by Shona Husk
To anyone else it would look like an odd little pantomime, but he knew exactly what she was telling him. Thomas was using her blood to lock the necklace and control her. She was part of the spell that was binding her. No wonder when he looked he didn’t see a way to unravel it.
Mylla raised her eyebrows as if asking if he understood. Then she scribbled down a message with the blunt pencil. Her writing was messier and more uncertain. You don’t think I’m crazy?
He grasped both her hands. “No. But I do think we have to be very careful. Any man who has worked out how to control someone needs to be watched carefully.”
She stared at him, wanting more of an answer.
“Give me some time, I’m working on it.” His fingers brushed her scars, hoping Thomas had at least spared her the pain of the cuts. “I might need some blood.”
She jerked her hands away and for a moment her face relaxed and became that eerie empty look. What had he just triggered? Another spell?
A few heartbeats later she seemed to shake it off, literally shaking her head and letting the shudder run down her spine. She might not be able to use magic the way he could, or even know what to look for, but instinctively she knew something was there. Once she was back in control, or as much as she could be, she wrote him another note. This would be so much simpler if she could talk to him, which was no doubt why Thomas had made her mute. No one would bother with her and everyone would overlook her.
Only he can cut me. Direct order.
“What other orders do you have?”
Her teeth raked her lips as she thought, then she shrugged.
“You only know when you go against them.”
She nodded and pulled down her sleeves as if she was preparing to leave. She should. He didn’t want her getting a direct order to not speak to him or see him. What she told him helped. Helped more than she knew. And while he may not be able to get fresh blood, he still had the tea towel. He knew enough about blood magic to give it ago. But he’d have to pick his moment, and Mylla had to be aware of the possible negative consequences.
And once the necklace was off and she was free, what then? Did they run?
For him there was no point.
He had to break the curse. But at least if she was free, he could act without worrying about who else he’d kill.
“Be careful.”
She pointed at him and then out the window to the statues, as if to say you, too. Then she stepped in close and tilted her chin up so he could kiss her.
His body responded immediately. He was not built for celibacy, apparently. As he lowered his lips to hers, he knew wouldn’t be able to resist her forever. He wasn’t that strong. Her hand traced over his hip, but he caught it before it could travel farther.
“Not here, not now.” Not while his clock was ticking. But he didn’t believe his own words. The promise to himself was hollow. Here was Mylla, doing whatever she could to live, while he was shutting himself off and concentrating on dying.
From outside came the familiar cackle of a crow. It was followed by the crack of a gunshot.
Both of them jumped and pulled away.
“Go.” He gave her a little push.
She took two stumbling steps then walked somberly out of the shed. She slipped into living-doll mode all too easily.
Another shot was fired. Oskar peeked out of the shed. Thomas was standing on a second-floor balcony shooting at the crows sitting in the orchard.
Was the Morrigu baiting Thomas or trying to send Oskar a message?
Either way, he wasn’t ready to sit down and have another chat with Thomas or Her.
With no TV to distract him, no pizza, pool, or beers, Oskar had spent a lot of time learning the house, the feel of the magic, where it was strongest and weakest, and trying to discover how it worked. He added what Mylla had told him into the mix. Thomas was regularly cutting her.
Tonight he had made himself a circle, not for defense from what was outside but to keep what was in him shielded. After watching Thomas shoot crows he wasn’t going to drop it either, merely collapse it so it became like a second skin, an armor against any magics that might try to probe his thoughts. It would also make it a damn sight harder for Thomas to get hold of his blood.
That had been an unwelcome thought that had arrived when he’d been pulling out weeds and had snagged his arm on a rose thorn. As a precaution, he’d broken off the thorn and put it in his pocket after carefully using his t-shirt to stop the blood.
He’d even rinsed his shirt before giving his laundry to Mylla to do. And he’d apologized for giving her extra work. He would’ve done his own laundry except there was no washing machine. Well, not as he knew them anyway. It was a tub with paddles and a wringer, like one found in museums or recreated ye olde villages.
If he and Mylla got out of here alive, the modern world was going to blow her mind. TV, internet, electrical appliances. No Social Security Number…the coven was going to have to take care of her and see her right. And they would. It’s what they did. Maybe they’d be able to find out who she was, or who she had been.
If he’d had access to a computer, he’d have been doing all kinds of things. He’d have also gone through the coven library and talked to Peyton. As well as being a lawyer, he knew more about blood magic than the others because he oversaw any magical deals, and those deals were always signed in blood.
Oskar held the tea towel stained with a few drops of Mylla’s blood, hoping that if he cleared his mind something useful would pop up. Even though the blood was now old he could still use it because he wasn’t trying to make magic, just release it. The trouble was, undoing the necklace was like defusing a bomb. If he got it wrong, he wouldn’t get a second shot. What he needed was Mylla here, while he had time to think and examine. However, as soon as he got the necklace off her she was going to know what he was.
How long would they have before Thomas knew the necklace was off? Even if he didn’t trip the warning, Thomas would have to know something was up when he couldn’t summon Mylla.
Every time he came up with an idea, it spawned a hundred more problems.
