Black Arts, White Craft by Hailey Edwards
4
The drive home from the shop gave me time alone to stew over the biggest surprise of my night.
Namely, a certain daemon body-jacking Asa to spend quality time swapping spit muffins with me.
I wasn’t sure how to feel about that, the case, or leaving the girls alone to deal with a tsunami of repairs.
As I stepped out, the wards surrounding my property hummed a steady drone that told me all was well. I was at the front gate, about to push through, when a black SUV pulled in behind me, Asa at the wheel.
Our gazes collided, leaving my skin flushed and tight all over, and I gripped the gate to steady my pulse.
He had changed in my office before we left, and that meant he was dressed to the nines.
Lean muscle covered his frame. Hard to forget that after watching him model his underwear. No amount of tailoring could conceal his strength, but he managed to hide his powerful body better than most. Four hammered silver hoops fixed into a single earring hung from each of his ears, and a ring pierced his septum of the same material. His hair had lost its sheen thanks to the oil blend in the hand soap and the daemon’s vigorous scrubbing. It was clumped down his back, mostly dry, but tangled from its ordeal.
His poor hair. His poor, beautiful hair. His poor, beautiful hair that was long enough to wrap around my fist…
No.
Bad Rue.
This was how I kept getting myself in trouble.
A faint smile played around his full lips as he watched my gaze rove over him, and he returned the favor.
Muffled squealing drew my attention back to the house, where a pale face smooshed against a window.
Faster than a bolt of white lightning, Colby shot into the yard to zoom around me.
Seriously.
Who knew moths got zoomies?
With white fuzz covering her abdomen and a wispy off-white mane, she was a showstopper. Pearlescent wings blurred when she got excited, like now, and her velvety black legs kicked with excitement. Though we had agreed the uppermost set, tipped in cream, would be deemed hands despite the lack of fingers.
“Clay.” Her antennae fluttered with delight. “You’re back.”
“Hey, Shorty.” He grinned from ear to ear. “You miss me?”
The ward dipped in warning, popping my ears, as Clay and Asa entered my yard.
“Duh.” She lit on him as soon as he crossed the barrier. “All the cool stuff happens when you’re here.”
Heart pinching at her enthusiastic greeting, I told him, “That’s a nice way of saying trouble follows you.”
Just like a certain dae had followed me, silent and stealthy, as if he were stalking prey.
“Hello, Colby.” Asa stood close enough for our elbows to brush. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Hi,” Colby said shyly, waving at him. “Rue made detangler for you.”
If there was any justice in this world, I would incinerate on the spot and be pardoned from facing Asa.
When I failed to self-immolate, despite trying my best, it proved what I already knew. There was none.
My only saving grace was she didn’t out me for testing what I had mixed up so far on my bracelet.
And no, it wasn’t just so I could catch a whiff of juicy green apple while he was gone. That would be sentimental and ridiculous.
With a smile in his eyes, Asa excused himself to the bathroom. Probably to perform damage control.
Chin held high, I launched into my totally valid excuse. “I’m starting a haircare line for the shop.”
“That’s interesting.” Clay rubbed his jaw. “Very interesting.”
“Don’t make me hit you.” I narrowed my eyes on him. “I don’t want to break my hand.”
“Seriously.” He held his palms out, toward me. “I’m interested.”
“You’re serious?” Shocked to my toes, I forgot to be embarrassed. “You would entrust your hair to me?”
“The shampoo I use now is nothing special. I bet you could make a better version.”
“You want me to magic extra shine into every bottle, don’t you?”
“A spelled preservative would be nice too. Do you know how much a good wig costs these days?”
“Actually, no.” I flashed a sugary smile at him. “I haven’t bought a wig in a few decades.”
“Not this again.” He groaned with sincere regret. “I apologized then, and I’ll apologize now.”
Antennae twitching, Colby asked, “What happened?”
