, built into the hillside of the red rock formations, with the center post of a great cross that formed the frame of the building and divided the towering windows tucked between two buttes. Phoebe had never been a spiritual person, even when she’d believed, but it was hard not to feel a little tingle of something unexplainable in the face of the natural and architectural beauty.

  As she drove up the winding hill to the parking lot, Phoebe wondered if she should have called, after all. Ione wasn’t going to appreciate the interruption of her weekly absolution ritual, particularly to discuss not just spell work inside the church, but the kind of spell work Ione would never approve of. But by the time she’d parked and started the trek up the hill, it was too late to come up with a better plan.

  She found Ione sitting in the back row of pews, just where she’d left her the last time she’d been to services at the parish church—right after their parents’ funeral. Ione had been forced to interrupt her freshman year at Berkeley to come home and become legal guardian to her sisters. She’d taken Phoebe out of private school—with their parents gone, there hadn’t been money—but she’d tried to insist Phoebe return to church as if nothing had changed. As if Phoebe hadn’t been essentially excommunicated for communing with spirits by the time she was thirteen. She was an abomination. And Ione never hesitated to make it clear she thought so, too—on both a spiritual and spiritualist level.

  Phoebe had never attended the Taizé prayer service, though she’d been to the chapel before when services weren’t being held. And what the chapel had in abundance was peaceful quiet—and shades. She had to be careful not to let any get too close. They didn’t generally come here looking for someone like her to communicate through—she supposed they were attracted by the same things the living came for—but if they recognized her as an open portal, some might be tempted to make contact, and she couldn’t afford to indulge any step-ins within a church.

  Head bowed and eyes closed, Ione didn’t look up when Phoebe sat beside her on the rustic bench. But after a moment, sensing Phoebe watching her, she raised her head.

  Her eyes widened. “Phoebe? What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

  Phoebe had to work not to laugh. It was a fair question. “No, not wrong, exactly. I just need to ask you for a favor, and it isn’t something I wanted to ask over the phone.”

  Ione stiffened. “Okay. What do you need?”

  Phoebe kept her voice low. “I need the summoning spell. The one the Covent uses to call shades before they give them the bum’s rush.” Maybe she could have worded that a little more nicely. Maybe she didn’t care.

  Ione’s gaze darted around the peaceful chapel. “Are you out of your mind? You came here to ask me for that? I had no idea you hated me this much.”

  “Jesus, Ione.” When the poor choice of exclamation made Ione cringe, Phoebe lowered her voice even more. “Don’t be melodramatic. I don’t hate you. I didn’t come here to ruin anything for you. I just need your help, and I knew if I asked you on the phone you’d put me off.”

  “So you ambushed me here—at my place of worship.”

  “It’s not an ambush.” Maybe it was kind of an ambush. Phoebe chewed on her bottom lip. “Okay, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Can we talk outside at least?”

  “We don’t have anything to talk about, Phoebe. You’ve made it perfectly clear you have no respect for my beliefs—in God or anything else. And you have the audacity to come here to demand my help in doing something that goes against both.”

  “It’s your spell,” Phoebe hissed under her breath. “How does it go against your beliefs? I’m not asking you to participate in a step-in. I just need you to help me reach a shade so I can help Rafe. You’re the one who told me to help him, or had you forgotten?”

  “I told you to work with him, for his own sake, because he was obviously going to do it anyway. Just like you do.” Ione scowled, managing to look uncannily like their mother. “And he knows how to do what you’re asking, so why are you asking me?”

  “He has a lot to deal with right now. I thought if I could make some progress on this particular problem on my own, it would give him a chance to focus on...other things.”

  “What other things? You?”

  Phoebe resisted the urge to smack her. “No, not me. But thank you for thinking I’m that shallow.” She ignored the little voice in the back of her head trying to point out it would certainly be a side bonus. “His father’s estate, for one. The reporters hounding him, for another. It was a media circus without me, but I haven’t helped any.”

  Ione’s look softened. “I heard about what happened at the courthouse.” She glanced at the front of the chapel then back toward the doors before straightening with a sigh. “We only have a few minutes before the service. Let’s go outside and I’ll walk you through it.”

  Phoebe hadn’t expected such swift capitulation. She followed Ione out to a secluded spot on the edge of the paved drive. “Not that I don’t appreciate this, but why the sudden change of heart?”

  Ione pursed her lips. “It’s not a change of heart. You’ve violated my sacred space in the most unconscionable way. I’m only giving you what you’ve asked for because I know you’re going to go ahead and try the summoning anyway, and I don’t want to read about you online tomorrow as the killer’s next victim. The spell I’m going to give you includes a binding element to prevent the shade from controlling you. If you’re going to allow the step-in—which I have no doubt you are, despite any warnings I could give you to the contrary—this will keep it separate from you, only able to communicate through you and nothing more.”

  She sat on a section of the stone bench forming a little wall along the perimeter of the mesa and Phoebe sat beside her. “I’ll give you the spell on one condition.”

  “Which is?”

  “You join me for the service afterward. And sit through the whole thing. It’s only half an hour.” Phoebe could see Ione wasn’t about to compromise. She’d compromised her own beliefs enough, in her
estimation, and it was Phoebe’s turn.

  “I’m not going to sing.”

  “Fair enough.” Ione proceeded to walk her through the summoning spell—with a side of binding—and with the help of a few notes on her phone, Phoebe committed it to memory before they headed back inside the chapel.

  The service turned out to be rather lovely. Even if the ideas behind the songs no longer held meaning for her, Phoebe could appreciate the beauty of them. She could see why Ione was drawn to it, even if she couldn’t understand her sister’s need to belong to something that condemned her. The chanting even seemed to calm the shades Phoebe sensed. A few had tried to get her attention when she’d returned inside, but as the service began, they seemed to collectively settle, perhaps finding others to step into who weren’t aware of their presence—the way most step-ins actually occurred—in order to participate in the spiritual connection of song.

  But Phoebe had apparently let down her guard too much in taking in the experience. As the last piece of music began, she felt a familiar, insistent tugging inside her head.

  She tried to grit her teeth to keep the shade out, but found herself joining in on the last line of the chant, louder than necessary. Ione gave her a curious glance, a tentative smile on her face until the shade burst out laughing—through Phoebe’s mouth. Lila.

  “Gotta run.” Phoebe jumped up as the service ended. “Thanks.” Ione’s favorite stony look was back. Too bad. She was the one who’d insisted Phoebe stay.

  The rain broke as Phoebe headed down the snaking drive to the Wrangler, and she made a dash for it, soaked to the skin already by the time she hopped inside.

  Her hair dripped water into her eyes as she gripped the steering wheel. “Lila. I know you’re still there.”

  “Funny.” The deep, smoky voice came from her mouth. “You didn’t notice the last time I was here.”

  The flesh on Phoebe’s arms tightened with goose bumps that had nothing to do with Lila’s presence or the rain. “What are you talking about?”