Nothing was simple. He missed simple.
Mylla smiling and the taste of her lips. Those moments were simple. The way she looked at him with half-hidden desire. He was sure she read the same in his eyes.
She wanted to live and he was ready to throw himself into death.
Why?
He knew the answer; he just tried to forget it. His Goddess knew and had told him. He was afraid of living. What if the curse broke and he had to do something with his life? What if he wasn’t a good enough witch and the coven still refused him, what if they still didn’t trust him, what if he just wasn’t a good person and they’d been right all along about Quigley blood?
Maybe that’s how he should fight Thomas. The magic was here all around him, all he had to do was tap in and draw on it. He felt the whisper of a blade against his neck, then the tip traced down to his heart. He knew if he opened his eyes he’d be on that damn battle field admiring the blood of the worthy fallen. The Morrigu had brought him to Her realm.
“If you take that path, I will not be there to welcome you, Oskar.”
Damn it, he really didn’t want to be doing this. The sword pricked his chest and he opened his eyes. No battlefield today, just a giant chess board. Great.
The Morrigu grinned, like a wolf appraising supper.
“I know that.” But the penalty might be worth it to stop Thomas.
“You are willing to damn yourself to break the curse?”
He met Her dark gaze. “Would it work?”
“You know the answers. You just don’t want to see them.” She walked through the board, black pieces on one side, white on the other. But the white queen was tied in black ribbon. When he followed the ribbon it led to the black king. Thomas and Mylla.
“I already know Thomas is controlling her and I know he is using her blood to do it.”
She waved Her hand d
ismissively. “Blood magic isn’t the problem. The spell will fall when Thomas does. Has the coven trained you so poorly?”
“What do you mean?”
“I have given you the answers, but you refuse to see them. You call yourself a researcher, but then ignore the results if you don’t like them. She is bound by Thomas but you bind yourself.” She wiped the drop of blood from his chest and brought Her finger to Her lips. “Death cannot be defeated by death. It only swells it.”
He thought for a moment. “Life defeats death. They are polar opposites and can’t exist together.”
“Now you are thinking.”
And he didn’t like what he was thinking. “Sex magic won’t work.”
“No it won’t.” Her eyes were dark and endless. He saw Mylla and himself in them, giving into the lust that burned. Then the heat was in him, making him crave what he’d refused to take. “You know what to do.”
He stepped back. “No. Mylla has freewill.” He would not drag her into his mess when she had enough problems of her own.
“Does she?” The Morrigu gave the black ribbon a tug. The queen fell and knocked over the white king, who tumbled off the board and into nothing. “You could free her and yourself.”
“Use her to kill Thomas, you mean.” Would it work? Did he have that much power and strength?
“The result is the same but it is about intent. If you hold the wrong thing in your heart, you will fail.”
The line between, while grey and black, was the user’s desire. The same spell could be used in so many different ways. “I’m not sure what you are suggesting is even legal.” There were rules about magic for a reason and he was sure that what She was suggesting was borderline at best, if he could get it to work at all.
“I am the law.” Her voice echoed and he dropped to his knees—not of his own freewill.
“If I fail, I have condemned Mylla and a child. That is a thousand times worse than passing on the death curse.”
“Ah, so you do understand what I want.” She was smiling as though She’d won a battle and was enjoying the carnage. Was he on the winning side or amongst the dead? He wasn’t sure that their goals were compatible.
“What you want, or what will break the curse?” He lifted his gaze from the checkered board and gazed up at the Goddess who could take him out of the game now if She wished.
“Aren’t they the same thing? We share a mutual desire. I want the Quigley family brought back under my flag. It wounded me gravely to cut you off.” Her hand brushed his cheek the way Mylla’s had.
“Not as much as it wounded us. Families have been devastated by the loss of fathers and brothers.” He wanted to rise but couldn’t. His Goddess was making him obey the way Thomas made Mylla obey. Freewill. He’d willingly bound himself to the Morrigu. Had Mylla let Thomas take control only to realize that it went far beyond what she’d thought he’d take?
“And not one has come to face Thomas like you have.”
“Witches have tried.” Whole covens had tried and Thomas had erased them.
“No witch has come into Thomas’s house the way you have.”
Research first. It’s what he always did. He’d learned more about Thomas in a few weeks than he had in years of pouring over notes.
The Morrigu cupped his chin so he was staring up at Her. “In the old days, intent was more important than the knowledge. Any man can gather knowledge, but few use it well. What type of man are you? A warrior or a student?”
He hated talking to the Morrigu as She reinforced what he suspected. He wasn’t a good witch. He wasn’t even a bad witch. He wasn’t a witch at all.
Chapter 9
Oskar had been withdrawn for the past couple of days—not as though he didn’t want to speak to her but as if he was constantly deep in thought. He frowned when he looked at her. But he didn’t look her in the eye, he looked at the necklace. It was as if he’d come to some kind of conclusion, but didn’t know what to say. She needed to hear him speak.
Maybe there was no way to remove the necklace.
