Midnight Magic (8 page)

“Do not drink any of this.” He handed her back the bottle. “Don’t even swish it around in your mouth.”

Her eyes widened; she understood perfectly. “Will it—?”

He shook his head. “No, but if Tyler takes even one swallow it’ll help me.”

Jeremy stiffened. His nostrils flared as if he were a hunting dog scenting the air. “Show time,” he murmured.

Cassie opened her mouth to beg for last minute reassurances, but he laid a hand over her lips. With a speed she wouldn’t have believed him capable of, he was up and sliding past the carved double doors leading to the downstairs hall.

Moments later, Tyler’s sneering voice rumbled down the hallway calling her name. All too soon, his chiseled features were framed in the library doorway. “I figured you’d still be up,” he smirked. “Waiting to collect your reward, you little harlot?”

Murietta cawed angrily, flapping her wings.

“How about if you come out here?” he suggested silkily. “That bird never has warmed to me.”

“Guess she has better sense than I did,” Cassie muttered. She pushed up from her soft seat and walked slowly toward the hall with the Calvados in hand. Sour alcohol fumes buffeted her ten paces from Tyler.

Sheesh. Wonder how much he had to drink tonight
.

“Very funny.” He twisted his head from side to side, making his long hair swish around his face. “I can still sense that piece of shit you carted home with you, but I suppose it’s because he hasn’t been gone long.”

She offered what she hoped would pass for a smile. “His cab just left a few minutes ago. Look.” She flashed the bottle at him. “I remembered you like this, so I got you some from the basement.”

He looked at her strangely, almost as if he was waiting for accusations about the broken lock on the door—and thousands of dollars of missing spirits—but she smiled sweetly and held out the bottle.

He grabbed it and then grasped her arm roughly with his other hand. “Let’s get this over with so I can get some sleep.” He tugged the cork out of the Calvados bottle with his teeth, spat it onto the hardwood, and upended the bottle, drinking greedily.

“You smell like you’ve been rolling in a vat of semen.” She wrinkled her nose. “Why don’t you take a bath first? Or,” she forced herself to smile brightly, “maybe we could take one together in that nice, deep, claw-foot tub of mine.”

“What have you been doing? Reading romance novels? Look, wench, if you want to get laid, let’s get this show on the road. As I recall,” he added nastily, his words slurring, “you never used to mind a few of the more manly smells.”

Reacting to a sudden intuition, she cleared her mind of thought. Even drunk, Tyler’s magic was powerful enough to enable him to read her mind. “Right you are,” she said cheerily and mounted the stairs. A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the stairwell through the floor-to-ceiling window set into the landing.

When she looked at Tyler, he was sucking down Calvados and swaying on his feet. She wondered how she could ever have been taken in by him. He’d obviously used a glamour, and it was slipping badly. Deep lines etched into his face, his jowls sagged, and he was going bald on top. Whatever he’d done tonight had seriously depleted him. Plus, he was already well on the way to being smashed—even without the brandy and whatever it was spiked with.

Jeremy was probably right about Tyler’s magic being strained to the breaking point—and about him champing at the bit to inveigle his way into Eleanora’s wealth. A crash of thunder rocked both the house and her confidence in her ability to carry off a seduction charade. A frisson of fear chattered down her spine, leaving icy fingers in its wake. If Tyler really was a demon—

She hurried up the remaining stairs. Unlocking her door, she surreptitiously disengaged the voice-activated electronics and gestured him inside.

“Well, well, well.” He glanced at the unmade bed and clothes strewn about. “Still quite the little pig, aren’t we?” He took another swig from the bottle and then held it out to her.

Throat tight with fear, she shook her head. “Nah. I never drank much. Gave it up entirely a few months back. I think it makes my migraines worse.”

He shrugged. “You’re missing out. Guess it just means more for me.” He tilted the bottle to his mouth again.

Gritting her teeth, she tried for one last stab at rationality. Maybe she could manage to get him out of the house without resorting to murder. If whatever Jeremy put in the Calvados made Tyler even marginally more reasonable...