“I bought Clay a wig for his birthday. We had been working together for six months, and I had no idea he was such a huge snob. I picked a style I thought he would like, but it turned out to be synthetic, not real, and he looked at it like it was a giant rat I fished out of the NY sewers and suggested he wear like a hat.”
“I wore it every day for a month,” he reminded me. “I wore it until the hair fell out of the cap.”
That was one of the moments when I realized Clay wasn’t acting, or not just acting, when it came to me. He was more than the spy the director paired me up with to keep an eye on me. He truly was my friend.
“Not true.” I snickered at the memory. “I rescued you when you started to resemble Friar Tuck.”
“I still have nightmares,” he said in a haunted voice. “Life’s too short for a bad wig.”
Legs tapping on Clay’s shoulder, Colby tilted her head. “Who’s Friar Tuck?”
“Whippersnappers these days.” I flipped a hand at her. “They don’t know nothing about nothing.”
“We’ll rent Robin Hood for you.” Clay patted her head. “The 1973 cartoon edition.”
Antennae drooping at the ends, Colby scrunched up her face. “Are bad wigs less traumatic in cartoons?”
“Much,” Clay reassured her. “Plus, as much as you enjoy raiding, I think you’ll like Robin.”
“He goes on raids?” That got her antennae quivering. “Really?”
“Yep.”
Heavily editing the tale, he skipped over the part where Robin stole from the rich to give to the poor. Far as I knew, Colby never gifted her spoils of war. She would trade, but charity? She was more of a hoarder.
To spare him from losing his audience, I shifted gears.
“Shine, I can do.” I thought about the required materials. “Preservative might be cost prohibitive.”
“You’re thinking too small. Forget selling to the locals. You’ll make a killing online.”
“You sold me on the idea.” I raised my hands in surrender. “I’ll start researching it after this case.”
“Case?” Colby zipped back to land on my shoulder. “We have a new case?”
“There is definitely a new case.” I scratched her head. “I haven’t decided if—”
“I’m in.” She pumped her tiny fists. “This is going to be awesome.”
“Ahem.” Clay tipped his chin toward me. “You need to take that up with Rue.”
“We’re a team,” Colby assured him. “She wouldn’t leave me behind.” She slid her gaze to me. “Again.”
“How am I always the bad guy?” I left Benedict Arnold and entered the house. “Seriously, how?”
“Remember when you were a kid,” Clay began, “and your parents told you no, and that made them the bad guy?”
“Now that you mention it—” I angled toward Clay, “—no.”
The few memories I had of my parents had been weathered by time…and magic. Unlike the tea I brewed for the girls to help them cope, the director slipped bitter potions in mine when I was a child. He wanted to erase anything that came before, anything that might hold me back from reaching my full potential.
Years of my life were a blank slate he had written his own message on.
The awkward lull that followed prompted Colby to make a confession.
“I don’t remember much about my parents.” She hunkered down on Clay’s head. “Is that weird?”
“Neither do I,” I confessed, so she wouldn’t feel as exposed in her vulnerability. Colby never talked about her family. Ever. A fact that worried me. But I didn’t share my childhood either. “I don’t trust what little I think I do.” I had too much magically induced brain trauma to be certain of its authenticity. “Pretty sure I invented my loving version of Mom and Dad based on the stories I’ve heard from others over the years.”
“I hate that.” Sympathy etched Clay’s face. “For both of you.”
As a golem, he had no parents. He had a creator. A long-dead one. Any bond they shared had been buried with him.
“After I turned thirteen, I got recruited for Black Hat, and my…” I bit my cheek until a copper tang spilled into my mouth to avoid calling the director Grandfather, “…guardian wasn’t able to screw with my head anymore.”
And…I hadn’t meant to overshare like that.
“Thirteen?” Clay boomed with ear-ringing volume. “He turned you over at thir-fucking-teen years old?”
Colby stared at him in awe then whipped her head toward me to see if he got in trouble.
