Undead for a Day (14 page)

Well named.

The Favored interloper was staring at him as if he were speaking Swahili—which he
did
speak—and exerted no answering power against him. Maybe Marica had told her not to bother. Xavier was one of the most powerful Favored in the world. Marica had used lies and beauty, not magic, to best him.

“Did she send you to return what she stole?” he asked. “Beg my forgiveness”?

She was staring at him slack-jawed, and he couldn’t help his appreciative response. It was no wonder that Marica had chosen her. His erstwhile wife knew he was a red-blooded
Gitano
male—a Spanish Gypsy—easily distracted by a pretty face. With her large, dark blue eyes and soft features so unlike the women of his family, this strange one was more than pretty. And her skimpy top and tight pants accentuated dangerous curves he would do best to ignore.

But when one was a
Gitano
, how was that possible?

Meanwhile, out of sight and sound, the family was celebrating Samhain as only Amaya witches could. All other Houses paled in comparison to the power created by Casa del Duende—the House of the Spirit—on this special night. Some envied the Amayas the strength of their collective Favor. Others feared them.

That was why they were such targets in the Favored world.

Which was why he should have been more careful with Marica.

The woman still lay sprawled on the ground, her damp T-shirt clinging to her body. Her chest was heaving and her forehead was furrowed. What a great actress; she looked bewildered. That turned down the heat of his instant attraction to her. On Samhain, the Amayas could barely contain their lust until the appointed hour of consummation: Midnight, as old vows died and new ones were born.

“Get up,” he said disdainfully. “And answer my questions.”

There was a pause while she pushed and grunted, fighting against his restraining spell, and he couldn’t help his grin. She sounded so sexual, like a woman in the throes of passion. But loathe Marica or not, he was still married to her until the first stroke of midnight.

However, after that…

“I can’t get up,” she said. “I think I’ve been drugged. By accident,” she added hastily, as if that were somehow important. “Please, I didn’t know you had an orgy planned. I don’t even know who you people are. I came to find my brother.”

“An orgy?” he echoed, and then he laughed. She sounded like an Untouched. But he could see her aura shimmering. She was definitely Favored; she possessed plenty of magic for some lucky partner to share. He decreased the pressure on her, experimenting to see just how strong she was. But she remained on the ground, frowning.

“Whatever freaky thing you’re doing, stop,” she ground out. Her face was beet red from exertion. Now he was the confused one. Was she somehow being prevented from using her powers? Maybe Emilio had installed a different type of security system, one that nullified the magic of strangers. If so, his little brother must be congratulated.

“I said
stop
,” she said between clenched teeth.

He had to admire her bravado, even if she’d checked her intelligence at the door. Surely she knew it was insanity to cross an Amaya on his own turf. He lowered the intensity on the binding spell and waited for her to spring to her feet.

But she didn’t react, except that the cap on her head slipped off, and he was treated to the sight of her fiery crimson hair—glorious, tumbling yards of it. Witch hair, from the olden times. His breath caught at the sight.

With tremendous effort, she planted her palm on the ground and pushed herself up to a sitting position.  By the way her light shook, he knew she was afraid, but trying not to let him know.

“Look. I have a brother. His name is Colin. He wrote me a note with four words on it: Shadow Island, Marica, and ‘help.’”

“Marica,” he said slowly. “And your brother.”

She nodded, and he released her completely, since she didn’t seem to realize how little control he was exerting on her. She bounced up and assumed a martial arts pose, chest heaving, glaring at him like someone in those kung fu movies José loved to watch. He felt the weight of the gun in his hand and put it back into the air to show her that he, too, meant no harm—at least at the present moment. Her eyes bugged and her mouth dropped open, as if she had never seen such a thing in her life.

“Your brother,” he repeated. So Marica had not even honored her marriage vows. What a surprise.

She had obvious trouble looking away from the gun. A tendril of her magic threaded toward him and he found it raw and pure, filled with strength and pleasure that had never been tasted. He was astounded. Had she never mingled with anyone? Could she be younger than she looked? By her appearance, she was in her mid-twenties, though as a Favored, she could be far older.

