by Jayne Faith
“Highly doubtful,” I said. But his comment sobered me up again.
One of us.
With a shiver I tried to imagine controlling the mind of a zombie, a victim of the NECR2 virus. It was a mutation of VAMP2, but unlike the vampire virus, there was no second life for anyone struck with NECR2. It was said the bodies of zombies were nothing but living shells, empty houses where a person used to reside. The virus wouldn’t allow the body to die naturally, even after the soul had fled. It took a high degree of skill to control a zombie with necromancy. It wasn’t something I saw myself pursuing. But then, lately I’d done a lot of things I’d never expected.
I scrolled through my text messages again, stopping at the one from Johnny.
It seemed apologetic. No, scratch that. An apology would actually contain the words “I’m sorry” or “I apologize,” and his message didn’t say either. He wanted to meet up. I guess I could take that to mean he was in a conciliatory mood. But was I?
I stared at the screen, trying to think of what to write back. The fact was, I didn’t really want to see him. I was still pissed about the way he’d acted. And I was exhausted. I typed a reply.
We’re still an hour from Boise. It took a lot longer than planned, and long story short, I lost one of my rings and the ley line magic nearly fried me. I’m not up for anything tonight. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.
I read it over a couple of times. It sounded cold. I knew it and found I didn’t much care. I hit send.
“Got troubles?” Rogan asked.
I flipped my phone face-down on my lap and gave a humorless little laugh. “You mean besides the obvious?”
I twirled my ring around my finger, letting the silence stretch out.
“I’m an idiot when it comes to relationships,” I said. “If there were a relationship I.Q. scale, I’d be in the moron range.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. You seem to have pretty tight bonds with people in your life,” he said mildly.
He was playing dumb, talking about platonic friendships when he had to know I meant romantic relationships.
“Friends are different,” I said, taking his bait. “But the men I pick usually turn out to be . . . not the greatest matches.”
I’d almost said, “turn out to be jerks,” but realized that wasn’t totally true. Sure, it was the case for some of the guys before Johnny, but Johnny wasn’t an asshole. We just seemed to push each other’s buttons in irritating ways.
“Maybe you pick poor matches on purpose.”
I scowled at him, but his attention was on the road. I slumped a little lower in my seat.
“Why would I do that?” I asked.
“So you have an easy way out later. Maybe you just don’t want a quality relationship with a man.” He said it so matter-of-factly, I kind of wanted to punch him.
My scowl deepened. “Who the hell are you to make such an assumption?”
“If you truly desire something in life, regardless of what it is, you have to make decisions that demonstrate your desire. Decisions that make sense along the path that leads to what you want. Otherwise, you’re just going to keep sabotaging yourself, and you’re going to become more and more unhappy. When you realize the gap between your desires and the choices you make is too wide, that’s when you know you’re ready to make a change.”
My entire being prickled with irritation at his sage observation. I wanted badly to argue, but I knew he was right. I folded my arms.
“Ugh, you sound like Deb. How’d you learn all this wise junk, anyway?” I groused. “You’re a loner.”
He chuckled. “Nobody’s that much of an island.”
I squirmed in my seat, hating that I felt so exposed and unable to escape, and that he seemed to see right through me. I wanted to change the subject, but by doing so I would somehow make my discomfort even more obvious, and that would just piss me off even more.
I groaned internally, finally cracking. “Let’s talk about something else. Anything.”
“Who are you bringing with you to try to get in with the dragon?” he asked, humoring me.
My mind seemed to grind as I mentally switched gears. I tried to remember what Switchboard had said. “Two death-touched and one not, right?”
Rogan nodded.
“Well, the only other death-touched people I know well enough to ask are you and Jennifer Kane. And Phillip Zarella, too, I guess, but that’s not happening.” I looked at him. “Are you up for it?”
“Absolutely.” He drew out the word as if relishing it.
“For the one not death-touched, I’d like Damien.” It might upset Deb that I wasn’t choosing her, but I didn’t want her going on any crazy adventures while she was pregnant. I straightened. “Hey, where will we go for this dragon meeting, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” Rogan said. “Switchboard will tell us.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? You’ve seen it. It? Him? Whatever. Where did you go?”
“The dragon doesn’t really live . . . here.” Rogan was getting that squirmy look again, the one that meant he was about to reveal something unsettling. “We’ll have to go through a rip.”
My head dropped, and I gaped at him from under my brows. “We’re going to walk through a rip?”
“Don’t worry. It’s not as weird as it sounds.”
Right.
We’d reached Boise city limits, and fatigue had settled so deeply into my bones I could barely hold my head steady under my own power.
When Rogan turned onto my block, my stomach dropped. Johnny’s Mustang was parked on the curb in front of my building. My mood immediately clouded.
Rogan parked and reached to unbuckle his seat belt. “Let me help you inside.”
I held up a hand. “Not a good idea. Johnny’s here. But thank you.”
“To the door, then.”
“Nuh uh.”
Moving slowly and wincing the entire time, I maneuvered myself out of the Jeep.
“I know you don’t usually go for this, but you need a healer. Promise me you’ll see one?” I said to Rogan.
