by E. A. Copen
Khaleda nodded.
While she showered, I went into my bedroom and tidied up, picking up clothes, sweeping the floor. Boring stuff, really. Once that was settled, I went to the bookshelf on the other side of the room and pulled out a dusty, leather-bound tome to find the circle diagram I needed.
The reason magic is worked inside a circle is twofold. A sealed circle ensured no magic—or ghosts, since I often worked with them— escaped to do harm to anyone else nearby. It could also act as an amplifier, strengthening whatever spells were worked inside. In the right circle, someone with very little magical aptitude could do scary things. For someone with real power like me, that magic would multiply, increasing exponentially allowing me to cast spells that were significantly more powerful. But that magic, just like any other, could spiral out of control if it didn’t have somewhere to go. It needed a receptacle.
After sketching out the changes to the circle, I pulled open my top dresser drawer and sorted through the items there for a suitable container for all the magic. For clients, I usually charged crystals and gemstones. They held magic easily and looked pretty on a pendant. They couldn’t hold a lot of power, however, so I selected something a little larger with a more complex shape. I placed it under the bed in the center of the circle.
Khaleda cleared her throat from the doorway.
I turned around, unprepared for the sight of her. I’d expected her to come at me like the predator I knew she was. Sneak up behind me and hit me with the same supernatural come-hither whammy from before. I sure as hell would’ve responded to it. I wouldn’t have liked it, not afterward anyway, but I’d have gone along with it. After all, Khaleda was a succubus. She was supposed to be all confident curves and unadulterated lust.
She wasn’t supposed to look scared and nervous.
The t-shirt was a lot longer on her than it was me. Without her boots, she was several inches shorter, letting the shirt extend a few inches down her thighs. With the lighting in the kitchen much brighter than the warm lighting in the bedroom, I could see the outline of her underneath the too-big shirt. While all the curves were still there in all the right places, something about how she stood made her seem smaller, more vulnerable. Her hair hung in damp, stringy waves, all brushed to one side to leave one side of her neck exposed.
She rubbed her arms, and I had to resist the urge to go to her and warm her up. “You’re out of shampoo.”
I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I said, “Sorry.”
“’S okay.” She glanced around the room as if it were her first time in there. “You’re not going to cuff me to the bed again, are you?”
“Depends.”
Her eyes met mine, and my heart kicked into high gear. “On what?” she asked.
“You going to hurt me?”
She stepped closer. Her hand reached out to cup the side of my face. I started to flinch away but caught myself. This wasn’t going to work if I couldn’t even trust her to touch me.
“You’re in pain,” she said, echoing the words she’d used in Karma. “I can’t take it away, not completely, but I can make you forget it for a little while.”
My throat suddenly felt tight and dry. “How?”
“Like this.” Khaleda guided my mouth to hers.
Khaleda’s lips were soft and tasted faintly of something cherry, a lip gloss of some kind maybe. Her touch was gentle, as if she were tending to an injured man. Maybe she was in her own way.
I didn’t kiss her back. I was afraid to. Not because of what she might do to me that night, but because the last person I had kissed back, the last few, had become the cause of that pain. How could I expect something so simple as a kiss from a woman I barely knew to make up for all that? Yet the promise was there. I felt the weight of it settle between us. Khaleda wasn’t lying. She could help me forget, but not like that.
Desire surged through me, an angry, hungry and primal need demanding to be satisfied. Not the same thing I’d felt when I thought of Odette. There was no emptiness that craved nearness, no longing for more time, no regrets. Khaleda wasn’t the delicate flower Odette was. I could feel the tight muscle of her under my fingers as they dug into her back, pulling her closer. I couldn’t hurt her, and she couldn’t hurt me, not any more than I’d already been hurt.
It was that realization that drove me to bite down on her lower lip. Khaleda let out a small gasp and seized me by the chin, pulling me away. Her hand went to her lip, eyes blazing a brilliant icy blue as she pulled it away bloody.
