Beyond Your Touch (10 page)

“Not at all,” I said.

Kate huffed. “All right. I'm in the garden. I'll meet you on the terrace. What's wrong with this girl? Spoiled as the
Princess and the Pea
?”

“No, I don't think that's it.” I looked to where Lotli waited, her feet firmly planted. I couldn't begin to figure out what was wrong. After all, she'd been living in a dilapidated bread truck with an old man. I took a deep breath. “Ah—there's an issue with the gallery wards, too.”

Kate groaned. “Have Selena tell her mother about that. I have enough to deal with already.”

When we got down to the terrace where Kate waited, Lotli explained what was wrong with the room, “It is too large—too artificial. We are used to air, the sounds of nature. At a minimum, someplace less . . . smaller and simpler.”

Kate's lips pressed into a firm line. “There are smaller rooms on the first floor. Perhaps one of them will be to your liking.”

Laura came out from the house with glasses of iced tea and a plate of her famous macaroons. She set them on the table.

“How lovely,” Lotli said, taking a glass. She enjoyed a sip, then abruptly thumped the glass down and said to Kate, “We have an idea. We'd feel comfortable in a place like that cottage by the front gate. It is more like the sort of place we are used to.”

My mouth hung open. What the fuck?

Selena's eyes went right to me, then flashed to Lotli. “Chase lives there.”

“That's all right. We don't mind being with a man.”

“I'm sure you wouldn't,” I grumbled under my breath.

Kate shot a glare my way, letting me know I'd said it louder than I intended. “I have a better idea.” She looked at Selena and me. “Why don't you two stay here while I show Lotli the library sunroom?” She took Lotli by the elbow. “There's a daybed in there. The room's quite small, mostly glass.”

Once the house door shut behind them, I clunked my iced-tea glass down on the table. “I don't mind being with a man,” I said mockingly. “She almost had me feeling sorry for her until that bullshit.”

Selena rubbed my back. “Don't worry about her, Annie. She didn't mean it the way you're thinking. She's just—different. Can you imagine growing up like that? Waiting on a shaman hand and foot, asking his permission all the time: ‘Please, can
we
do this? Can
we
do that?' It had to have screwed with her head.”

I picked up my iced tea, swirling it so the ice cubes clunked against the glass. Right now, Lotli was probably talking to Kate all sweet and innocent, trying to weasel her way into getting what she wanted. I smiled. Luckily, Kate was nobody's fool.

“I know it won't be easy for you, but I think it's up to us to show Lotli that we like her,” Selena said. “Be nice. Help her feel at home.”

I huffed. “Whatever.”

What I wanted more than anything was for Dad to call and say they were on their way home with the flute. As much as the idea of Chase and them heading into the djinn realm terrified me, the sooner that happened and they came back with Mom, the sooner my life would uncomplicate itself. Then I could get back to doing things like registering for the Sotheby's course and figuring out where I was going to stay in London. And back to morning kisses and Doughnut Olympics.

The sooner that happened, the sooner I could get Lotli out of my life.

CHAPTER 9

 

—www.MagicOf Djinn
“The Carpet Weaver's Song”

 

 

I
knew in my heart I shouldn't text Chase: the no-distraction, focus-on-training thing. But texting with him every night before bed had become a sweet habit and it felt strange not to do it, kind of cold and unfriendly.

In all honesty, I didn't think I could go to sleep without that familiar warm flutter in my chest from reading his words or hearing his voice.

I came up with the perfect text, nothing romantic.

He didn't reply. Five minutes. Then ten.

I texted my dad.

Nothing from him either. But with the time difference it was probably like four a.m. in Slovenia.

A cat yawl came from outside my bedroom door. Houdini. I let him in and he made a loop around the room, snooping everywhere as if making sure it was safe, including under the bed.

Finally, Chase replied and the flutter started tangoing around inside me.

My stomach sank and the flutter transformed into a sharp ache. It wasn't like he hadn't responded or that his texts were ever gushy, but this one left no room for dreaming that he'd change his mind about us cooling it. And he was right. And I was an idiot. He needed to have his shit together. It might very well save lives.