“No cursing,” I told them, then escaped down the hall to avoid more questions. “I need to pack.”
Bile crept up my throat as I entered my bedroom and shut the door behind me.
The faint knock that hit seconds after the latch clicked made me regret ever opening my big mouth. Now that I had unstoppered that bottle, I had done worse than release a genie. I had freed a wisp of my past I didn’t want to pollute my present. I had no use for pity. For better or worse, what was done was done.
Expecting Colby, I lost my train of thought when I opened the door on Asa. “Look, if you’re here to—”
“—borrow a comb and detangler?” His lips twitched. “I could use your help too, if you don’t mind.”
A giddy thrill shot through me, and I had no idea why, but this olive branch was exactly what I needed to seal the past back into the airtight box, where it could suffocate for all I cared. I hated that I recalled with such perfect clarity how the director trained me, how I lived for years under his roof, but Mom and Dad, their faces, were remembered from the photos I had collected of them.
“It’s in the workroom.” I waved him back to the third bedroom. “This is where we test new recipes for the shop.” I indicated one of the stools. “You can sit there, and I can hose you down. Unless you’d rather shower? The soap your daemon used wasn’t meant for hair, but I keep the good stuff in the bathroom.”
“I’ll give it a day or two before I wash it,” he decided, “let my scalp replenish some of its natural oils.”
“You’re big on haircare, huh?” I caught myself before I brushed aside a few twisted strands caught on his collar. “Do you keep yours long for any particular reason? Other than exploding ovaries, obviously.”
“It’s tradition.” Asa sat and folded his hands in his lap. “I’m forbidden to cut it except for split ends.”
“Wow.” I grabbed the detangler and moved behind him. “That’s strict.”
“Traditions often are.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Does this make you uncomfortable?”
“No.” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from sounding too eager, and I instantly regretted aggravating the sore. A good reminder it was a habit in need of breaking. “I can’t turn down a chance to test a new product. Your hair is gorgeous, and there’s so much of it. You’re the perfect guinea pig.”
There. Totally valid excuses. Professional even. I was proud of me.
“Ah,” he said simply and relaxed as I began spritzing the long strands.
“So…” I fumbled for conversation. “Fae or daemon tradition?”
“Daemon.”
One of the first things Asa told me about himself was that his daemon father had raped his fae mother. I hadn’t dug any further into his personal history after that explosive revelation. I had tiptoed around him, too afraid I might step on another landmine. But it puzzled me to learn he honored his daemon heritage.
As was often the case with Asa, I couldn’t help myself. “You have a relationship with your father?”
“Not as such.” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes when I began to comb. “I’m his heir.”
“What does that mean?” I ran my hands through his hair to my heart’s content. “Or is it rude to ask?”
“It means my father is Orion Pollux Stavros, High King of Hael, Master of Agonae.”
The casual namedrop left me choking on my own spit. “What?”
A subtle tension entered his shoulders. “Does that matter to you?”
“Um, yes?” I fumbled my comb. “I have enough problems without adding that to them.”
“The title makes me less desirable to you?”
“Much.” I was, sadly, almost done with his hair. The detangler worked too well. Dang it. “Sorry.”
The tension in his shoulders eased once more, and a faint vibration moved through his chest.
“Are you…purring?” I froze on the spot. “Daemons purr?”
“Only when they’re happy.” I heard the smile in his voice. “And you make me happy, Rue.”
“We’re a terrible idea.” I kept my tone light. “You know that, right?”
“I’m aware.” He chuckled. “Clay reminds me at least once a day.”
“He’s like a big brother.” An urge to defend him rose in me. “No brother wants his little sister to date.”
“He loves you very much.” Asa twisted to see me better. “Do you know how rare that is for him?”
“Clay is a social butterfly. He likes everyone. He was my partner for a long time. That builds bonds.”
“Clay is a very old thing who has become exceptional at acting any role assigned to him by his master.”