“Look, there’s no crime in not being able to get along. Let’s just admit we made a mistake. You move your things out, and we’ll both get on with our lives. You have all Mother’s clients, so you’re doing pretty well. It’s obvious you despise me. I’m none too fond of you, either. So.” She spread her hands in front of her. “What do you say?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He staggered, set down the bottle, and pulled off his richly embroidered tunic. “If you want a roll in the hay, get over here. If not, I’m going to my own bed. Your choice.”

Choking back an almost overwhelming desire to spit in his face, she reached out a hand. “Here, let me help you with that coat.”

Another fork of blue-white lightning illuminated the sky outside her bedroom windows. Rain sounded like shrapnel, sharp against the glass panes. From the vicinity of the hallway, Hector growled menacingly. Clearly torn between his fear of storms and his hatred for Tyler, the cat scratched at the floor. His claws made long, squealing sounds as they scoured the wood.

Oblivious to the pandemonium, Tyler favored her with a toothy grin. He set the bottle down and threw the tunic her way, before kicking off his shoes. Next came the wide-bottomed gypsy pants, followed by a yellowed pair of boxers. The sated-man stench became more intense by the second. Despite the fact he’d obviously been fucking someone—or maybe multiple someones—just a short while ago, he reached tapering fingers toward his dick and stroked it to fullness. Once it was banging against his stomach, Tyler looked over at her, clucking in irritation.

“Take your damned clothes off,” he panted. “Else I’ll be done before you’ve even started.”

She considered a catty comment about his lack of staying power, but bit it back. He’d never lasted long, but made up for it by being able to get hard again and again. Apprehension swirled through her. She squelched it down. Fear would give her away.

She tossed herself on the bed and tried to smile. “Won’t take me but a second to get these sweats off. If you hand me a condom, I’ll put it on you. She pushed her stretchy bottoms off, but kept her panties in place.”

“I like it better without.”

“I gave you the Calvados. Please?” She held out a hand.

“Oh, very well. I don’t particularly want any brats running around here, either. Just got to find my pants.” He scanned the floor, turning to determine where he’d dropped his trousers. Unsteady from the alcohol—and whatever Jeremy had spiked it with—he tripped over one of her discarded high heeled boots and crumpled to the floor. Moaning incoherently, he flipped onto his back.

Tyler opened one eye, but seemed to have trouble focusing on her. “Bitch,” he managed. “Wine. You—” The hand nearest her scrabbled against the rug, straining for purchase in its thick nap.

Terror filled Cassie. She shrank to the far side of her bed and got to her feet, putting as much floor space between them as she could. He was probably too drugged to hurt her, but... What would happen if he weren’t?

Where was Jeremy?

“Ha! I had no idea he was such a lush.” Jeremy materialized from behind one of the heavy curtains and extended his hands. Blue-white energy sparked from him. A short-bladed, bright orange dagger hovered in the air.

Tyler’s body writhed in agony, and he drummed his heels on the floor. Face drawn into a rictus, he clawed at his throat. “Y-you can’t kill me,” he gasped. “If you do, Eleanora dies too. We’re linked.”

“You’re lying,” Jeremy growled.

Murietta swooped into the room, latched her talons into Tyler’s flesh, and buried her beak in one of his eyes before he could react.

A high, thin howl of pain filled the air. Blood spurted from his ruined eye, soaking the side of his head.

“T-truth,” Tyler wheezed when he was done squealing. He scraped ineffectually at his obviously narrowed airway and batted at the parrot poised to obliterate his other eye. She fluttered just out of reach. He eyed the glowing knife. “Seraph blade?”

Jeremy nodded. “Just for you.” As if it had been summoned, the dagger moved closer to Tyler. Its orange hue shaded to golden, and it pulsated ominously.

Jeremy glanced at Cassie. “Go get your mother. I need her here to figure out if this poor excuse for a shaman is telling the truth.”

Cassie dove from the room, her feet skimming the floor as she ran for the stairs to the attic. Another flash of lightning lit her way. Her panting breath was loud against the silence of the house.

“Mom, where the hell are you?” she screamed. “There’s no time. Mom! Goddammit, answer me.”

Surprised to find the attic door shut since she’d left it open, Cassie tugged on the knob. Panic rose hot and grating when nothing happened. She banged on the door as she jerked ineffectually at it, crying for her mother like she hadn’t done since she was a small child.