“I came here looking for him,” she said, still crouched in her fighter’s stance. “That’s all.” She glanced back at the gun. “How are you doing that? Wait. Don’t tell me. If you’re involved with some kind of super-secret weapons manufacturer, like for the government, I don’t need to know.”

“You’re joking, surely,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t know what to make of her.

“None of this is funny,” she retorted.

“What family do you belong to?” he asked her. “You and your brother? Are you Caracols?”

“We’re Flynns,” she said. “Is my brother here or not?”

He knew no Flynn family.  “What is your House? How do you two know Marica?” he demanded.

“My house? I’m in South Beach. And we don’t know Marica. Or rather,
I
don’t. He’s never mentioned her before.”  She exhaled loudly. “Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on.” She gestured toward the gun. “What this Vegas act is all about.  But I have this terrible feeling about my brother, and it’s getting worse.”

“Xavier?” his father said, striding over to his son. The patriarch of Casa del Duende gestured to Xavier’s captive. Of course his father would be able to see through Xavier’s secrecy spell. “Who is this?” He used the old
Gitano
dialect of Spanish spoken among the Amayas for centuries.

“I don’t know,” Xavier answered in the same dialect. “But apparently her brother summoned her here to help him. With Marica.”

His father’s face soured and he let forth a string of epithets. “Where is that evil bitch?” he said in English, clearly for the benefit of the woman.

“She says she doesn’t know,” Xavier told him, also in English.

“I can speak for myself,” she huffed. “My brother’s name is Colin Flynn, and I didn’t mean to intrude on your…thing here, but he left me a note and I think he’s in trouble. And I guess this evil bitch Marica is involved.”

Xavier’s father raised a brow. “And your name?”

“I don’t know why that’s important,” she retorted, then seemed to remember her uncertain situation. “Bridget.”

Xavier’s father frowned and looked at Xavier expectantly, as if asking his son to fill in the obvious blanks in her story. Xavier gave his head a shake. Then a second streamer of her magical energy wafted toward them, and Xavier directed it toward his father so that he could experience it. His father was as startled as Xavier had been.

“I’ve answered your questions. Now answer mine,” she challenged them. “Where’s my brother? And exactly who is this evil bitch, anyway?”

“Maria del Carmen is the thief who took our most sacred possession,” Xavier replied evenly. “And she’s my wife.”

She blanched. “I’m sure he didn’t realize she was m-married.” The way she stumbled over the word signified something—her shame over her brother’s misconduct? Or maybe a bit of disappointment on her part that he, Xavier, was married? He dared to assume. After all, he was who he was.

“Just my year wife,” he said.

“Perhaps our guest missed the part where Maria del Carmen stole our most sacred possession,” his father said in their Gypsy tongue.

My honor. My reputation
, Xavier thought. Those were his most sacred possessions. But for the family?

So much more.

“But tell me, Xavier. Just now, did you sense that she is a virgin in her powers?” His father’s eyes gleamed. Xavier thought he’d better speak up, because he knew what the family patriarch was thinking.

“No more foreign brides for me,
padre
,” he insisted. “She’s not even a
Gitana
. And besides, we have no idea who she is.”

But his father ignored him as he looked at Bridget Flynn. “This brother. Is he your blood relative? On both sides? Is he younger or older than you?” he asked in English.

“Why?” she demanded, looking wary. She glanced at the gun. Xavier could see the wheels turning in her head. She was thinking that she could make one good leap, grab the weapon and blast them both to hell.

“If you want to see him again, you will answer my father’s question,” Xavier said harshly, partly in hopes of distracting her. He didn’t want to blast her to hell instead.

He saw her draw a breath. She was frightened, but fighting very hard not to show it. Her effort was admirable.

She shifted on the balls of her feet, preparing to spring.

“Don’t,” his father cautioned, his tone not unkind. Maybe trying the “good witch, bad witch” routine on her. “Let’s discuss your brother. Younger?” If younger, it was more likely that he, too, was virginal in his magic.