A cold spot opened in my chest that hadn’t chilled me in far too long. “What are you saying?”
“That you’re a singularity. That’s why he worries about you.” He glanced away. “And your heart.”
For as long as I had known Clay, he had been the hand I gripped to hold my head above the waterline.
We were friends, I knew that, trusted it, but I had never stopped to wonder if I was his only true friend.
“He cares about you too.” I toyed with his hair. “He doesn’t give nicknames to just anyone.”
“He likes me well enough, or he did.” He laughed softly. “Until I showed an interest in you.”
“We’re both adults, and we’re entitled to make our own mistakes. Clay can bide his time and rub in the I told you so after we crash and burn. That ought to make him happy. Being proven right usually does.”
“You’re sure we’ll crash and burn?”
“Oh yeah.” I laughed at how fast the certainty hit me. “I can smell the smoke from here.”
A thoughtful quiet settled between us as I passed him the comb.
Ignoring it altogether, he asked instead, “Would you mind?”
“I get to braid your hair too?” I bit my first knuckle. “I feel so special.”
“Only three people are allowed to touch my hair. My mother, myself, and…you.”
“Oh.” My hand fell to my side. “Um.” I tapped the comb against my thigh. “That sounds serious.”
“I am fascinated with you.” He softened his tone. “You have been granted permissions others have not.”
We were in a long-distance cupcake exchange. I wasn’t convinced that qualified as dating or much else. But I was glad to hear Asa’s permission kept me from being targeted by his father.
A bitterness flavored his voice that worried me. “Others have tried?”
“They have, and Father punished them.” He ground his molars. “He’s always aware of infractions.”
“Probably spying on you.” The way the director, apparently, had been spying on me. “That sucks.”
“It does.”
“Dare I ask what’s the cost?”
“The hand that touched my hair.”
“As in how they used to punish thieves by chopping their hand off at the wrist?”
“Yes.”
“That seems…extreme.”
“Father is an extremist.”
“Other parts of you are okay, though?”
A smile in his voice, he slanted his gaze toward me. “Define other parts.”
“I walked right into that one.” I snorted. “Let me find you some hairbands.”
“I have some.” He shifted his weight and dug them out of his pocket. “It pays to carry extras.”
“Do you mind if I ask how Black Hat recruited a daemon prince? Lord? Duke?”
“I attempted to murder my father. He didn’t take it well and reported me. He hoped a few centuries as a Bureau lapdog might teach me what it means to serve without choice, without hope, without freedom.”
The fact he didn’t answer my question about his title didn’t slip my notice, but I didn’t press.
And I didn’t explain my scowl when my spam app alerted me to another intentionally missed call.
“Sorry the murder thing didn’t work out for you.” I cut a razor-sharp part. “It sounds like he needs it.”
“I was young and impulsive, eager to avenge my mother’s honor. I’ll be prepared for him next time.”
Next timemeant he was actively plotting patricide, which would make him king. Had he done the math? Or was he so blinded by hatred for his father that he couldn’t see allowing his father to live was the only hope Asa had for a normal-ish life? Murder was satisfying, but the price of instant gratification was high.
“Of that, I have no doubt.” I started plaiting, careful to keep his braids tidy. “Done.”
“About time.”
I swallowed a yelp as I spun to find Clay standing in the doorway with Colby on his shoulder.
“I thought you were packing.” Colby twitched her wings. “This isn’t packing.”
“We couldn’t find you in your room,” Clay explained, “so we followed the smell of feelings in here.”
Heat climbed up my nape to tingle in my ears. Black witches—former black witches—didn’t blush.
“You mean the scent of green apple essential oil.”
That I hadn’t bought because it reminded me of Asa. It was popular, okay? Check any haircare aisle.
“Mmm-hmm.” Clay rolled his eyes in tandem with Colby. “Sure.”
Letting them team up, I was starting to see, was a very bad idea. For me.
“We’re done in here.” I backed away from Asa. “I’ll go get packing.”
