The Dead (The Thaumaturge Series Book 1) (16 page)

“I will, Dalh. Thanks again.”

Marcus was sitting in the recliner when I joined him in the living room. He sat up a little straighter at my approach.

“She'll let me know if she hears anything.” I said in response to his inquisitive look.

He sighed and drooped his head a little. “So what am I supposed to do now? I don't know where they are. I don't know who attacked me. I don't know why I was in the woods.”

“Marcus?” I asked, and my voice sounded loud. He looked at me in surprise, waiting for me to continue.

“I don't believe you about that,” I said, and then held up a hand when he started to protest. “No, listen. Leo's not here, okay? It's just me. I get that there are things you can't tell me. That's fine, I don't need to know your private business. But it's all very suspicious to me. You came into my store, buy a bunch of herbs that are . . . questionable . . . and then you put a spell on me that almost got me killed, and
then
I find you half dead in the woods. It's suspicious, don't you think?”

“You keep saying that,” he said, his eyes very green and very serious. “Half-dead. I'm fine, though, not a scratch on me. What aren't
you
telling
me
?”

I froze, my mind suddenly blanking. He waited for a beat and when I didn't respond, he leaned forward in the recliner. “I mean, I woke up here. I don’t remember anything. For all I know, you kidnapped me.”

I didn’t respond and didn’t look at him. Half-formed, flimsy explanations raced through my head. Marcus gave a little nod, like I had confirmed something he had been thinking, and leaned back into the chair.

“So there we are, Ebron. You tell me yours and I'll tell you mine.” His voice was neutral, but when I looked at him, he couldn't help giving me a satisfied quirk of his eyebrow.

“I have things to do,” I said in reply, and the smugness in his face dimmed a little.

“What?”

“I have some calls to make. And errands to run. Do you want to come with me? You can stay here if you want, but maybe we'll bump into your witches.”

His eyebrows drew in and his mouth opened, as though he was affronted, but the annoyed expression passed and he just gave a small, one shouldered shrug. “All right. Is there a Starbucks here?”

“No,” I said, and I couldn't help chuckling a little as I went to grab my keys.

Cody didn't answer when I called him and I hung up, gazing thoughtfully at the phone in my hand. Two seconds later, the phone buzzed and it was him, calling me back.

“Hey,” I said. I got up off my bed and went to shut the door. Marcus was still in the kitchen, cleaning blood off of his shoes. I didn't think he could hear me, but I didn't want take the chance.

“I wasn't going to answer,” Cody said, and he sounded strange. Guarded.

“Yeah, I figured,” I said, wincing a little.

“I just don't know what to say to you.”

“Okay.”

There was nothing but silence for a little bit and the sound of him breathing. Because it was Cody, and I figured he could out-silence me way longer than I could out-silence him, I said, “I fixed him, in case you were wondering.”

There was a burst of loud exhalation, like Cody had been holding his breath.

“Ebron,” he said, drawing out my name in exasperation. “Really, I - I don't know what to say.”

“How did you know, anyway, Cody? Who told you?” Yeah, this was not going the way I had planned. I had wanted to reassure him, calm him down, convince him that the gutted body we'd found was no big deal. Now I could hear the angry edge in my own voice, and I sighed.

“People talk,” he replied. A pause. “There's always rumors about you, man.” Another pause, and then he said quietly, “I used to shoot pool with Brian Anderson.”

That surely was supposed to mean something to me, but the Brian Anderson I knew did taxes at H&R Block. Nice enough guy, but - oh. Then I remembered. He had called four years ago to help his father-in-law. His father-in-law who had been struck by a stray bullet while out hunting.

“Yeah, okay,” I said. “You talked to Brian.”

“Some people think you're some kind of witch.”

I laughed, low and without humor. “I promise you, I am not a witch, Cody. I know that for sure.”

“So it's true. You can . . .” he trailed off.

“Yes,” I said. “I can bring people back from the dead. Animals too. Remember that skunk I had when I was a kid?”

“Jesus Christ, Ebron.”

“So you're saying a lot of people know? Brian Anderson is running his mouth?”

