by Rob Cornell
Damn it, hold on a little longer. Check the bathroom.
I hurried down the hall, not concerned about stealth. If something was hiding in the bathroom, they had heard me by now. And I had a big ass fireball ready to melt off their face.
My reflection in the mirror grew as I approached. Between the sheen of sweat on my face and the wild look in my eyes, I kind of freaked myself out, as if that reflection might dive out of the mirror and try to throttle me.
I ignored the crazy guy in the mirror and charged into the bathroom.
The space wasn’t much bigger than a modest walk-in closet. Between the vanity, the toilet, and the tub, there wasn’t a lot of room to maneuver. And not a lot of space to hide—not even for a shadow walking vamp.
The shower curtain was drawn. I checked there first, yanking it aside, the metal rings it hung from scraping and jangling along the bar.
Nothing.
I shoved my hand into the cramped space, throwing aside the shadows to be sure.
Still nothing.
I turned around. Unless someone had climbed into the cabinet in the vanity, the only remaining place to hide was behind the open door. There wasn’t a lot of space back there, and when I grabbed the door to swing it closed, I already knew what I would find.
I was right.
A whole lot of nothing.
I tossed the door back open so hard the knob punctured the drywall and stuck hard.
“Damn it.” My voice buzzed in the bathroom’s close quarters.
I finally released my energy. The flame engulfing my hand went out with a soft poof. The heat I had felt coursing through my body cooled instantly. All the sweat covering me chilled me like stepping out of the gym after a heavy workout into winter air. A shiver shot through me as I marched down the hall and into the living room.
Fiona moaned, the corners of her closed eyes pinched.
I knelt beside her. “Fiona.”
Another moan. She raised a hand to her forehead and touched the gash. She hissed between her teeth and jerked her hand back as if touching a hot stove. Her fingertips came away with blood on them.
I gently touched her arm. “Fiona, are you with me?”
Her eyes fluttered open. She frowned up at me. “Sebastian? What happened?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. Mom’s gone.”
“Gone?” She put her hand to her head again, this time avoiding the gash. She groaned. “Someone…”
“Someone? Someone what? Who?” I knew she had only regained consciousness a mere minute ago, but I couldn’t hold back my questions. I needed to know where Mom was. I needed to know now.
She reached out for me. I took her hand, and she tried to pull herself up.
“Easy,” I said. “Lay there a sec. Just tell me what happened.”
“A man…at the door. Forced his way in. He had a gun. Hit me with it. Hard.” She refocused her gaze on me, her face twisted with pain. “That’s all I remember. He knocked me out.”
Shit. Shitshitshitshit.
“Where was Mom when this happened?”
She waved weakly behind her. “Couch.”
I glanced at the couch as if I might have missed her during my initial search. Nothing to see but the shiny leather. No sign of struggle either. In fact, the Norse horn sat right where she had left it on the coffee table.
I ran a hand through my hair, my thoughts buzzing at light speed. I needed to focus. Focus on the guy.
“Tell me about the attacker,” I said.
Fiona squeezed her eyes shut. Her lips formed a straight line and went white around the edges. “Happened so fast.”
I took her hand. “I know you’re hurting. But I need you to concentrate. Describe this guy to me.”
“Long hair,” she said. “Greasy.”
“Color?”
“Black.”
“Anything about his face, the way he dressed, identifiable features?”
She hunched up one shoulder. “I can’t—”
“You have to,” I snapped. I drew a calming breath—as calming as I could muster, at least—and concentrated on toning my voice down. Then I said what I had yet to admit to myself. “He took her. He took my mom.”
“I’m sorry.” She propped herself up on her elbows. Clarity returned to her eyes. I noticed the gash on her head had already clotted. Shifters were tough, healed fast. In twenty minutes or so, it would be like she’d never been hit. Speaking of fast, whoever had knocked her out must have done it quick enough that Fiona hadn’t had a chance to take on her tiger form.
The guy would have had serious regrets about breaking into a weretiger’s apartment.
How had he taken her by such surprise?
“Was he a vamp?” I asked, then waved a hand, dismissing the question right after asking. Couldn’t have been a vampire unless Fiona had invited him in. I couldn’t think of any other kind of nasty who could get the better of Fiona and want to kidnap my mother. So, despite the obvious answer, I asked again. “Was he? Did you invite him in?”
Her eyebrows drew together. Her nostrils flared. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
I stood and offered my arm so she could pull herself up. Her grip pinched tight, even through my coat’s leather sleeve. She lifted herself to her feet, rocked back on her heels, but steadied herself. She let go of me and explored her head wound with her fingers. She didn’t wince this time.
“He wasn’t a vampire.”
“How did he get at you before you shifted?”
“He took me by surprise, Sebastian. He had a gun. Do you think I let him in and asked for a good crack to the skull?’”
“Of course not. Sorry. But this…” I gestured at the general center of the living room as if it represented everything. “It doesn’t make any sense. Unless it was a vampire. Otherwise…”
I pressed the heels of my palms against my temples and growled.
Was there another player here? Because the vamps had been after me, right? Not Mom. At least, that’s what I had assumed.