Colby flitted from Clay’s shoulder to mine as I passed him, wings jittering. “Where are we going?”
“Tennessee, to the mountains.”
Interest fluttered along her spine. “What’s the case?”
“A black witch raised a wendigo zombie.”
“A real zombie?” Her macabre delight bothered me. “Does it eat people?”
“Yes,” I admitted after accepting she would find out soon enough, “but wendigo do that anyway.”
“Why does everything eat people?” A shudder rippled through her. “They can’t taste that good.”
“You would be surprised,” Asa murmured, “what can be accomplished with the right spices.”
The urge to glance back at him after that comment twitched in my neck. “That was a joke, right?”
“He was kidding.” Clay tugged a lock of my hair. “Mostly.”
Eyes wide, Colby studied Asa with new interest that worried me more than the spice comment.
“Our mission—” I jostled my shoulder, “—is to hunt down the black witch and their pet zombigo before they hurt more people.”
“Zombigo.” Her wings tickled my ear. “You’re so lame.”
“Most people don’t sass me and live to tell about it.”
“That’s a lie.” She scoffed as we entered my room. “Camber and Arden do it all the time. So does Clay.”
“I used to be fearsome.” I set her on the bed then started packing. “I don’t know where I went wrong.”
“You gave up the wicked witch life,” she teased. “That means no more hexing people who annoy you.”
“Ugh.” I almost missed the days when I could wreak havoc without conscience. “Don’t remind me.”
“I’ve never been to the mountains.” She walked a circle then settled in the center of my bed. “Will there be snow? Ice? Sleet? Hail? Oh. A blizzard? Will I need a coat?” She hesitated. “Skip that. I forgot. Wings.”
“We’ll use that spell from when it snowed if you get cold.”
Snow was as rare as hen’s teeth in central Alabama. We got plenty of hail, sleet, and ice. Flurries hit us in late winter edging into spring every other year or so, but accumulation was a major event three or four years in the making.
“Promise to build a snowman with me?” She rubbed her hands together. “We’ll need to pack a carrot.”
Based on past experience, I wasn’t worried about the carrot. First came the rush of enthusiasm, then the stinging pain of frozen hands, followed by soggy regret that ended with me using magic to finish the job.
Glamour might be the bane of supernatural law enforcement, but it was handy when you got lazy.
“Pfft.” I waved off her idea. “The guys will be with us.”
Understanding brightened her eyes. “Snowball fight.”
“Heck yeah.” I grinned. “Girls against boys.”
Finished with my bag, I pulled out a rolling suitcase I used for Colby on trips, but the safe distracted me. I hadn’t gotten the grimoire out since the guys left. That wasn’t to say it hadn’t gotten itself out. It had. Three or four times. Just, there had been too much to do getting the shop back in shape for me to crack it open for study. But this trip would afford me time to read while we were on the road.
Still, I wavered on whether to bring it.
Some dark artifacts grew a certain sentience that resulted in them toying with their masters. Much like a cat, they wanted to be stroked and admired and treated with reverence. They used their ambient magic to convince you there was a topic you just had to read up on. Right now. This very minute.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
The resulting adrenaline would convince people to pick up the book, and contact strengthened the compulsion until you ended up wiling away an afternoon doing exactly what the book told you to do.
Protections on the safe shielded the dark artifacts as much as they protected me from their whispers.
That I was eyeballing the safe didn’t mean I was in its thrall, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t either.
A shudder rippled through Colby as she noticed the direction of my stare. “Are you bringing the book?”
“I’m thinking about it.” I spelled it out for her. “You’ll be safer once I’ve read it and destroyed it.”
Taylor might not have gotten every detail right, but he did his research, and we couldn’t afford to ignore a potential source of information on Colby. His obsession spilled across the pages, ten years’ worth, but I could admit, to myself, the true reason I kept putting off studying it was the fear I would backslide under its influence. There was a whole lot of ugly in that book, and I was not immune to its lure by any means.