Whatever held the door yielded all at once. If it hadn’t been for the staircase railing, Cassie would’ve fallen a long way. As it was, she ended up a couple of steps down, clinging to one of the posts connecting the railing to the risers. Sucking in a raggedy breath, she crawled to the landing before staggering unsteadily to her feet.

She peered into the attic. What she saw stunned her so badly she fell back a step, one foot hanging over empty air.

Come on,
she urged herself forward.
Just go in there and bring her down to Jeremy. No telling how long he can hold Tyler at bay.

Eleanora sat cross-legged in front of a fire that hovered above the attic floor. The bat was back in residence on her shoulder, its tiny claws twisted in her long hair. Rather than red, the flames were blues, golds, and greens, and there was a hole in the attic roof directly above the small conflagration.

Had the fire come from the lightning?

Understanding she’d focused on that because it was easier than assimilating the rest of the tableau, Cassie started forward. An apparition that looked a lot like her father faded in and out on one side of the flames. He held his hands stretched before him, and energy pulsed from them.

“Mom?” Cassie dropped to her knees next to Eleanora.

“She cannot talk yet,” the apparition informed her.

“Father?” Cassie glanced at the ghostly figure.

“Who in bloody blazes else might it be?” The clipped tones of his aristocratic British accent stabbed her like little darts. “While we’re at it, why didn’t you inform me what happened to Eleanora? I would’ve arrived far sooner than this and in a more corporeal form, I might add.”

“I did use the stone to call you.” Defensiveness settled over her like a shroud. “Jesus Christ. I have enough problems without getting a raft of shit from you.”

“You should’ve summoned me months ago. Why didn’t you?”

“Maybe because I haven’t seen you since I was ten,” Cassie snapped. “Look, my friend’s alone down there with the one I think is responsible for—”

He waved her to silence. “We already know about that. We’re attempting to sever the linkage. Lend your blood, and I do believe we shall have it.”

“What?”

“Blood. Have you gone deaf? Hold your arm over the fire.” He hesitated. When he spoke again, his tone was softer. “We tried your mother’s, but it didn’t work. Yours started this. We need yours to finish it.”

He’s gone mad. That doesn’t make a whit of sense.

“I haven’t seen you for fifteen years...” She shook her head. If what he was asking would bring her mother back, it would be worth it. Coming to her feet, she stuck out her arm and pulled her sleeve out of the way. A ghostly silver blade advanced out of the shadows. It sliced deep into the meaty part of her forearm. As her blood flowed into the unnatural flames, they blazed brighter, almost as if blood and fire were kin to one another.

“I think you hit a vein,” she protested, her voice shaking.

“Silence,” her father thundered. “I have to concentrate, or all this will be for naught.”

The room spun out of control. Cassie kept her arm out for as long as she could, but a warm fog enveloped her, and her legs wobbled. The last thing she heard before she passed out was Eleanora saying, “That’s enough, Fran. You’ll kill her. Bind up her wound. I can do the rest on my own.”

Mother. Mother’s talking
.

Trying desperately to move words from her mind to her throat, Cassie toppled in an untidy heap onto the splintery attic floorboards.

S
he awakened in the library with Jeremy bending over her. Worry flickered in his clear, green eyes. Murietta perched on her chest, brushing her beak up and down her cheeks, and Hector was curled on her feet. Her head felt as if it was stuffed with cotton. Keeping her eyes open was a struggle. The first thing she noticed, besides the resident menagerie, was a thick bandage wrapped about her right arm.

“Mother?” she called weakly.

“Yes, darling, I’m here.” Eleanora’s rich, throaty voice drifted in from the hall. “I was just making you a pot of tea and some biscuits. You’re far too thin, child. Did you stop eating this last year?”

“You should talk.” Cassie craned her head around looking for her mother.

Eleanora hurried into the room; her long hair had been brushed and braided. She set down a tray holding a steaming mug and a plate of cookies.

“Magic momma,
awk
. Momma magic,” the parrot quorked. She fluffed her mottled gray plumage and then flapped her way to Eleanora’s shoulder.

Struggling a bit, Cassie tried for a more upright position. Moving created waves of vertigo, so she gave up and shut her eyes, willing it to pass.

Eleanora settled cool hands on either side of her face and chanted in Gaelic. “There, now try to sit,” she urged, insinuating an arm under Cassie’s back and rearranging the blanket covering her.