Blood of the Wicked (16 page)

“I think so.” She eyed him, and in the daylight streaming through the windows, he saw her eyes were dark, dark brown. Steady and sure. Older than he’d thought.

Old in a strange, knowing sense.

Silas looked away, frowning as he took in the wooden bed frame, the odds and ends that filled every square inch of every surface. Pictures, old and worn toys. Wooden carvings and vases, some with flowers in them. He saw scarves arrayed over one wall, a riot of colors and patterns, and the windows glowed with variations of glass in each pane.

Only the smooth wooden floor had space to move in, and even this gave way to ancient rocking horses, antique chairs, and stools that hadn’t seen a revival since before the earthquake.

A collector? A survivor?

“Who
are
you?”

“On the bed, please.” Matilda bent over the mattress and pulled down the blankets, patting it. “Let me see to your lady.”

“She’s—” Not his lady? Silas frowned, shook his head. He lowered Jessie to the mattress. “What can I do?”

“Get her undressed and tucked in. I’ll be back with water and gauze.”

Silas nodded, but she was already leaving the cottage. Hurriedly, gently as he knew how, he unzipped Jessie’s jacket and tried to be as objective as he could as he slid it down her cold arms. Her gray camisole fell over her shoulder, its broken strap dangling, and he peeled it over her head with a muffled curse.

He’d buy her another one. Hell, he’d buy her a hundred, all in different colors. She barely stirred as he tackled her jeans, her boots.

When a glint of silver fell out of one black boot and clattered to the floor, he barely registered the sound. His mouth dry, he tucked Jessie’s long, cold limbs under the covers. Let his fingers smooth over her skin, thumb her bottom lip at the small scab there.

She was alive. Thank God, thank Matilda, thank whomever, she was alive.

Silas edged away. Grunting, he jerked his foot up when something hard and raised wedged into the sole of his wet shoe.

The silver leaf embedded into the tread didn’t look like anything he’d seen before. Had he ever seen Jessie wear it? He didn’t think so, but he hadn’t spent a lot of time admiring her taste in jewelry.

As he ran the cold metal through his fingers, the door creaked open behind him. “Out of my way,” Matilda ordered, and set a steaming bowl of water down by the mattress. He obeyed, suddenly feeling overly large, overly clumsy. Overly in the way.

The older woman touched Jessie’s wounded neck, her chest. Her stomach. Picking up her wrist, Matilda tilted her head, and then slid a shrewd glance toward him. “How are you feeling?”

Like he’d fallen thousands of feet through nothing and slammed into a steering wheel on impact. Silas grimaced, thumb running over the thin metal between his fingers. “I’m fine.”

Her eyes gleamed. “Really.”

“Look, is Jessie—”

“Yes.” She pointed at him. “Listen here, young man. One thing I don’t tolerate in this house is falsehoods.” She turned her back, unfolded a towel, and dipped it into the steaming water. “So when I ask, ‘How are you feeling?’ you would do well to say . . . ?”

His fingers stilled over the warmed silver trinket. A dull, throbbing burn crept up his chest. His face. His ears. Feeling a hell of a lot like a kid caught smuggling candy in class, Silas very gently put the pendant on the table beside him and reluctantly admitted, “Ribs took a beating, left knee’s going to lock up. My head hurts, face feels like it was hit with a brick, but all due respect, ma’am”—he nodded at the bed—“I just want her okay.”

“Mm-hmm.” A noncommittal sound, if he’d ever heard one. Then she smiled. “She’ll be all right. You get out of my hair, now. There’s a hot pool out behind the house you should soak in. Does wonders for an aching body.”

So that was the smell. The odd mix of sulfur and something sweet and cinnamon, something humid and warm. Silas watched her peel back the blankets and lay the hot towel over Jessie’s chest.

Should he be reassured that she didn’t sound concerned? Should he leave her?

Did he have a choice?

Maybe. The seed began to germinate, unfurl slowly. Maybe this was as safe as she’d get. Maybe this was where he could convince her to stay until he came back.

“Matilda.”

“Mmm?”

He hesitated. What the hell could he say that would matter? There weren’t enough words. “Thank you,” he managed. He’d never meant it so much in his life.

Dark eyes flicked to him. Sparkled. “Out,” she commanded, imperiousness and impatience shoved into one royal syllable. “Come back in an hour and we’ll dress those wounds.”

Wounds? Right. The cuts, the bullet graze. Everything else he didn’t want to, couldn’t deal with right now. Silas thumbed the bridge of his nose.

And he went. Because what the hell else was he going to do?

Chapter Seventeen

T
he rain drummed a musical beat against the thin metal sheet protecting the refurbished office from the elements. Each note shimmered like a tiny gong, sweet and oddly cheerful, but it didn’t take the edge out of the air.