The spells contained within would make any black witch salivate. They would kill to own its knowledge.
To avoid its power falling into the wrong hands, any white witch who stumbled across it would set it on fire, dig holes at the four compass points, divide its ashes and then bury them. Any white witch but…me.
“Yeah, I guess.” Her coarser fur stood on end. “That book gives me the creeps.”
“Me too.” I rested my palm on the safe. “It’s a risk, a big risk, taking it outside the wards.”
It might explore the house on its own, but I was ninety percent sure it couldn’t leave without an escort.
“I’ll sleep on it,” I decided, rolling our suitcases down the hall. “Let’s go pack your bag.”
Aside from her teeny pillow and tiny blanket, I had little to pack for her aside from pollen and sugar.
But first, I had a surprise for her.
In the hall closet, hidden at the very bottom, I located a wrapped box. “I bought this for your Mothday.”
“It’s not my Mothday for two more months.”
One of Colby’s first requests after she settled in with me was no more celebrating her birthdays. The gap between her mental age and physical age would only grow, and she didn’t want the reminder. She was a kid, an eternal one, and I remembered how much it sucked to go from my parents celebrating every milestone to the director only praising me when I sank to new depths of depravity. So, we settled on her having a Mothday every year where she received presents, we partied, and she ate way too much sugar.
“Open the box and then say that again.” I set it on the kitchen table. “Hurry, before I change my mind.”
No sooner had Colby peeled down one side of the wrapping paper than a sonic squeal burst out of her.
“You bought me a laptop.” She sprang from the table into my arms. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I kissed the top of her silky head. “You need something to keep you out of trouble on the road. Plus, I wouldn’t want your friends to think you’d died because you weren’t online every second of every day.”
“You bought it for me because you looove me.” She cuddled in, her head on my chest. “I love you too.”
Throat gone tight, I had to swallow before I could tease her without my eyes leaking in front of the guys.
“Yeah, yeah.” I set her back on the box. “Insert mushy feelings here.”
“That’s a sweet laptop.” Clay smiled down at her. “Want me to help with the unboxing?”
“Sure.” She finished tearing off the paper. “I can’t wait to tell my friends.”
Asa gathered the paper and threw it into the trash can, which I appreciated, but Colby didn’t thank him. I had lost her and Clay to conversation about the specs and download times for her must-have programs.
Leaving them to geek out together, I walked out onto the front porch and breathed in the night air.
I wasn’t surprised when Asa followed. Happy. But not shocked he had taken the hint.
We sat on the steps, under the bright moon, and let the cool wind tickle our cheeks.
Angling his head toward me, Asa studied my profile. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
As hard as I had hammered him earlier, I expected he would circle back to me. “Knock yourself out.”
“You were thirteen when you were recruited by Black Hat.”
“Officially, yes. That was the age I started working cases with a partner. Not Clay, but another witch.”
“I’ve never heard of the Bureau recruiting that young.”
“You’re not the only special snowflake around here,” I teased, but he didn’t take the bait, and I sobered “My mother was a white witch, and my father was a black witch.” I wasn’t sure how much of my past he knew, so I left it at that. “Theirs was an unusual pairing, especially with their combined power threshold, and it made people nervous. Mom’s people worried Dad would eat her heart. Dad’s people worried Mom would make him weak.” I studied the thick clouds. “Then I came along.” I pitched my tone like a movie voiceover. “A mongrel with the potential for greatness, destined to bridge the gap between dark and light practitioners, a true power the likes of which no one has ever seen.”
He waited, still and quiet, to see what else I would say. Maybe that was why I told him more.
“But I came into those powers early.” Or so the director told me. “And…I killed my parents.”
A hollow ache rang through my chest, a pain I hadn’t let reach me since those earliest days.