I shut off my bedside light and stared up at the ceiling. Houdini once again purred on the pillow next to mine. I rolled onto my side, facing him, and closed my eyes. My fingertips brushed his fur. So soft and warm.

Warm as Chase. Protective. My fingers stilled, curving until they rested against the pillow, as I drifted into sleep.

I jolted awake. My body was covered in sweat and I shivered from the coolness of the air.

Houdini stared at me from his pillow as if to say:
What the fuck's going on?

“Nothing,” I said.

I crawled out of bed, struggling to forget the nightmare's scary parts and instead replaying the good stuff, the sensation of his skin against mine, the ecstatic rhythm of our bodies. My thoughts shifted to yesterday, making love on the wooden chaise, comparing it with the dream for hotness. Dreams were fun, when they weren't frightening. No need for inhibitions or awkward moments like reaching for a—

Condom.

My subconscious backpedaled and highlighted the word:
condom
. Yesterday. The widow's walk. I hadn't picked up the used condom. I hadn't noticed Chase do it either. Oh God. If Kate—or worse yet—Grandfather went up on the widow's walk and found it!

My gaze flicked to the alarm clock on my bedside stand. It wasn't quite five o'clock yet. Everyone was most likely still asleep. I flung on my robe, shoved my lock-picking tools in a pocket, and sped into the hallway with my flashlight in hand. As I raced to the attic door, Houdini dashed ahead of me. In a second, I'd picked the lock.

“You're staying down here,” I told him, shivering against a sudden chill. I really wasn't in the mood for playing find the kitty in the attic again this morning.

I sprinted up the stairs and went out onto the widow's walk's deck. A sharp wind whipped my hair back from my face. Patches of moonlight shifted across the wooden floor and railings, and vanished as clouds whisked across the moon.

I fanned the flashlight beam toward the chaise. Sure enough, the shriveled condom and the wrapper lay right where I'd expected. Disgusting.

The breeze lulled for a heartbeat, then returned with vengeance, whistling across the rooftop and drumming against the windows and door. I clutched my robe tight, waiting for the wind to subside before I took a tissue from my pocket and collected the spent condom and wrapper. It was bizarre how gross doing that felt, when it was related to something as amazing as making love.

I tucked the bundle into my pocket and looked out at the dark ocean. I closed my eyes, focusing on the bite of the wind against my face, and strained to hear the waves against the rocks. They were quite a ways off, but still—

As the wind relented, something caught my ear. Not waves. Voices, maybe? No, Lotli's flute, its ghostly cadence climbing upward through the darkness and moonlight to where I stood. I went to the other side of the walk and peered over the railing. The entire mansion was dark, except the library sunroom, way down on the ground floor. It wasn't even that brightly lit, more like the muted waver of candlelight.

A small outline—Lotli—moved across the room's windows. Despite the distance, I might have been able to see her fairly well from my vantage point, if it weren't for the tall shrubs and gardens that surrounded the sunroom on three sides.

My breath died in my throat, as a taller and broad-shouldered outline appeared next to her. Chase? It couldn't be.

I flew back inside and down the stairs. I didn't take the servants' staircase or the kitchen elevator; the fastest route to the library sunroom was through the gallery.

I trembled. What if Olya hadn't had time to put new wards in place? It would be dark. I'd never see a shadow-genie if it were there.

Screw it.

My flashlight's beam washed across the first angel statue, sending its shadow dancing along the gallery wall. I lowered the light so the beam couldn't catch on anything that might freak me out and beelined for the other side. If there was anything otherworldly here, watching, waiting to jump out at me, I didn't want to know. I just wanted to hurry.

The pad of small footsteps loped up behind me. Houdini, I decided. They were too light to be anything else, way too light to be a shadow, maybe. Man, did that sound stupid.

A minute later, I was down the main staircase and across the foyer. I slid the flashlight into a pocket. Quiet as I could, I tiptoed to the library and slipped inside. The sunroom was to my right, near the sitting area. If I could get close enough, I'd be able to see through the French doors that opened into it.