It sure as shit wasn’t some random home invasion. The only thing the intruder had taken was Mom. Hadn’t broken anything. Hadn’t so much as left a dirty footprint on the carpet.
Which raised a whole other question.
“Why didn’t Mom put up a fight?”
Fiona picked at the edge of her thumb nail. Her hands trembled. I wanted to take her in my arms, console her, give her whatever support she needed. It must have been damn scary to get jumped like that in her own home.
I didn’t have time to comfort her, though.
I glanced at the round plastic clock hung on the wall. Almost one AM.
“He had a gun,” I said. “That’s all he had?”
“That’s all I saw.”
“Just one guy?”
“From what I saw.”
I gritted my teeth. What Fiona saw didn’t help a whole hell of a lot.
“Mom could have thrown a single guy right back out the door with a twitch of her hand. Hell, she put a hole in your wall in her sleep. Nearly nuked the fucking building.” I started to pace. “And you’re telling me one…one greasy-haired guy took her out of here without a single sign of struggle?”
“I don’t know what happened,” Fiona shouted. “Maybe he threatened to hurt me if she didn’t go along peacefully.”
Possible. Mom would have made sure nothing happened to Fiona. And yet…
“What about once they were out the door? She could have taken him out at any point once she had him away from you.”
“I don’t know!” Her face flushed. “But I do not appreciate you making it sound like it was my fault.”
“I never said…” I stopped pacing and pounded my fists against my thighs. I’d never said it, but she was right. I had implied it. Much as I wanted to, I couldn’t make myself apologize, because it wasn’t only my frustration talking—a part of me did blame her. I had brought Mom here to keep her safe.
That’s right. You brought her here, whic
h means you’re as much to blame. More so, actually. You screwed up big time. Congratulations! You’ve won the Worst Son in the World Championship. What are you gonna do now?
I was going to get her back, that’s what. And I would burn through every guy with long, greasy black hair in Detroit if I had to.
Chapter Twelve
Before I had a chance to put together a thought about how to track down the grease ball, my phone trilled in my pocket. I pulled it out and checked the number.
Toft.
I tapped the screen to answer, my already nervous stomach quivering. What the hell did he want now?
“Have you misplaced something?”
The question threw me. I ran through my memory of my visit with him earlier, couldn’t think of anything I might have left behind.
Toft sighed, somehow making it sound condescending.
“A little slow tonight, are we?” he asked. “Let me rephrase. Have you misplaced someone?”
“Odi,” I said through a sigh of my own, both because I felt like an idiot for not catching on to Toft’s sarcasm, and out of relief that the kid had slipped the cops.
“Master Crossman has a gift for you,” Toft said. His formal word choice sounded ridiculous in his little boy voice. Especially over the phone, without his wizened eyes looking back at me. “I think you need to come by the Black Rose to take it…and him.”
Hope buzzed through me like a static shock.
“He’s got the remains?”
“Indeed,” he said. “Now hurry, while there is plenty of night left for you to tutor your new student.”
He disconnected without another word.
Fiona must have sensed a change in me. She gave me a worried look. “Who was that?”
“Toft,” I said. “I might have a way to find Mom.”
Assuming it was the vampires who had her. I still couldn’t be sure there was any connection, though I couldn’t imagine how there wasn’t.
Fiona’s worried expression deepened. “With Toft Kitchens’s help? Again? I thought we wanted to avoid vampires.”
“Toft is different.” Kinda. “And right now he has the only available lead.”
I didn’t want to take the time to get too specific. I also wanted to hold off explaining my recently acquired responsibility. If consorting with Toft bothered her, Fiona might go tiger on me when she heard about Odi.
She narrowed her eyes, her worry turning to suspicion. She could tell I was holding back. After only three months together, the woman knew me better than most—right behind Sly and Mom.
“What’s this lead?”
“I’ll explain later. I have to get over to the Black Rose.”
“Let me grab my coat. You can explain on the way.” She started for the coat closet by the entrance.
“Whoa.” I stepped in her path. “Not even ten minutes ago you were unconscious on the floor.” I pointed at the spot where I had found her as if she didn’t know.
“Really?” She pulled her hair back from her forehead to show me the gash. Only it wasn’t a gash anymore. The wound had closed, leaving behind a crust of blood. When she washed that off, you’d never know she’d had the injury to begin with. “Shifter, remember?”
“Yeah, but…” I didn’t have a good excuse to leave her behind. She didn’t need my protection. Besides, chivalry didn’t work with her. She wouldn’t even let me open doors for her. Truth was, having her at my side made sense. Especially since I couldn’t go so heavy on the pyrotechnics like I used to.
Taking her, however, could complicate things with Odi. It would require more explanations, likely open up a debate, and the inevitable tension from Fiona’s disapproval would bog us down.
Fiona huffed impatiently and moved around me.
Then an idea struck me. A legitimate reason Fiona needed to stay here.
“Fiona, wait.”
She stopped.
“Someone needs to be here in case Mom comes back. Odds are high she can get away. Fucking with a century and a half year-old sorceress doesn’t typically end in your favor.”