But if killing Mr. Quigley meant killing her, she wasn’t sure she was ready. Not when she was learning how to hold onto herself and remember. She stopped hanging out the washing to watch as he worked. He had his shirt off. She wanted to run her hand over his skin just to feel how alive he was. Her belly tightened with the now-familiar lust. She wanted more than secret kisses. Her gaze dropped lower to where his dull-green pants hung low on his hips.
His skin glistened as he sanded the pergola. He was too far away for her to hear if he was humming or whistling, but she knew he wasn’t. He’d be scowling and lost in thought.
Had Mr. Quigley said something to him?
No, he still kissed her when she brought his coffee. His lips tasting like the drink he craved. Oskar paused, picked up his shirt and wiped his face, then ditched it on the ground again. He put his hands on his hips, looked up at the pergola roof, shook his head and went back to sanding. Yesterday it had been the ripping up of damaged floor boards and replacing them. There had been much cursing involved, and he had a black fingernail to show for it.
Oskar was the bright spark amongst the dark. Life in a place of death and she wanted to reach out and grasp it, grasp him. She bit back the smile she shouldn’t have and pegged up the next sheet, blocking Oskar from view until she moved along the line.
When she peered around the sheet he was watching her.
She pretended to be absorbed in the washing. Mr. Quigley’s socks. All of them identical. All of his clothes were identical. Multiples of the same things. Same pants, same shirts. Same. Same. Same. One day could blend with the next and there was nothing to jolt her mind out of the endless monotony. Even her clothes were the same.
Then there was Oskar. His clothes were different. Every day a different color, different pants. Different color underwear. Heat brushed her face for a moment. Of course he wore underwear, going without would be indecent. Her gaze flicked to him again. What would he look like with nothing on?
She must have seen a man naked at least once because she knew what the ridge in his pants was. Despite the new memories of her…performing in Mr. Quigley’s bedroom, he touched her in none. It was always the same. She undressed and touched herself while he watched and controlled.
It would happen again. She drew in a sharp breath as the realization hit her hard. What then? Would she be able to play along? Could she close her eyes and think of Oskar?
The trouble with remembering and knowing what was going on was that she remembered and knew what would happen. It was a double edged blade and she was holding it with both hands. No matter what she did she got cut.
Her hands moved, pegging up the clothes and sheets as her mind whirred like an out-of-control top. What was she going to do? If Mr. Quigley realized she was remembering, he’d shut it down, and she couldn’t go back now that she was tasting life and feeling the sun on her skin and the heat of Oskar’s glance in her blood.
For a moment she wanted to run away and never stop, just leave the washing half-hung up and walk down the driveway and out the gate. Her hands stopped mid-move and for a moment she wasn’t sure what she was doing or what she’d been thinking. She frowned, shook her head, and went back to hanging out the washing and sneaking glances at Oskar, a small smile on her lips, and in those few heartbeats freedom was hers and she could forget the rest.
Oskar would talk to her when he was ready. When he had a solution. He said he’d think of a way to help her, and because she couldn’t do it on her own she needed him. Until then she had to play along.
Dinner brought her another chance to see Oskar. He sat at the kitchen table eating his dinner while she finished sorting out Mr. Quigley’s tray. Oskar had showered and put on a fresh shirt and pants, but that didn’t stop the memory of seeing him sweaty and shirtless from staying firmly in her mind. He pushed his dark blond hair back and looked at her, his food forgotten. His lips curved slightly.
She let herself smile b
ack.
“What are you thinking?”
The heat in her blood spread to her cheeks.
“I saw you watching me today, be careful of who else might see.”
Not even those moments when she was alone and working were totally hers. Had Mr. Quigley been spying on her? The thought cut through her. He couldn’t know that she was enjoying Oskar’s company.
She touched her collarbone, any closer to the necklace and she forgot what she was doing, and she was trying to avoid creating those moments.
Oskar shook his head, the smile gone from his lips. That deep stare was back along with the crease between his eyebrows. She’d broken the moment by asking. She shouldn’t have, this was the most they’d spoken in a few days and she missed the sound of his voice and his smile.
He touched her hand. “I’ve been thinking about the bigger problem.”
Her lips parted. He was thinking about taking on Mr. Quigley? She shook her head. That was far too dangerous. Hadn’t he said that killing him would kill her? She marched her fingers over her hand, they had to run away, escape and leave Mr. Quigley alone in his empty house, but her fingers fell still and she forgot what the urgency was.
Oskar stood, touched her cheek, and whispered in her ear. “There are things you can’t think. You fall still and forget. I see it happen and it hurts that he’s done this. He shouldn’t have. There is a way, but we need to be able to talk about it.”
She didn’t move, just wanted to stay next to him, feeling the heat of his body against her. If she turned…
He stepped back before she could kiss him. “I’ll help you with the dishes when you come back. We can talk then.”
He was right, she couldn’t dally. She had to move and act like nothing had changed. That she was dead on the inside. She looked away from Oskar and pulled what she thought of as her mask over her face.
In the dining room, Mr. Quigley was sipping wine and waiting. She carried the silver tray easily, her steps even and measured, slow and steady, the same as usual, as if nothing inside her had changed. Behind the mask her heart was beating fast and she was thinking of doing the dishes with Oskar.