He nodded. Loki jumped out and trotted next to me up to the front porch. I waited until Rogan pulled away before opening the door.
Johnny was sitting in the living room with his phone in his hand. He set it down as I came in, and he rose to his feet. A furtive glance to the side showed the bedroom door was closed, and the strip of space under it was dark. Deb was probably already asleep.
“Don’t be mad at her for letting me in,” he said. “I told her you were expecting me.”
That admission didn’t do a thing to lighten my mood. But it made what I needed to say next even easier.
“This seems to be a theme between us,” I said. “You trying to manage me by way of your disapproval of my decisions, and then getting pissed when I don’t go for it. I specifically said I didn’t want to talk tonight.”
He propped one hand loosely on his hip and lifted the other. “I’m not trying to control you, Ella. I’m just trying to help. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
I ran a hand over my hair, my exasperation building. “I don’t know why you’re even trying to do this. You’ve never been a one-woman guy. At least not for long stretches.”
“C’mon, that’s unfair,” he said. Then his face darkened. “You’ve changed since Rogan came into the picture. Is that what this is really about? Is there something going on between the two of you?”
My anger flared, and my pulse surged with it.
“Seriously?” I hissed, trying to keep from shouting. “I don’t know what it is about him that you don’t like, but that was uncalled for.”
He blew out a breath, his shoulders dropping. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”
He took a step toward me, his face softening. But I held up a hand. Something had snapped between us. I suddenly saw that I could stick with it, let us go a few more rounds of this same argument, which might carry us through a few weeks or even months. Or I cou
ld turn and face the writing on the wall. This wasn’t a good fit, and it wasn’t likely to lever itself into a better one.
“This isn’t working,” I said, my tone even. “And it’s only going to get worse if we drag it out. Sorry, Johnny, but I don’t think we should do that.”
I knew I should have delivered it with more sensitivity and grace, but even under good circumstances, those weren’t exactly in my skillset.
His eyes widened in disbelief and then narrowed in anger. A flush crept over his cheeks as a storm seemed to gather inside him. It all happened in the span of a second or so. His hands tightened into fists as the rest of him seemed to tense up. He stood stock-still and unblinking for a moment, and then shook his head and strode to the door and out into the night.
I went to turn the deadbolt and then flipped off the light and sank onto the sofa, weariness returning as my adrenaline drained away. I untied my boots and kicked them off. With my clothes still on, I pulled a blanket over me and sighed deeply. Loki jumped up and settled on the far end of the sofa with his head resting on my ankles.
When I’d first started seeing Johnny, there’d been a spark, but looking back I realized how short-lived it had been. I’d been too busy and distracted to see that we didn’t really connect past that initial attraction. He’d helped me through some difficult moments, and he deserved credit for that, but ultimately there just wasn’t anything to sustain us. Plus, he’d turned out to be kind of a controlling ass. If he wanted a woman he could keep under his thumb, he’d definitely picked the wrong one in me.
My mind skirted around his accusation about Rogan, and I remembered that second in the cabin after he’d helped me stand up. Perhaps I had felt something then but brushed it off in that moment. I didn’t have the energy to examine it, and exhaustion did me a favor and pulled me into sleep before my thoughts could begin to swirl.
I awoke to the sounds of Deb rummaging in the kitchen and the smell of coffee brewing.
I stiffly pushed myself up and swung my feet to the floor.
“You’re up!” she sang out from the kitchen doorway.
I stood and shoved my tangled hair off my face, and her cheerful expression fell into one of concern.
“Oh no, what happened?” she asked.
“Fought a troll. Lost a ring. Met a hermit mage. Dumped Johnny,” I said hoarsely.
Every muscle ached, but my fatigue had vanished for the most part.
“That’s . . . concise,” she said diplomatically. She tilted her head to one side, and her eyes flitted around me. She was probably reading my aura. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me Johnny was such a bad fit?”
“He really seemed to like you,” she said gently.
“Eh, I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe he only liked the challenge of trying to get me under his control. Either way, it was a crappy match.”
“Well, you did butt heads quite a bit,” she said. Then she shrugged. “Some people like that, though. They mistake the fighting for passion, and they get off on the drama of it. The thing is, if you don’t have a foundation of genuine love and respect, the fighting isn’t passion. It’s nothing but dysfunction in disguise. And that’s a doomed relationship, every time.”
“How do you know all this? Why are you so smart?” I asked. Was everyone in the world better at seeing this stuff than I was?
She gave me a wry look. “Really? Smart? I’m pregnant and in the middle of a divorce from a man who spent all our savings on pyramid schemes.”
My phone rang, saving me from having to come up with a response.
“Hey, Damien,” I answered.
“We got another message from Zarella, and I think you were right. It seems like the real deal.” He sounded excited. “Are you free?”
“Yep, I’ll be at your place in forty-five.”
On the way to Damien’s loft, possibilities whirled through my mind. What nefarious task would a man like Zarella have for us? And what would he offer as payment? He had to know it would be a hard sell.
Not that I was truly considering taking on Phillip Zarella as a client. Hell no . . . Of course not.