“No. He had a few one night and he knows that we're cousins. He didn't say anything to anyone else. He even called me the next day to tell me to keep it quiet. But people know, anyway, Ebron. People talk.”

“Yeah, I know. So what do you think I should do? Do you think I should stop?” I didn't know why I said that. It must have been floating in my subconscious, but I had never thought about stopping before. Not really.

He sighed. “No, I don't know. Not if you're helping people. I mean, you got a gift, right? You have to help people if you can.”

“I don't want people to know.” I heard footsteps approaching my bedroom door and I stood up. “One sec, Cody.”

Marcus was standing outside the door, his fist raised to knock.

“What?” I hissed at him, holding the phone against my chest.

“Sorry. Just checking on you.” He gave me a little smile, which faded when I didn't smile back.

“I'm fine.” It came out a growl. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I'm fine. I'll be right there, okay?”

He nodded, and turned back down the hall, looking over his shoulder at me and smiling in a way that shouldn't have made my stomach flutter, but did.

“Cody?” I said back in to the phone.

“Yeah, Ebron, I got to go. Just give me some time, okay? We'll talk later.”

I took a deep breath. “I'm sorry, Cody.”

“Don't be.” there was another pause. Then, “I'm really proud of you, Ebron. Seriously, man. I'm proud.”

My chest tightened and I felt tears threatening at the back of my throat.

“Thanks.” I managed to grunt into the phone, and hung up before I could embarrass myself. I took shaky, ragged breaths that could have easily become sobs if I hadn't shoved them away. That word always got to me.

When I was in control, more or less, I rubbed the heel of my hand into my eyes, grinding away the tears, and headed back out to deal with the annoyingly sexy formerly dead witch.

I felt weirded out by having someone new in my truck. Leo and Cody never mentioned the accumulation of garbage and life debris that populated the passenger’s seat, but I couldn’t very well ask Marcus to sit on candy wrappers and old receipts. Marcus waited by the open door, blowing into his cupped hands as I brushed crumbs off the bench seat and scooped a pile of junk into the back. I mashed it all down with my fist, making a heap of empty Red Bull cans, mismatched work gloves, work invoices, and an individually wrapped neon green toothbrush from my last dentist visit. Marcus wrinkled his nose, but he got in. The deer carcass still rattled around in the back, and I hoped he didn't comment on it. Not that he remembered how exactly he'd arrived the night before.

Marcus stared out the window with interest as we drove through town. The blistering cold of the previous few days had given way to weak sunlight, melting the snow into muddy piles of slush along the sidewalks. I expected the temperature to rise again in the next few days, spiking up in small heat waves until finally succumbing to the freeze of real winter. For now, though, the clouds hung heavy in the gray sky, threatening rain. The dim light and dreariness made it feel like early evening, like we’d never see the sun again.

The weather sure wasn't doing Heckerson any favors. It was a ranching town, after all, built around the railroad and spreading out in one long line that had gradually expanded out into more modern, but modest, neighborhoods. The main street, the center of the historic district, was lined with brick buildings with Victorian architecture, which had once probably been lovely but now had the vibe of an aging prostitute. There had been money here, both from the railroad and from the cattle, but it was long gone now and the once beautiful buildings looked wilted, like antique weddings dresses.

In the summer, the streets felt festive, with bright flowers and colorful flags on every light post. Montana really shined in the summer. But late autumn was perhaps the harshest, with nothing but gray light and soggy streets. Even the lights within the stores seemed weak and tepid, lacking any of the warm comfort I usually associated with them.

“How many people live here?” Marcus asked me, and his tone held both sympathy and confusion for the poor denizens of this depressing place. At the moment, I didn't really blame him for his low opinion of Heckerson.

“A few thousand,” I said. “If you count all the people who live out of town on the ranches.”

“Ah,” he said, though I could tell from the way his brows drew together that his understanding of ranches was minimal.

“My family are ranchers.” I said, just to keep the conversation going. I kind of liked making him uncomfortable.

He turned and looked at me. I had the heater going full blast, but the air it pushed out was lukewarm, at best. Marcus hunched over on himself, his hands wedged between his own thighs and the collar of his coat - my coat - up to his ears.