I could tell by her frown she knew I was right. “You get to be my protector after all, huh?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Sure, sure.” She came at me like she meant to slap me. I almost pulled back, but when she got to me she placed her hands on either side of my face and pulled me into a kiss.
The soft touch of her lips sent its usual shiver through me. I planted my hands on her hips and drew her closer. The kiss didn’t last nearly long enough, and when she backed away, it almost hurt to let her go.
“Be careful,” she said.
“Of course.”
“Don’t say ‘of course.’ Promise me like you mean it.”
“You know I can’t promise.”
“You pick now to be honest with me?” She slugged me in the chest. “You’re an ass.”
“Of course,” I repeated, kissed her on the cheek, and took off for the Black Rose.
On the way, I found myself disturbed by my hope that the vamps had Mom. Because if they didn’t, the remains Odi had recovered wouldn’t do me a damn bit of good.
Chapter Thirteen
When I arrived at the Black Rose, Toft had everything I needed laid out on one of the tables in the middle of the club. Apparently, he’d decided to close early for the night. He had the tablecloth and centerpiece removed. Probably a good thing, since I was certain to make a mess. I didn’t have a lot of experience working the more subtle and focused spells like the one I had planned. I was bound to spill some things.
Odi came out of the back office, a huge grin on his pasty face. His red nest of hair looked nestier than when I last saw him. His stylishly torn jeans had grass stains on them. Apparently, his escape from the police hadn’t gone as easily as it should have. But he had taken it in stride and didn’t seem to hold a grudge over my leaving him behind.
“Dude,” he said, crossing over to me. “Dude.”
I smiled, his enthusiasm taking my mind off Mom’s abduction for a few seconds. But only a few.
Odi gestured at the table. “I totally got it.”
I looked down at the items before me. The plastic baggie held what looked like black sand, the vamp dust a little scorched. That fire staff Mom had given me had a hell of a kick. Too bad the fight at the house had drained it.
Next to the baggie was a pair of wire-framed glasses with thin lenses. Considering Toft had sent out for my materials, I suspected the golden frames had a few karats to them. A shame, since I was about to ruin them. Beside the glasses was an octagonal bottle about the same size as a shot glass. A rubber stopper kept the clear fluid contained, but I highly doubted Toft had handled this bottle himself. It also explained why I didn’t see any sign of him—even this small amount of holy water could do serious damage to a vampire’s complexion, or eat a hole straight through his skull.
Odi didn’t appear at all bothered by it.
Ah, the naiveté of youth.
The other items on the table were a mortar and pestle and a nail clipper.
I pulled out a chair and sat. Odi followed suit, then clapped his hands and rubbed them together, his eyes sparkling.
“Show me the ways of the Force, Obi Wan.”
I snorted. “Star Wars reference? You weren’t even alive when the original trilogy came out.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Oh, and like you were?”
“I was three when Jedi came out.”
“Pfft. Whatever. That barely counts.”
“My dad took me to see it in the theater. Not sure what he was thinking, but I remember nearly peeing my pants at the rancor scene.”
Odi laughed. “Yeah, that’s how I felt when I first saw Jar-Jar in the prequels,” he teased. Scary shit. What the fuck was Lucas thinking?”
Again, Odi’s youthful exuberance pulled me away from my worries. We didn’t have time for the distraction. At the same point, if I wanted to carry off this spell without blasting my eyes o
ut of their sockets, I needed something to calm my nerves, and talking Star Wars was better in the long run than tequila shots.
“Jar-Jar Binks will forever be a blight on the Star Wars legacy. But we need to get serious now and cast some magic.”
Odi nodded, scooting his chair in.
“The type of work we’re doing here…” I waved my hands over the materials before me. “…is pretty universal in all magical practices. The difference comes from the source of the magical energy itself.”
“So anyone could do this?” He sounded disappointed.
“No, not anyone. Magic requires two basic things. Knowledge and power. First you have to know what the hell you’re doing. Next, you need the juice to make it happen. Sorcerers like us are born with a natural energy that comes from within us. It’s as natural as the blood that pumps through your heart…”
Oops. Bad analogy.
“Sorry.”
“What?” He furled his brow. Then it hit him. His eyes widened as he pressed his hand to his chest. “Oh.”
Damn. The kid was such a fresh vamp, he could forget his undeadness. A hollow ache bloomed in my chest. I hurried on with the lesson to keep him from dwelling on it.
“Anyway, you’ve got the power in you. It’s not an infinite store, but it expands with age. Much like vampires, the older the sorcerer, the more powerful they likely are. But none of that matters without the knowledge.”
“Gotcha.”
“Now, other practitioners can put together spells just fine, but they have to find their magic from outside. There are a million different ways to do that, so I’m not going to go into it now. But when we talk about the difference between say, a witch and a druid, much of it has to do with how they get their energy. Comprende?”
Odi nodded. He had replaced his dopey grin for a more sober expression, but his eyes still shone with obvious excitement and focus. I couldn’t believe I was thinking it, but the kid might make for a good student. He had the juice. I could reach out with my senses and feel it pouring off of him. If he committed himself to learning, I shuddered to think how powerful he could be five-hundred immortal years from now.