When Damien let me in, I saw he was already in work mode. A couple of notebooks lay open on the long kitchen island, and the screen of his laptop was glowing. He picked up a second laptop, closed and sleek-looking.
“Here, this one is yours,” he said. He held out the device.
I looked at him in question.
“I’m not sharing, and you need more than just your phone. Business expense,” he said brusquely and pushed the laptop at me again.
I took it. “Okay, but how are we paying for it?”
“Leave the finances to me,” he said, already turning his attention to his computer screen. He looked at me, his eyes glinting. “Take a look at this.”
I expected an email, but Damien had pulled up a web page that was blank except for a short block of text.
Dear Sir and Madam,
As to your inquiry about my needs, I can tell you only that I seek your services for the retrieval of an object. In my current situation, I’m unable to go to get the object myself. And as to why I’ve contacted you specifically, I will say this: I can give you both the invaluable things you desire in return for doing this small task for me. I believe it will be well worth your time.
P. Z.
I squinted at the note, reading it a second and third time.
“He’s a powerful necromancer, though, and he’s operating as one even from his confines,” I said. “I just learned he drives zombies to proxy for him in underworld council meetings. So why can’t he just send a zombie or a demon to get this object?”
“Let’s ask,” Damien said. He switched to a window showing an email inbox. “His messages are delivered via email. He sends links that go to encrypted web pages, but he said in his first email that we could reply directly as long as we don’t use his name.”
He started typing.
“Also ask him what exactly he’s offering,” I said. “He seems to have something specific for each of us that he thinks we can’t turn down. I want details.”
My stomach was slowly winding itself into a knot. Zarella’s offering to me would somehow relate to my brother, I was almost sure of it. I had a vague idea about what he might be offering Damien, too. As I watched Damien type and send our reply, I felt a distinct falling sensation. Not a rollercoaster plunge, but the start of a gentle descent, as if gravity had taken a tighter hold and was beginning to pull me downward.
I knew we shouldn’t pursue this particular white rabbit, but I needed to know what Zarella thought he could give me. I had to know, and I kind of hated it.
“It might take a while for him to respond,” Damien said. “Last time it was almost twelve hours, so we might want to—”
His laptop pinged, and we both whipped around to stare at it. There was a new message from Zarella. It contained only a link. Damien tapped it.
Neither a zombie nor a demon would be able to gain access to my desired object without attracting considerable notice. And neither one would be able to protect it the way a living human can. But I need both of you to have full possession of your magical abilities in order to complete my request. And to that need, I must supply the lady with the solution to her reaper problem. Up front, she will receive a fix that will keep the reaper from consuming any more of her soul. It also will allow her to retain the abilities the reaper has bestowed.
After the retrieval of my desired object, I will complete my payment. That will be thus: to the lady’s partner, the means to the magical power he so deeply desires, though I feel obligated to warn you that it can’t be achieved without a steep price that even I would not wish to pay.
For reasons that will become clear later, I also must require the lady to join the Society of the Underworld and pay her requisite visit to the dragon oracle.
Another demand? Zarella sure was bold. And how the hell did he know
about the dragon? My scalp crawled, and I felt slightly sick as I absorbed what Zarella was offering. I shifted my attention to Damien and furtively watched him out of the corners of my eyes. He was leaning in, reading the message over and over. His full lips were parted slightly, and I could see his faint, quick pulse on the side of his neck.
“Oracle?” Damien asked, turning to me.
I explained about the dragon and told him about the visit with Switchboard. Damien’s straight blond brows lifted as I spoke. I could tell he was intrigued.
“We don’t even know where we’d have to go or what we’d have to do in order to get this thing for Zarella,” I said. “It might be a trap.”
“I don’t think it’s a trap,” Damien said, finally straightening and tearing his eyes away from the screen. “The payments really don’t cost him anything. If he were offering a giant sum of money or something that was of great value to him, then I’d think it was a trap.”
“I don’t know if I totally follow your logic, but my gut tells me you’re right in that he would deliver on his promises . . . if we were to take the job.”
We looked at each other as the silence grew heavy in the room.
“He’ll tell you how to control the reaper,” Damien said softly, his voice almost soothingly hypnotic. “That, along with Jennifer’s spell for stemming the tide of the ley line magic . . . you’d get your magic back, you’d never have to worry about the reaper killing you, and you could go after your brother. Zarella himself said he has to give you that up front. We wouldn’t even have to follow through with the job.” He added the last almost as an afterthought.
My throat was too dry to respond. He was trying to convince me, and in spite of the way he put the focus on what I would gain, I was fairly sure that once we agreed he would want what was promised to him, too.
“We have to take that, at least,” he said. “This is your life we’re talking about.”
He was right. I knew nothing about the dragon and what he might or might not give me. An oracle was just some sort of fortune teller, and the fact was I didn’t care about hearing my fortune. I needed a real solution to my reaper problem, and that was exactly what Zarella offered. I needed to take it. If I didn’t, my brother would slip away from me again, and I felt certain that I wouldn’t receive another chance to save him.