2. Darkness in the Blood Master copy MS 5 (6 page)

I was willing to bet what was left in my checking account that more than half of them had some kind of hidden powers. I would bet even more of my meager savings that if Dark Nephilim were stupid enough to try to snatch either me or my brother from the middle of Whitfield’s Old Town Square in broad daylight, my supernatural neighbors, who usually minded their own business, would be on them in a heartbeat.

I giggled as I pictured some of my stodgier neighbors suddenly sprouting fangs and claws to come to my defense. My giggles climbed in pitch until they bordered on hysterical when I imagined the good ladies of the gardening club chucking weeds and balls of fire at invaders. I turned my back on them as they knelt by the flowerbeds across from the fountain. I wouldn’t want them to think I was laughing at them. They might lob fireballs, or worst of all, give me a public scolding.

“What?” Ethan demanded.

“It’s just really hard to picture anything nefarious happening here,” I said.

“Nefarious,” Logan repeated slowly. “Like being assaulted and kidnapped by Dark Nephilim in the middle of the park on your way home from work?”

“Point taken,” I sighed. “But really, it was just that once.” Logan rolled his eyes at me. “Look, you and Ethan both have to get to work. I have to go drop off three sets of hand-painted Tarot decks at Mrs. Alice’s. This buddy system thing is silly on the square during business hours. I mean, just look around you. Nothing happens on the square without everyone knowing about it.”

“We live in a fish bowl,” Logan muttered.

“A big square friendly fish bowl,” I chirped back.

“Replace friendly with nosy and I’ll agree with you,” he retorted.

“A big square friendly fish bowl full of nosy supernatural…”

“You’re both right,” Ethan interrupted quickly. After a minute Logan shrugged philosophically and disappeared into the hardware store. “You’re terrible,” Ethan said under his breath as I followed him to J. Roth’s, Bookseller. “You torment him endlessly.”

“Why, thank you, Ethan,” I said. We paused just outside the diamond-paned door, and in three short hops I pressed myself up against him. “It’s what little sisters are for. It’s how I show him I care.” I stuck my hands in his jacket pockets. “I’ll miss you. To tell you the truth, you sort of have my dream job. Quiet, plenty to read. I can’t believe Old Man Roth decided to semi-retire.”

Ethan laughed. “What would Mr. Markov do without his Coffee Goddess? Not to mention the caffeine withdrawal you’d go through. It wouldn’t be pretty.” He locked his hands in a tight circle around my waist, drawing me closer. “It’s really kind of a nightmare in the bookstore. Mr. Roth had his own system for cataloguing everything, and not even Calla can understand it. We’re trying to sort it out, but it’s a mess.”

Calla was Mr. Roth’s pink-haired niece. She was the only other employee of Whitfield’s one and only bookstore. I felt a twinge of jealousy at the thought of the two of them working together, alone, for long stretches of time. It’s just a stupid job, I told myself fiercely and pushed it away. “Still, be careful. Don’t work too hard, ok?” I thought about all those heavy stacks of books, all the piles of disorganized papers he could trip over, and shuddered. “Are you sure it’s something you’re comfortable with? I mean if you want to wait, we’ll work it out.”

“Wait for what?” he asked. I was so close. It would take only the slightest movement to carry me upwards into kissing distance. Instead, I kept my eyes on the hollow of his throat.

“You know,” I said, watching his pulse beat. “Until you’re… you get your balance back, I guess,” I finished lamely.

I felt his low rumble of laughter all across my chest. “You make my being human sound like a particularly bad bike wreck.” He touched his forehead to mine. “Believe it or not, I like this job. Funny, isn’t it? Immortal beings aren’t supposed to think about things like money and the electric bill and paying for dates. But I did. There I was, all-powerful, and I couldn’t even take you out to dinner. To me, this is one of the best parts of being human.” He replaced his forehead with a soft kiss. “Buying you things.”

“But I don’t want anything,” I protested.

“I know. You truly don’t.” He looked puzzled and pleased all at once. “Sometimes you run out of paint, but that’s not the same thing.” He suddenly seemed very smug. “It’s all right, though. I have my sources.”

“Ok,” I said uneasily. “But it’s still not worth hurting yourself over, not even for something you think I might want.”