As she examined the little bit of blood on her fingers, I picked up the loose razor blade I’d left on the nightstand and dug the corner of it into my thumb. Blood welled up to meet the blade. I squatted the edge of the circle and smeared the blood over the markings, watching as Khaleda mimicked my movements.
“You did that on purpose,” she said, her voice quivering as the circle sprang up.
I wasn’t sure I could formulate a coherent response, so I just sat on the bed.
The mattress shifted as she sat down next to me. She touched my face again.
“Don’t ever kiss me like that again,” I said, my voice hot with anger, though angry wasn’t how I felt.
Khaleda’s fingers froze, her arm going rigid. “Like what?”
“Like you mean it,” I said and pulled her to me again.
Fingers like talons scratched at my chest, nails digging in hard enough to draw a growl from me. I grabbed her hands and pulled them away from the raw skin. Her fingers tightened around my wrists. For a second, I thought she’d try to push me away, to stop me, but instead, she took my hands and guided them up under the shirt to her hips. The feel of naked, soft flesh under my fingers set something else off in me, and I developed an unexplained hatred for cotton. I slid my hands up, pushing the fabric with it, shoving it away. If it caught, I was ready to tear it away to get to her.
When I finally got it off her, I had to lean back and take her in, all of her. She glowed. Or rather, her skin was so pale it looked like it was glowing. She was flawless, not a single scar or blemish. Supernaturally so.
Seeing her naked affected me in more than a physical way. I suddenly found myself re-evaluating my definition of beauty. Not just as it applied to beautiful women, but to art. To sunrises and sunsets. The sound of rain on a tin roof against the gentle roll of thunder in the distance. Everything I thought I could call beautiful suddenly seemed a pale imitation compared to her.
But it wasn’t just that. It was as if I suddenly understood the deeper meaning of the world, of the nature of power itself and the connection between the two of things. The universe as a whole made more sense.
“God,” I whispered, trembling in awe of the effect, “you’re…stunning.”
In answer, she crawled on top of me and covered my mouth with hers, lips sizzling hot as they trailed over my body. I was sure I’d wake up and find blisters wherever she’d kissed me.
After that, everything happened in a blur. I remember her on top of me, me running my fingers over gleaming white skin that didn’t seem to match the hunger in her eyes. She coated me in heat while the cold pulled at me from everywhere she wasn’t touching. The rhythm of hearts pounding like drums, of pure animalistic need laced with something I don’t have the words to describe. It was both beautiful and terrifying. I was almost lost in it.
The magic in the circle mounted at the same pace as our labored breathing. Khaleda arched her back but somehow never stopped rolling her hips against mine.
And now for the hard part.
Despite the deep and pressing needs of my physical body, I had a job to do. That job was to shove all the magic that was swirling around us into the item I’d placed under the bed to charge it. That meant concentrating, focusing my energy somewhere other than wherever my caveman brain wanted to go. Doing that while simultaneously enjoying the pleasure of a woman is… Well, it’s not easy.
Against the writhing and the gasping Khaleda was doing, I focused my will and directed a
ll of it in a straight shot down. Our magic formed into a spear that shot through me, piercing my lower back. The sudden pain mixed with the pleasure of climax pushed a scream out of my throat.
I don’t know how long I screamed. Like I said, time got a little funny. I was sure at least ten or fifteen minutes had passed by the time I came back around, shaking, curled up with my back to Khaleda. She made soft cooing sounds and drew her hand gently over the side of my face. Slowly, I raised a hand to touch my cheeks and found them wet with tears.
I understood why the man in Karma had collapsed, weeping when she broke contact. All that beauty and understanding was gone. Without having to remember, I knew I’d wept for the loss of it.
As soon as I could move, I crawled out of bed to check the charge. Khaleda gave me a doubtful frown as I pulled out an obsidian dagger, just like the ones she and her brother carried. “That’s what you’re charging?”
