by Karen Lynch
“If that’s what it takes, but I think something else will work better for you.”
“What?” As much as I wanted to pretend not to care, I couldn’t hide my curiosity.
He stood and picked up his tray. “Get some sleep tonight because training starts tomorrow.” Before I could argue or ask him again what he meant, he walked away. I stared after him until Jordan exhaled sharply, reminding me I was not alone at the table. I turned back to find her watching me with something akin to awe in her expression.
“You are the luckiest female on the planet right now. You know that, don’t you?”
“Really? How do you figure?” I felt decidedly more cursed than lucky and wondered how I was going to get out of this training. Why would Tristan suggest such a thing, knowing how I felt about Nikolas?
“You’re shitting me right? Nikolas Danshov is going to give you private lessons. Look at him. Do you really expect me to believe that you aren’t the least bit attracted to him?”
I shifted uncomfortably. “I never said he wasn’t good looking. It’s just that he can be very intense and bossy and he’s a lot to take sometimes.”
Jordan rested her chin in her palms and let out a gusty sigh. “Yes, please.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew him. Nikolas is like an iceberg.” She raised an eyebrow, and I shook my head. “I don’t mean he’s cold. I mean you only see what’s above the surface. Underneath there is a lot more to him than you realize, and it’s not always pretty.”
Jordan gave me a sly smile. “Well, it sounds like you are going to be spending some serious one-on-one time with him. What I wouldn’t give to be shut up alone in a room with that man.” Her smile widened to a grin. “I can’t wait to see Celine’s face when she hears about this.”
I scowled to hide the heat threatening to fill my face. “I hate to ruin your fantasies, Jordan, but I am not training with Nikolas, privately or otherwise.”
“Not what it looks like to me.” Her eyes gleamed as she reached for my cold pizza. “I told you no one says no to Nikolas.”
“Shut up,” I snapped, but it only made her grin more.
* * *
“I can’t believe you finished the first draft already. I hope you’re not staying up all night working.”
Nate laughed into the phone. He was usually stressed toward the end of a first draft, and hearing him sound so relaxed meant the book was going well. “I’ve discovered I work way too much when I don’t have you around to make me stop.”
I tapped my pencil against the drawing of Hugo and Woolf I’d been working on when he called. “So, it’s been quiet there?” I didn’t need to elaborate because Nate knew what I was asking.
“Very quiet. Brendan dropped by two days ago to visit and told me they think it’s safe here now. But they are still keeping an eye on things.”
“I still hate you being there alone. I wish I knew if the troll ward still worked.” The ward I’d put on our building to protect it was supposed to last as long as it was my home. I still considered the apartment home even though I was here, but I didn’t know if the spell took the meaning literally or figuratively. It wasn’t like we could get someone evil to try to enter the apartment to test it. “You started using the Ptellon nectar though, right?”
There was a short pause. “Not yet. If Brendan thinks it’s safe – ”
“Nate, you promised!”
“I know. I’m just having trouble with the idea of taking something I know nothing about.”
I repressed a sigh of frustration. Nate had accepted the existence of the supernatural world, but he still couldn’t handle it all. Every time we spoke, I asked him about the Ptellon blood I gave him to help keep him safe from demons and other nasty things, and every time he said he would start using it. Even knowing the dangers out there, he would rather not ingest something with magical properties.
“I know what it is. You have to trust me, please. If you only knew what I went through to get that stuff.” I’d never told him about my little adventure at the marina. With everything else going on at the time, I didn’t think he needed to hear about a pack of possessed wharf rats. “It will make me feel a lot better if you take it.”
I heard his chair squeak as he shifted position. “I’ll do it. I just need to talk myself into it.”
“Promise me.”
“I will, I promise. So, what’s been going on with you?”
I opened my mouth to tell him about the demon attack and shut it just as quickly. I couldn’t tell him something like that; it would freak him out. The only reason he was okay with me moving here was he thought it would be safer for me. And it was, just not as much as he believed.
“Hugo and Woolf are doing a lot better, and they don’t growl as much at people. Did you get the picture I sent of them?”
“Yes, and I thought someone was spamming me until I realized you were using a different email address. That picture’s not Photoshopped, is it?”
I chuckled. “Nope.”
He let out a low whistle. “When you told me about them, they didn’t sound real. Who would believe hellhounds really exist? But then, a few months ago, I didn’t think a lot of things were real. Do their eyes always glow like that?”
“Yes, but I think the camera flash makes them look redder than usual.”
“They look terrifying. Are you sure it’s safe to be around them?”
“Absolutely. Trust me; Tristan wouldn’t let me near them if he thought I’d get hurt. He’s almost as bad as Nikolas.” Nate knew all about Tristan being my grandfather, and he’d said he was glad I had family here. If he found the idea of me having a grandfather who looked almost young enough to be his son strange, he didn’t let on.
“Ah, I knew you sounded out of sorts, and I can guess why. No word from Nikolas yet?”
I threw down my pencil and it skidded across the desk. “He’s back.”
“And?” Nate asked slowly.