“That earned me Black Hat’s full attention,” I continued, “but my age factored into their ruling.” I paused before blurting out the rest. “I was seven, so the Bureau didn’t put me down. The director took me in as his ward to keep an eye on me. He trained me himself.”
The catastrophic show of power had sparked his interest in me, made him wonder if crossing bloodlines wasn’t such a bad idea. But the trauma of my parents’ deaths smothered whatever spark had kindled in me. I went on to have an unremarkable childhood, left mostly to my own devices, until puberty hit and unlocked my full potential.
For my thirteenth birthday, I was given a gift. A hunt. I caught and killed my first victim under the moon.
Initiation for Black Hat awaited me the next morning, along with much tutting from the director, as if he hadn’t dipped my hands in blood the night before. And lectures, for the sake of those watching his every move, about how I should have been put down as a child. How I lived then and now at his mercy.
“I’m sorry.” Asa covered my hand with his warm one. “Rogue magic isn’t a criminal offense in children.”
Had I been anyone else, I could have gotten off the hook, but I was me, and the director chose to put me in his custody until the day he judged me old enough to take a life with intent, by my own hand, of my own choice, and earn for myself what he wanted for me all along.
Eternal indenture to Black Hat.
“I didn’t know that at the time.” The director kept me carefully ignorant to instill gratitude for him taking me in. “By the time I did, I had killed in cold blood, and I belonged in the Bureau.”
Supernaturals earned a lot of leeway in the is it murder or dinner department.
Humans had encroached on many species’ ancestral lands, putting them in hunting grounds that, as far as paranormal law went, made them fair game. Black witches, however, didn’t have to kill to survive. They did it for power, and more talented practitioners added years from a victim’s life to their own.
The leeway shown to other predatory species wasn’t awarded to them, which left smart black witches to prey on others with extreme caution. Get sloppy, get dead. You were made an example to remind other black witches to dine in private and clean up after themselves.
Asa slid his fingers through mine, meshing them, offering me his strength. “Rue…”
“I killed my first partner too.” The confessions kept coming, pouring out of me, as if I wanted him to hear my sins and judge me for them. “Maimed the second.”
“You were too young to control your powers.”
“I still wonder about that.” I flexed my fingers, enjoying the warmth of his palm against mine. “I was so angry, so lost. I lashed out at everyone around me. I had no real control, and the director encouraged it. He wanted to push me until I tipped over the edge, and I got tired of hanging on by my fingernails.”
A low growl poured into the night air, the rumble a comfort that vibrated in my bones.
“Clay was my third partner, and I’m certain he got stuck with me because he’s indestructible. Or close to it. The director felt I could grow into my role as an agent with Clay watching over me, minimizing the risk to others.” I risked a glance at Asa. “I used to hate Clay for that.”
“The director ordered Clay to spy on you and report back.”
“Yeah.” I tipped my chin up to stare at the moon. “He was nice to me, but I didn’t trust him. Not for a long time. Not until I read one of his reports. He told the director I was a bloodthirsty killing machine when the truth was, I had gotten so sick from the carnage of a warg brawl, I threw up on Clay’s shoes.”
Asa’s intense gaze lingered on the side of my face, but I didn’t turn to see what his expression would tell me.
“The director broke me into little pieces until I lost so much of myself, I had no idea how much was missing or what I had lost.” I risked a glance at Asa. “Clay was the one ready with a bottle of glue, a magnifying glass, and a pair of tweezers. He always fit me back together again.”
Over and over and over through years and years and years until mentally I was a patchwork quilt.
“And…” I dropped my face into my hands, “…I can’t believe I told you that.”
Only the director knew all the gory details of my past. Even Clay had large gaps in his knowledge, despite the director briefing him prior to us partnering. As his earlier outburst proved, the director had left out a lot. I don’t see why he bothered editing his narrative to suit his audience. Habit, maybe?
As the golem’s current master, the director could have ordered him to keep his—and my—secrets.
“I appreciate the gift you’ve given me,” Asa murmured. “I understand how much it cost you.”