“Why not?” I said with a shrug. God, my shoulders hurt.
Khaleda propped herself up on her elbows. “Well, how is it?”
I frowned as I extended my senses over the dagger. Then I cringed when I realized it’d only charged about a third of what I’d hoped. I checked the clock on the wall and sighed, knowing I was in for a long night.
Chapter Seventeen
The thunderstorm started two hours before dawn. Lightning raked the sky. Thunder growled, and wind howled, rattling the window panes. The air outside buzzed with an energy all its own, distinctly different from the feral power thrumming in the obsidian dagger strapped to my hip.
I leaned against the railing in the rainstorm feeling like a coiled spring. The cold rain hitting me seemed electrified and alive, as if every drop were aware of the rest and angry at them all.
Khaleda banged around in the apartment behind me, presumably getting ready. She said she wanted to mix up some last-minute potions and I was more than happy to leave her to it. Like me, she was full of restless energy that had nowhere to go. I patted the dagger thinking it wasn’t the only thing that had been charged overnight.
I should’ve felt drained, but instead felt energized and ready for whatever was coming. With all that energy, I could’ve sprinted across the parking lot and down the road if my muscles didn’t ache so bad. My legs still felt like wet noodles and every time the rain ran down the collar of my shirt, it stung some fresh scratches there.
But it’d worked. Between the dagger, Khaleda and me, there was enough magical energy buzzing to raise every shade in the morgue if I’d wanted. I’d need every ounce of it for the spell I planned. All we had to do was find the body and get it to my office, which was why I’d called Jean back for a report.
“Well?” I said as the thunder rolled overhead. “Where is he?”
Jean cowered when I pushed away from the railing to face him.
I frowned. “What?”
“You’re glowing,” said the ghost, wide-eyed.
I looked down at the back of my hands and turned them over, watching the rainwater collect in my palm. I’d hoped the effect would wear off as time marched on. It hadn’t in the shower, hadn’t after eating, nor after twenty minutes of standing in the thunderstorm.
With a scowl, I stepped under the awning and ran my fingers through my hair. “Yeah, so?”
“So it’s unusual.”
“I need to find Dominique’s body and get it to my shop before dawn, Jean. Now, where is he?”
“Behaving very strangely,” Jean said, floating out of my way. “I found him near the river, wandering along the bank. He went into a park, around the cathedral… Just wandering and keeping to the shadows. He seemed lost.”
I tried to think about where that might be and came up empty. His description had been too vague. “See any street signs or anything?”
Jean cocked his head to the side. “I’m a ghost. Your streets and buildings don’t exist where I am.”
“But you said you saw him near a cathedral.”
He nodded. “Well, there are streets and buildings here, just not anything that wasn’t already standing when I… When my soul was separated from my body.”
If I had my timeline straight, Jean had lost his body in the eighteen twenties. That meant it had to be a church older than that, and the only one I knew of near the river was the Saint Louis Cathedral next to Pirate Alley and Jackson Square.
“And he was just there?” I asked. “You’re sure?”
“When I left him, he seemed rather interested in something I couldn’t see. Perhaps a door on your plane that isn’t here.”
The door behind me opened, and Khaleda stepped through, back in her skin-tight leather catsuit, the zipper pulled all the way to her neck. “Ready?” she asked, pulling the door closed.
I nodded, grabbed my staff from the corner where it leaned, and walked down the stairs.
It was normally a twenty-minute drive from Paula’s to the Quarter where Jackson Square was, but traffic was light that time of morning. I pushed the little car past the speed limit and kept right on going.
I could feel Khaleda’s eyes on me, appraising. “So, we’re not going to talk about it.”
My response was an inattentive grunt.
“You know, it’s okay to talk about it. We’re both adults here.”
“I don’t like you,” I said through gritted teeth.
“That’s not what you said last night.”
My cheeks burned. “You’re making this awkward on purpose.”