“You're a . . . rancher?” he asked, struggling for the right vernacular.

“No. I'm not. My family has a ranch, but I only help out for branding and calving. Ranching is pretty big here,” I said, stating the obvious. The bank we were presently driving past was called The Stockmen's.

“Did you -” he broke off, looking away.

“What?” I said, interested. “Did I what?”

“Nothing. I was just wondering how you ended up owning the herb shop?”

“Oh. Did I go to college, you mean?”

He didn't miss the edge to my voice, and when I glanced at him, I could see that he was embarrassed.

“No,” I said, making my voice casual. “It was never really an option.”

“Why not?”

I was surprised he pursued it, but I imagined he was one of those people for whom getting a college education was simply the natural way of things. Probably
not
having a degree was unusual to his family and friends.

“Just . . . too much money. Too far away. I didn't know what I wanted. People like me don't go to college.”

He remained quiet for a moment, then said cautiously, “I saw the bookshelves in your living room. You have classics next to college texts next to Clive Cussler novels.”

“So?”

“Just an observation.”

“I like to read,” I said defensively.

“Hey.” he pulled his hands out from between his knees and held them up, patting the air in front of him as though I was an angry dog. “I'm not trying to offend you. I was just going to say -”

“What?”

“Not going to college doesn't make you uneducated.”

I looked at him sharply, at his enormous green eyes that lacked any traces of mockery, at the slight five o'clock shadow coming in on his jaw, at the strong bones in his face. I wanted to snarl something at him that would hurt him, make him back off, but there was such innocent sincerity in his voice that I bit back the harsh replies on the tip of my tongue.

“So where did you go to school?” I asked instead, trying to keep my voice even. “Harvard? Yale? Oxford?”

“No, I went to the University of Colorado. UC Boulder.”

“And you studied . . . what? Religion?”

No,” he said softly, and I could hear the undercurrent of anger in his voice. But I still didn't look at him. “I have a bachelor's degree in engineering.”

“Engineering?” He might as well said accounting or dentistry, it was so ordinary. I glanced at him and saw he fuming.

“Yes,” he snapped.

“Why are you upset?”

“Because you -” he waved a hand, his anger making him inarticulate. “Because you think so poorly of me. I'm a joke to you. Some rich kid playing around with witchcraft, like it's theater camp, or LARPing or something. You think I'm stupid.”

“I don't,” I said seriously. “I really don't. Maybe you think you’re playing around but I think you're dangerous, and I think maybe you don't realize that you are.”

That stopped him, and he looked at me imploringly for a second, his eyebrows raised and his face a question. Then he turned away, focusing out the window and I concentrated on the icy roads, turning down the street and driving towards the meat processor's.

There were already several trucks lined up outside of Moretti’s Meats and I pulled my pick-up alongside them. An enormous set of antlers rose up out of the bed of the truck beside mine, attached to an equally enormous elk. I whistled in appreciation.

“That's a beauty,” I said, as Marcus twisted in his seat, craning his neck to see into the bed. He looked back at me with wide eyes.

I smiled at the blatant shock on his face, and he smiled back a little sheepishly.

“City boy,” I teased and his grin grew a little wider. He ducked his head, looking at me from under his lashes. Damn it, it fucking worked; I felt my stomach twist a little, and a thread of interest worked its way downwards.

Several minutes later, as I helped a teenager wearing a blood-splattered smock drag the doe from the back of my own truck, I found myself staring at the pools of blood and a shudder went through me. Most of the blood in the truck belonged to the man sitting in the cab, his curious face looking back at me.

I returned to the truck feeling shaken, the sight of the blood a reminder that there were serious problems for me to deal with, and that as much as I was attracted to him, Marcus was in all likelihood someone I couldn't trust, someone who possibly was an enemy. He had almost gotten me killed, and his coven could be, even now, preparing to move against me. Maybe. Maybe I wasn't the target at all. I felt helplessly confined by my own lack of knowledge.

“So they'll butcher it for you?” he asked when I slid back behind the wheel.

“Yep. Everything will be all neatly packaged for me and I'll have meat for the rest of the year.”