“A couple of minutes younger. He’s my twin,” she replied, and Xavier couldn’t help but exchange startled looks with his father. Could this be any better? Twins possessed exponentially more magical power than two regular siblings. If they were able to tap into hers…and her brother’s…

We could launch an attack on Casa del Diablo and get that crystal back.

“Emilio should marry her,” Xavier said. “I’ll go get him.”

His father shook his head. “Celia and he are marrying for the year. And
you
are the older son of this House.”

And Marica was his responsibility, if not his fault.

“I don’t think she knows what she is,” Xavier said.

His father shrugged, very Spanish. The Amayas had lived in Florida for generations, but as Gypsies and Favored, they kept the old ways. “Then explain it to her.” He looked up at the moon. “Midnight is coming. The veil will be the thinnest in the entire year and if you can get to Marica—”

“The dead will rise tonight,” Xavier reminded him. “And if Bridget Flynn hasn’t had any training, she could do more harm than good trying to use her magic against them.”

“You have a few minutes to train her, then,” his father said. “I’ll alert the family. Talk to her. Then bring her to the bonfire.”

His father smiled encouragingly at Bridget and strode back toward the gathering. Heads had begun to turn in Xavier’s direction. The news of the lovely redheaded stranger in their midst was spreading through the party. Deep inside his soul, his
duende
, he could feel the thinning of the veil. Magic both light and dark were in play, and if he wanted to redeem himself in the family’s eyes, then binding fresh, virgin magic to their cause would be the best thing, hands down.

“Bridget,” he said, “we need to talk. Quickly.” She narrowed her eyes but kept silent, giving him permission to continue. “Your brother is Favored. That means that he has magical power.” Maybe he could lead her to make the connection between her brother and herself so that it wouldn’t be quite such a shock. “Marica must have found him somehow, and she’s using him to help her family in their feud with mine.”

He paused. She was staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. How on earth would he persuade her in time to marry him and align her magic with his? He thought back to the Gypsy days, when men often kidnapped their brides. He could take her magic by force. Steal it, as Marica had stolen the crystal. These were desperate times.

He couldn’t, wouldn’t do that. But how on earth was he going to convince her about what must be done?

“And since he’s your twin…” Xavier said leadingly. Her expression didn’t change.
Dios
, was she thick in the head? “You have the same power as your twin,” he continued. “You are Favored as well.”

She blinked but otherwise gave no indication that she had heard—much less understood—a word he was saying. He wondered for a second if he’d forgotten to speak in English.

“I can help you rescue Colin,” Xavier said. “But to do that, we must mingle our power. Yours and mine. In our House, we do this by marrying.” She jerked, and he held up a finger. “It’s only for a year.”

She stared at him.

“My father will recite the incantation,” he went on. “Then we’ll leap into the flames to seal the rite, and if we’re lucky, we’ll be able to trace—”

She finally reacted. “
What
?” she cried. “
Leap into the flames
?”

“They’re magic flames,” he assured her. Sweet Mother of God, how could she not know any of this? “And our power will protect us.”

“Okay, we’re done,” she announced, raising her fists in front of her face, ready to take him on. “I thought if I went along with your insanity, I could convince you to let me go. But the buses don’t go where you live, and I’m out of here.”

Realization upon realization poured in on him: he
couldn’t
let Bridget Flynn go. She knew where his family lived; she knew they were Favored. They were well known in the business and social circles of Miami, but not one of the Untouched knew their secret. And if Marica had her twin brother, it stood to reason she’d want the other half of a Favored virginal pair.

Bridget was not only ignorant, she was in danger.

“
Santos
,” he swore. “There’s no time for this.”

He closed the space between them. She aimed a truly spectacular palm strike at him, which he blocked with magic. Disabling her with the Favored equivalent of a body blow, he scooped her up in his arms and raced for the courtyard. The minutes were ticking by. On the first strike of midnight, his marriage to Marica would end. If it was to do them any good, his marriage to Bridget must be concluded before the last strike of midnight.