“And he showed up out of the blue today to tell me he’s going to train me now. Just like that!” I still couldn’t believe Tristan was making me do this. I’d tried to track him down after dinner, but he was suspiciously unavailable. I was contemplating not showing up for training tomorrow, but something told me Nikolas would not let me out of it that easily.
“I know you were upset when he left and you missed him, but he probably had a very good reason for leaving.”
“I did not miss him.” I got up and started pacing. “I just think he could have had the courtesy to say he was leaving. I don’t see him for weeks, and now he’s back and he thinks he can tell me what to do again. I don’t think so. You should see how the others act around him. They talk about him like he’s a god or something. As if he needed to be more full of himself.”
Nate waited until I finished my rant before he spoke. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m glad you’ll be working with him. You told me yourself that your training is not going well. Maybe Nikolas can help you. If I learned anything about him during the weeks you were gone, it was how dedicated he is and how much he cares for your wellbeing.”
“More likely he wanted to make sure he did his job right,” I said bitterly.
“That’s your anger talking. You don’t really mean that.”
“I don’t know what to think anymore. He left, Nate.”
“And now he’s back.”
I didn’t say anything, and for a long moment there was silence on the line.
“Listen, I have to get back to work. I told my editor I’d let her have the first five chapters this week.” I heard the soft whir of his chair and knew he was headed back to his office. “Don’t be too mad at Nikolas. I’m sure he had a good reason for being away this long.”
“That’s easier said than done.” Dejected, I sank down in my chair again. “I’ll call you in a few days, okay?”
My stomach growled when I hung up, reminding me I hadn’t finished my dinner. I went to my small kitchenette to grab the blueber
ry muffin I’d stashed there earlier. Pulling off the plastic, I nibbled at the muffin as I walked back to my desk. The cooks here were amazing, but their blueberry muffins had nothing on Nate’s.
Thinking about Nate’s baking made me homesick again. I laid the muffin on my desk and went to my closet to start going through the boxes I hadn’t had the heart to open yet. The box containing my grandmother’s quilts was ripped on one corner, and I pulled them out to make sure they hadn’t been damaged. Nate had collected them from my home in Portland after my dad died, and I treasured them as much as my dad’s books. My favorite was a blue one with a different bird beautifully hand-stitched into each square. I shook out the quilt, thinking it would look great on my bed. In fact, it was time I started to add my own touches to the room and make it feel more like mine.
“What the – ?” Something squished between my bare toes. I looked down at the blueberry muffin I had left on the desk. “How the hell did that get there?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flutter of the bed skirt, and I whipped my head around to see a tiny pale face peering out at me. Imps in a Mohiri home? I almost laughed at the notion of the great demon hunters’ stronghold infested with the thieving little demons that were considered vermin in the supernatural world. This one was a bold little fiend too, showing himself to me like that. It had taken years to form an unlikely truce with the imps in our home back in New Hastings. Was I going to have to lock up my things now to keep them safe from these new imps?
I tossed the quilt on the bed and bent to scrape the squashed muffin off the floor. Rising, I moved to throw it in the wastebasket, but a small chattering from under the bed made me look at the imp that had come farther into the open and was watching my hand intently.
“Are you hungry? Do you want this?” I extended my hand toward him, and I was so shocked when he nodded that I almost dropped the muffin. Imps are not the friendliest of creatures and they usually go out of their way to pretend not to understand people. Suspicion filled me. There was no way an imp would reveal itself to someone, let alone communicate with them.
“I know you, don’t I? You hitched a ride in my boxes from home.” The ripped box made sense now. Sneaky little buggers.
The imp shifted from one foot to the other before he nodded again.
“I know you didn’t decide to go off and explore the world on your own. Where are your buddies?” When he did not move, I said, “If you guys want this muffin, you better come clean with me.” I had no intention of withholding the food from him, but he didn’t know that.
A long moment passed before two more faces appeared around the edge of the bed skirt. I held back a groan. What was I going to do with three stowaway imps? And what would Tristan say if he discovered I’d infested his home with the little demons?
“I hope you guys didn’t come here to get away from Oscar, because if so, I have bad news for you. Nate’s bringing him when he comes for Thanksgiving.” Which reminds me I need to buy a litter box and some cat food. My room was going to get very crowded all too soon.
I broke the flattened muffin into three pieces and laid them on the floor near the bed. Then I backed away so the imps could run out and grab their treats. As they disappeared under the bed again, I wondered if they had made a home under there or somewhere in the walls like they had back home. “Hey, you guys better not go to the bathroom under my bed or I’m going to find some new roommates,” I called after them.
Shaking my head, I pulled my grandmother’s quilt over the bed, and it immediately made the room feel homier and more like a place I would live in. I replaced the expensive rug with my faded blue-and-yellow one and installed my dad’s old stereo on a table in the sitting area along with my stack of CDs. A soft red throw blanket lay across the couch, and a framed drawing I’d done of my dad a long time ago took the place of honor on the mantel. Against one wall I stacked a few drawings and framed photos of Nate, Roland, and Peter to hang when I found some tools. When I finally stood back and looked around my transformed room, I felt at home in it for the first time.