“Actually, working at the bookstore is like taking a break from how hard everything else is. I’m not sure why.” He leaned back against the door, thinking, while I tried not to show how much his words stung. “It has something to do with how quiet it is. And not many people come in. So there’s no sensory overload to deal with, and no…” he paused as if searching for words, then shrugged it off. “Nevermind. It doesn’t make sense.”

“No, what?” I asked, intrigued. “If it helps you in some way, then I want to know, Ethan. Even if it doesn’t make sense.”

“Some people are more… confusing… than others. But in different ways. Some hurt my head when I’m around them. I’m clumsier around some people than others.” He gave out a short, humorless laugh. “Some make my senses go haywire, like I’ll feel thirsty around someone, or cold around someone else. Sometimes it’s emotional, like fear or even…” he shot me a quick sideways glance. “Jealousy.”

Uh-oh. I tried very hard not to think of Calla.

“And there’s no logic to it. It’s not always the same people, or even the same effect,” he continued, running his fingers through his hair, clearly frustrated.

“And that doesn’t happen here?” I pressed.

“Not nearly as much,” he admitted. “It’s just quieter. Unless a bunch of other people come in. Then I just disappear into the back, and Calla handles it.” He raised an eyebrow. “I think she thinks I’m pathologically shy.”

“What about me?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

His smile twisted something inside me. I realized for the hundredth time how much this man could break me if he wanted. “You do unbalance me,” he said, tugging on my fingertips. “From time to time.”

“Really,” I breathed. “What are we going to do?” His lips were inches from mine, my arms around his waist.

“What indeed?” he murmured, his lips on mine stopping time, breath and thought. Crushed juniper, warm cedar; something else that was uniquely human, male, and Ethan. I dug my fingers into his hips.
This one
. I ached with the force of this almost-prayer.
Please, just this one
.

I felt his eyes on me all the way to Mrs. Alice’s shop. By the time I got to the dark witch’s herb shop and looked back, he had disappeared.

Chapter Six:

The Trouble with Threes

A violent gust of cold enveloped me within feet of Mrs. Alice’s door. I looked up at the sky, confused because it was still clear and sunny. Did I have my own personal storm cloud following me around now? I wished I’d grabbed a hoodie when I left the apartment. Ethan’s jacket just wasn’t enough to chase away this bone-deep chill.

“Miss Chastain,” said a voice that made my insides as cold as the rest of me. “What a pleasant surprise.”

I knew without turning it was Dr. Christian. If I was dying in the wilderness and this man knew the way out, I still wouldn’t call his presence ‘pleasant.’

He stood between me and Mrs. Alice’s door. There was no way to avoid him.

I tried to smile. “Dr. Christian. Um. Hello.” His blue eyes were just a little too bright, too Technicolor, to be called cerulean. With his wavy golden hair and perfect bone structure, every female at Andreas Academy thought he was the most gorgeous man alive. Combined with artistic genius, wealth, and the big city sophistication that came with being partial owner of one of New York’s more prestigious galleries, he walked through my little town like he owned the place. Maybe that was why I seemed to be the only person who didn’t swoon when he came into the room. If anything, he had the opposite effect on me. My feelings had morphed from indifference to outright distrust. I could trace it all back to one confusing afternoon when he’d called me out in front of the entire class and I’d awoken hours later, napping on a bench in the hall.

That had been the day of Logan’s accident, when so much of my life had changed forever. I hadn’t seen him since then. Just thinking about him made me feel vaguely panicked, which was silly, because I had so many other serious problems to worry about.

“How are your classes this semester?” he asked. He seemed genuinely interested, leaning in to hear me better. I had to stop myself from stepping away.

“Oh, they’ve just started. But they’re going well.”

“I was disappointed to see you absent from my upper level drawing seminar.”

My nervous laugh sounded fake even to me. “It didn’t fit my schedule.”

He frowned. “I hate to lose an artist with your obvious talents.” I froze. Something about him, about the way he spoke, alarmed me. I felt Shadows stirring. My palms tingled. Not here, not here, I thought, and rammed my hands into my jacket pockets. He stepped even closer to me. “I could arrange something private if you’d like. Independent study, for credit, of course.”

Was he coming onto me? No way. He could have any woman in the city. He smelled like cinnamon and ash. I struggled to speak around a sudden sourness that coated my tongue. “That’s not… I can’t. Busy schedule,” I coughed, my eyes watering for no apparent reason. I couldn’t wipe them because my hands still tingled with Shadows. “This semester. Really busy.”