“It frightens me that I told you,” I confessed. “It terrifies me even more that I wanted to do it.”
Whatever the reason, I felt compelled to blab my worst qualities, and that left me fragile in my own skin, afraid the next touch might break through the hard shell I had spent a lifetime building to protect myself from feeling too much, from wanting too much.
“The fault might not lie with you.” He ducked his head. “Mother told me once that when her people find their mate, their souls recognize their match in each other and forge a connection that facilitates sharing their hopes, their fears, their pasts. Then, if the bond is proven true, that friendship evolves into…more.”
A spike of relief stabbed me under the rib cage to hear I hadn’t gone soft, that this thing with Asa was to blame for me blabbing old secrets to anyone in hearing range tonight.
“You’re saying our compatibility is giving me verbal diarrhea?”
Asa choked on a laugh that made me grin. “Perhaps?”
“You’ve never done this before?” I lifted my wrist and shook the bracelet. “This is your first time?”
“You are my first, yes.”
“Ah.” Heat rose in my cheeks, and I cleared my throat. “Okay.”
With the fingers of his other hand, he traced the curve of my cheek. “Is this your first time?”
“I have never been given a hair bracelet or an emotional laxative, no.”
More soft laughter parted his full lips, and my gaze landed on his mouth with a startling hunger.
“You’re dae, right?” I tore my focus away from him before I did something stupid. Like kiss him just to see how he tasted. “Who’s to say daemon mating rituals are all that matters? Who cares if your daddy is a king? Your mom sounds amazing. Honor your heritage, both sides or neither, in a way that feels authentic to who you are, not who your parents want you to be.”
“You have a gift for cutting to the heart of the matter.” He grimaced, tightening his fingers as if afraid I would pull away from him. “Forgive my poor choice of words.”
“Trust me.” The pinch in my chest eased at his earnest apology. “I’ve heard all the jokes.”
A jiggling noise caught my attention, and I spotted Colby in the window, working to open the front door.
“I’m done packing.” She flitted out to light on my shoulder. “I have everything I need to kick orc butt.”
For a second, I got confused what orcs had to do with zombigos, but I put together she meant her game.
Mystic Realms.
An MMRPG, or massive multiplayer role-playing game.
Her attention shifted to where Asa held my hand, and her antennae quivered with interest.
“Clay and I should be going.” Asa rose with fluid grace. “We’ll pick you two up first thing.”
“Okay.” I let his fingers slide out of mine. “We’ll be ready.”
Heavy footsteps tromped out of the house onto the porch as Clay joined us.
“This kid is brilliant.” He gave Colby a miniature high-five with his pointer finger. “She would give the Kellies a run for their money.”
Flushed with praise, Colby glowed. Literally. She had been doing that a lot lately. “Thanks.”
“I’ll send you the files on the wendigo case.” Clay patted my head on his way past. “Night.”
Colby and I kept our spots while the guys exited the yard and climbed into the SUV.
The wards blipped as they passed through them, sealing us in until morning.
“Want to bake some cranberry-orange scones for breakfast?”
Angling my head toward her, I pursed my lips. “That’s an oddly specific request.”
With her restricted diet, she didn’t much care about baking. It was all pollen and sugar water for her.
“Clay said it wouldn’t hurt his feelings if we baked them.” She twitched her wings. “So, can we?”
“Why not?” I had a lot to think about and a case file to read. “We need to use the eggs before we go anyway.”
While Colby ran her mouth a mile a minute, explaining in great technical detail what she and Clay did to optimize her new laptop, I hummed agreement in the right spots as if I had a clue what any of it meant. I had avoided buying her a laptop for years in order to force her to be present when we went on trips. But I didn’t want to risk her inventing her own entertainment while we were on a case in an unfamiliar area.
Clay was right, she was brilliant, and smart kids tended to make trouble when they got bored.
Sadly, I had the feeling none of us would be bored once we got where we were going.