There was one more thing I wanted to do tonight. I reached under my desk and pulled out the bag containing the antique chessboard I’d bought at the jewelry store to replace the one that had been burned.
I hadn’t seen Desmund since the night we played checkers, and I felt a mix of eagerness and trepidation as I approached the library. Had he noticed my reaction when I touched his skin? Was my sudden hurry to leave what made him angry enough to rip apart the book I’d been reading and burn the chessboard? It was impossible to know how much pain he endured or how that affected his mind. It had hurt to see the destroyed book, and I had to remind myself that Desmund was not well and not responsible for his behavior.
When I entered the library, I was happy to see it had been restored to its previous state. The fire burning low in the hearth and the empty brandy glass on the table by Desmund’s chair told me he had been there recently, and it surprised me how disappointed I was that I’d missed him. I told myself that I just wanted to check on him and make sure he was okay, but the truth was that despite his volatile moods, Desmund was interesting and unlike anyone I’d ever met. When he turned on the charm he was almost endearing – in a Mad-Hatter-meets-Mr.-Darcy kind of way.
Even if I did not see him tonight, I could at least leave the chessboard. And hope he doesn’t torch this one, too. I laid it on the table by the window where we’d played and looked around for some paper to leave a note with the board. I found some stationary supplies in a small desk and scrawled a quick message: Looking forward to our rematch. Sara.
I left the room and started back toward the stairs but stopped when I heard music coming from somewhere at the far end of the hallway. The haunting melody called to me, and I found myself walking toward it until I stopped in front of a half-open door with soft light spilling into the hallway. I stood there for several minutes listening to the music before I quietly entered the room to find a man sitting at a grand piano, his long fingers moving deftly over the keys. His back was to the door, but I recognized Desmund immediately. I stood in the doorway as still as a mouse for fear of disturbing him and causing him to stop playing. As moody and reclusive as he was, he might not like an audience, but I couldn’t tear myself away from the achingly beautiful music.
The piece came to an end and Desmund sat bent over the keys, unmoving. I watched him for a moment then moved to quietly slip away.
“Did you like it?”
I turned back to find him watching me with an unreadable expression. “It was beautiful. I’ve never heard anything like it.”
His expression did not change, and I wondered if he was angry at me for intruding on him again. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“I have not seen you in days.” Something like anger or hurt edged his voice, but I could not be sure which one.
“It’s been kind of crazy lately.” I winced inwardly at my thoughtless choice of words. “I went to the library to see you and I heard the music.”
“You came to see me?” I nodded, and his eyes softened. He patted the piano bench. “Come, sit with me.”
I hesitated for a moment before I walked over to the piano. The thought of sitting in such close proximity to him after my last experience unnerved me, but I had a feeling it would upset him if I refused. He shifted over to make room for me, and when his sleeve brushed harmlessly against my bare arm, I let out the breath I’d been holding.
“What were you playing when I came in?”
Desmund played a few notes, and I noticed that his long hands were perfect for playing piano. “That was Beethoven. I like to play him when the mood strikes me. Would you like to hear another one?”
“Play one of your favorites for me.”
He started to play again, and I was immediately mesmerized by his fingers dancing across the keys and the captivating music that filled the air around us. Before I’d come here, I’d never given a second thought to classical mu
sic, but listening to Desmund play made me feel like I had been granted a rare privilege. It amazed me that he could play with such precision and beauty while struggling with the sickness and instability inside him.
My research on Hale witches had turned up nothing to help me understand Desmund’s affliction, and I knew the only way to learn more was first hand. I really did not want to experience that horrible sickness again, but I also couldn’t bear the thought of him suffering it alone. I would have gone mad a long time ago if our roles were reversed, and it spoke volumes about his strength that he was able to function at the level he did.
I wasn’t sure I could handle direct contact so soon after the last time I touched him, so I tried for something passive first. I let my power infuse the air around us, like I did when calming an animal, and pushed it toward Desmund. He never faltered in his playing and looked completely unaffected so I turned it up. Nothing. Well, it was worth a try. I looked down at where our arms touched, separated by his sleeve. Time for a more direct approach.
I let my power flow to the arm touching Desmund’s, but I hesitated before I attempted to push it into him. I had to prepare myself mentally to face what might come. Even if I could not help him, there was still the chance that this would open me up to his illness even more than touching his skin. I remembered the cold, vileness of the Hale witch in my mind and suppressed a shudder. Steeling myself, I sent my power into him. I felt the warmth of his body as I pushed inside, then I felt a heartbeat, and the unmistakable glow of life that every living creature possesses.
My exultation at feeling his life force was quickly drowned by the cold wave of nausea that swept over me and left me silently gasping for breath. God, how does he bear it? I had to force myself to not pull away, to stay and endure the feel of the repulsive magic living inside him. Any uncertainty I had about how Hale witches hurt their victims was swept away and replaced by outrage. Instead of simply striking at someone in battle, they actually left a piece of their magic behind to fester and torment their victims. What made a person’s soul so dark they would inflict endless suffering on another?