He stepped away, but not before I saw a weird look of triumph in his unnaturally blue eyes. “That’s unfortunate. If you change your mind, come by my office anytime.” Yeah right, I thought. But I managed to nod. “Are you dropping off more of your exquisite Tarot cards, Miss Chastain? They’re quite popular. I know several buyers who’ve been waiting for you to finish a deck or two.”

Suddenly I was freezing again. “You know about my hand-painted decks?” I almost whispered. Someone buying all my decks at once had set off the chain of events leading to the present insanity I called a life.

He chuckled. “Of course. They’re quite popular.”

I made myself ask. “You don’t, um, have a set, do you?”

He laughed. “I have no need for such crude methods of divination, Miss Chastain. But please do drop by my office. Again, you are welcome anytime.”

I watched him walk across the square as I rested against the side of Mrs. Alice’s shop. I didn’t want to burst into her store trailing Shadows from my fingertips. As I forced myself to calm down, I thought over his words. Dr. Christian had only said he didn’t need ‘crude methods’ when I asked him about my cards. He’d never outright denied buying them.

***

“Don’t tell me you brought three,” Mrs. Alice said, sticking her head out from behind a bookcase. A sprig of dried lavender waggled behind her ear like a forgotten pencil. “Three would be a very bad omen, Caspia.”

“Uh,” I hedged. Three what? Buttons? Socks? Elastic hair bands? “What do you mean, exactly?”

Instead of answering, she crept out from behind the bookcase, looking nervously over her shoulder. “I forget you aren’t one of us, dear. I wouldn’t have to explain myself to another witch.” She marched behind the counter and produced ingredients for tea. An odd moment of déjà vu rocked me: he isn’t one of us. The tattooed man from last night had said that about Ethan. Mrs. Alice rattled china, dragging me back to the present. “So how many did you bring, dear?”

I wondered if Mrs. Alice, longtime pillar of the community, had finally lost her mind. “Excuse me?” I said faintly.

“Your cards, dear. How many did you bring?” She perched beside me on her butter-colored leather sofa, the tea smelling faintly of bergamot and oranges. She peered at me intently, as if the fate of the world hung on my answer.

“Oh! Three decks. Sorry,” I admitted sheepishly.

“So it’s three after all. Goddess help us,” she murmured as she blew on her tea.

I looked at my cup suspiciously, not sure I trusted it. “Are you feeling all right, Mrs. Alice?”

“Caspia, dear,” the stately witch said. “Threes are powerful. They are triggers.”

“You’re talking about numerology,” I said in the careful tones people use when addressing the insane.

“I wouldn’t even have to explain this to another witch,” Mrs. Alice snapped, irritated. I tried to look harmless, silently grateful I was not another witch. She sighed and took my hands between her aged but strong ones. “I’ve been having Foretellings. I will spare you the exact symbolism since you wouldn’t understand it anyway, but I will tell you this: I have Foreseen the same basic configuration for several nights now, and you,” she made a thick slash with her finger through the air, “have been at the center of it every single time.”

“I see,” I told her, although I didn’t.

“Do you think I enjoy dreaming about you and your tangled dramas every single night, young lady?” She poked me with an aged but steady finger. “Well, I don’t.”

Tangled dramas? Me? “Are you sure you’re feeling all right, Mrs. Alice? Is there someone you want me to call?”

She tapped her lilac colored fingernails against her china cup in time with the shop’s grandfather clock. I had the uncomfortable twin sensations of time running out and being scrutinized like something about to be dissected. “Foretellings are difficult,” Mrs. Alice said at last. “Not having them, mind you.” She looked at me sadly and tapped her forehead. “I have to decide which are safe to tell and which are not.”

I frowned. “That’s not fair. If you’re having visions about me, shouldn’t you tell me everything?”

She snorted. “Spoken like a modern young person. They are Foretellings, not visions.” I scowled. I didn’t care about the finer points. “Which makes them both more fluid and more volatile. Tell you too little, and I don’t give you the information you need. Tell you too much, and I influence the outcome.”

“I don’t understand,” I admitted, setting my tea down untouched. “Can you at least tell me what numerology has to with it, and what I’m in the middle of?”