I crept closer, around a cushioned chair. The showcase that held a display of ten-foot spears and medieval gauntlets was the only thing blocking my view of the doors. I took another step and the floor under me creaked. I froze with all my weight on one foot, listening. Nothing, not even the flute music anymore. I dared another step, and another. The murmur of voices came from the sunroom, one or maybe two people, it was impossible to be sure. One more step and I'd see who it was. I glanced around the edge of the showcase.

My stomach dropped. Someone had pulled curtains across the French doors, blocking the view. I should have expected that. Kate wouldn't have left Lotli to sleep without as much privacy as possible.

I pressed my lips into a determined line. There was another option. Well, two if I counted retreating, but that wasn't going to happen.

The carpet swished under my feet as I hurried past the leather couch to a glass door that led outside. I unlocked the door and opened it without a sound, closing it behind me with equal stealth. I stepped down onto the lawn and snuck toward the sunroom windows. Trouble was, now that I was on ground level, the head-high thicket of shrubs and plants that surrounded the sunroom totally blocked my view.

As I edged my way along the thicket, looking for an opening I could see through, the whoosh of fast footsteps against grass approached from somewhere near the woods. Definitely too loud and human to be Houdini.

I backed into the branches of the closest shrub and crouched.
Please, Hecate. Please, don't let them see me.
I clamped my eyes shut, praying and listening to the footsteps, and the murmur coming from inside the sunroom. The darkness hid me, but my lavender robe was hardly camo.

The footsteps came closer, really close, and the murmuring inside the sunroom stopped. I opened my eyes a crack in time to see Tibbs, his flashlight in hand, swoosh past and continue on into the gardens without slowing his pace.

I blew out a breath.
Thank you, Hecate
. I glanced toward the sunroom. If Tibbs's passing had startled me, it had probably done the same thing to whoever was with Lotli—if there was a someone. It was a long ways from the widow's walk—three-plus stories—down to here. Light and darkness could have played a trick on my eyes. I might have mistaken Lotli's shadow for a second person. Even if someone was with Lotli, the reason could be innocent, like she was scared and Kate was comforting her. I rolled my eyes. That would never happen.

I spotted a narrow opening in the shrubbery. I had to be totally quiet. If Lotli could blow Olya's ward to smithereens with a quick tune, zapping me into toast would take like one note. On top of that, dawn was approaching, making it easier and easier for someone to spot me.

Carefully, I shouldered my way into the gap in the shrubs until I could see through a partially open window, which explained how I'd heard the flute music in the first place. I went up on my tiptoes to get a better view. As I'd thought, the room was lit by a half dozen candles grouped on a low bench and others up on a stand. They were golden in color, beeswax most likely. In the middle of their flickering light, Lotli sat cross-legged and naked on the floor. I could see her back as well as some of her front, including a necklace she was wearing that looked like a tiny medicine bag. There was, however, no one besides her in the room and no hint that anyone had been, like a pair of wineglasses or a crumpled man's shirt. That eased the jitters in my stomach, but it did nothing to relieve my intense and ever increasing sense of ice-cold dread. She was up to something. And, whether I liked the idea of spying on a naked woman or not, I had to know what it was.

She took a candle from the low bench and stood it on the floor beside her, next to where her decorated flute already lay on a white cloth. She tilted her head and began to murmur again. In reality, it was more of a low whistle, like Sylbo except her fingers weren't in her mouth. It occurred to me that maybe I'd been wrong back at her camp. Maybe it wasn't Sylbo that Zea had used. Maybe it was some other whistling language. Something related to flute-magic. Lotli had probably gotten a good chuckle out of my assumption and smugness. She was slick, a real pro.

She picked up the flute, stroking its length, continuing to make that eerie whistling sound under her breath. She licked her lips and raised it to her mouth, and a long vibrato trembled through the air before she lowered it and began to caress it, lovingly, as one would do to a lover.

A gust of wind rushed across the lawn, rattling the leaves next to my head and the window's screen. The candlelight inside the sunroom guttered, shadows closing in around Lotli, then retreating, then surging inward again. She reached for something on the low bench, about the size and shape of a tennis ball.

Cold sweat snaked down my sides and my gut screamed at me to leave, to not watch anymore and get away while I could. But I couldn't stop. I was hypnotized. I needed to see this through. The need was so great it built inside me like a surging tide, impossible to hold back.