“Of course I am. What fun is it if I can’t torture you just a little? Besides, your modest act with the blushing and the refusing to look at me is endearing. You’re cute when you blush.”
“Whatever you’ve got to say on the topic, just get it off your chest now. I don’t want to still be talking about this when we meet Emma at the office.” I tightened my hands on the steering wheel, waiting for her to tease me more.
Instead, Khaleda turned to look out the window. “I almost envy you. You’re going to make some woman a very happy lady someday. She’s going to worry about you, you know. It’s dangerous being a hero.”
I glanced over at her staring at her own reflection in the raindrops and passing street lights. “Was that a threat?”
Khaleda closed her eyes. “Hold close the people dear to you, Lazarus, protect them fiercely. Or else cut them out entirely. They’re a weakness, one that can be used to get to you. And a Horseman can’t afford weakness. Not with what’s coming.”
Jean appeared in the narrow space between Khaleda and me, surprising me enough that I had to swerve back into my lane afterward. “You’d better hurry, necromancer. I believe he’s set off some sort of alarm. There are humans with guns snooping around the same place.”
I snarled out a curse and took the next turn.
The worst part about the Quarter is all the foot traffic. Whole sections were inaccessible to cars because they were normally closed off to allow for the hundreds of people who walked around the area. Huge crowds filled the stone walkways, creating streets for people rather than cars. A few years ago, the city planning commission finally got smart and put up barriers to keep cars, cyclists, and the like out of the places where foot traffic was heaviest. Too many idiot tourists were too busy snapping selfies instead of watching for cars, I guess. The additions made it harder to get where I needed to be.
Pirate Alley ran parallel to St. Peter Street with several alleys connecting the two, all of which were inaccessible by car. Since St. Peter was little more than a narrow alley itself, there was no space to park a normal-sized car. Good thing I didn’t have a normal-sized car.
I pulled over halfway down St. Peter and parked with two wheels up on the sidewalk next to a lamp post. The street was dark and quiet when I got out, with no signs that anything was wrong. Rain pelted the street, sounding like a thousand marbles bouncing on glass. Sidewalk cracks turned into canals, funneling the rainwater ever downstream toward the mighty Mississippi. I followed them downstream to a cross alley in a run.
/> Despite her heels, Khaleda didn’t make a sound running next to me, at least not one that I could hear over the rain. Her hair, now in a long, dark braid, flew out behind her like a tail. When I veered left, she went right without instruction. Since we didn’t know where Dominique’s body was, and since Jean couldn’t give us an exact location, our best bet was to search the whole alley for someplace that looked broken into.
I passed a café and a bookshop, and headed toward the mouth of the alley with no sign of anybody. Jean appeared in front of me, and I skidded to a stop to keep from running through him. He pointed to my right, and I turned to see him pointing at the broken wooden sign hanging from a metal chain. I didn’t need to read it to know it was the sign for Pirates’ Booty Pawn, the same place where I’d gotten Nate’s stuff out of hock.
The door lay in gnarled pieces, impressive since it was reinforced steel. A red light spun and flashed inside, probably the early warning alarm system that had brought the police to snoop. There was no sign of them from the alley.
I stepped around the bent-up door and poked my head into the familiar establishment. Every glass case had been smashed, valuables pulled from them and strewn all over the floor. Bloody footprints tracked through the broken glass along with a dark red streak. Glass crunched under my shoes as I stepped in. The bloody footprints went straight to the back room.
For a minute, I considered calling Emma. This was a crime scene, and she’d want to process it. But calling her would mean stalling the ritual, and I couldn’t repeat it, not before the blood moon rose. Whoever was in the back of the shop with blood all over them would also get away before she ever showed up. This was up to me to deal with.
Staff lowered, eyes sweeping, I made my way to the back of the shop where beaded curtains danced back and forth slightly in an unseen wind. Something in the back room was making a wet slurping sound that made my stomach twist into a knot. An oddly familiar sound. I steeled myself for a murder scene and pushed my way through the beaded curtain.