Didn’t take the sting out of Alicia’s catlike smile.

Caleb stood casually in front of the scavenged desk, his blond hair shadowing one eye. It was too long these days. In his way. He jerked it out of his face as he ignored the raven-haired witch beside him. Instead he focused on the man who stood behind the polished desk, hands clasped almost military-style at the small of his back as he studied a large, old-fashioned map pinned to the reinforced wall.

Curio, they called him. Not much of a name. A witch didn’t need much of a name, Caleb reflected grimly, when he had that much power and skill.

And a stern finger in every pie.

The man didn’t suit this half-exposed office with its two standing walls and rigged ceiling. Curio’s hair had once been brown, but silver now dominated most of it. His chiseled features suggested an iron disposition etched into his genes, and though lines softened the planes of his face now, Caleb had never made the mistake of thinking him soft.

The coven master was many things—genial, intelligent, manipulative, thorough—but
soft
had never been on that list.

Caleb cleared his throat. He had no doubt the man knew he and Alicia stood there. Had been there for a full five minutes already, and that after being summoned to his chosen headquarters.

Games. Always the games.

Power, the kind that really suckered people, didn’t just come through magic. The man was savvy as hell.

Curio didn’t turn around. He didn’t take his eyes off the out-of-date map as he finally drew in a long, audible breath. “I’m afraid,” he said by way of greeting, “that we have good news and bad news to contend with.”

Alicia stirred. “What would you have of us, master?”

Caleb’s lip curled. Greedy, suck-up of a woman.

“First, the good news.” Curio turned, and his elegantly martial features were pleasant. Never a true indication, Caleb knew.

He didn’t relax. Not inwardly. Outwardly he gave every appearance of being at ease, of being comfortable. But only the dead really got comfortable in Old Seattle.

He’d buried more than a few after all.

Curio stared at him, his pale, pale blue eyes sharp as the edge of a knife. “Caleb,” he said, and smiled. Not the pointed, eat-you smile Alicia favored, but something warmer. Friendlier. “Caleb, I’m pleased to say that your sister has been found.”

It took every last iota of willpower Caleb had to return his gaze calmly, to raise his eyebrows and project interest. Curiosity, instead of sudden dread. “Oh?” It was a poor substitute for leaping across the desk and shoving the knife he kept in his sleeve into the man’s throat.

This was not in the plan.

“That’s great news,” Alicia all but purred. She nudged Caleb with an elbow. “When can we get her?”

Curio’s eyes didn’t shift from Caleb, even as he directed his words to Alicia. “Your enthusiasm pleases me, my dear, but that segues us nicely into the bad news.”

Around his thudding heart, a tiny sliver of hope had Caleb mentally crossing his fingers. In witchcraft, everything counted. “What would that be, sir?” he asked, deliberately putting concern into his tone. Into his eyes.

Lying had never taken too much effort. Jessie’d taught him everything he knew.

He used it well.

“What,” Alicia chuckled, slanting him a look laced with menace. “You can’t see the future?”

He ignored her.

So did the coven master. Caleb could all but feel anger rising from her in clawed waves as her barbs failed to find the soft target she aimed for. Control wasn’t her specialty.

Her knife would lance out of the dark one day. But not yet.

Curio leaned down, bracing both palms against the desk in a pose typical for him. Frustration, maybe. Annoyance.

Suspicion.

The man was flexing muscle. Why?

Caleb caught himself chewing on the inside of his lip. “Sir?” he prompted.

“Caleb.” Curio took a deep breath. Let it out in a long, low hum. “I appreciate everything you do for us, I’ve said this before.”

Caleb’s brow furrowed. “Yes, sir.” Shit. What had he done wrong?

“I look forward to a future with you at my side. This I have also said.”

Caleb nodded. Once. Beside him, Alicia’s teeth audibly ground together.

“Therefore,” the older man continued, pushing himself upright, “I find myself in a position where I regret the words coming from my mouth today.”

Get to it
, Caleb thought grimly. The man was prevaricating. What the
hell
had Caleb done that would piss off Curio? He’d been entirely too careful with everything,
everything
. There was no way—

“Caleb, did you attack a witch hunter today?”

Caleb stilled. Every muscle in his body tensed. Lie? No. He stared into Curio’s knowing, patient eyes and knew the man already had his answer.

Well. Truth, then. Caleb nodded. “I did.”

“What?” Alicia rounded on him. “Who? When?”

Curio raised a hand, silencing her as effectively as a gag. But he didn’t look at her. Didn’t see the fury that stamped itself on her fine features. “I respect your initiative. That hunter killed four of our own, and I know John was a friend.”

Caleb’s mouth tightened.

“I can understand and sympathize with your anger,” Curio continued quietly. Almost gently, damn him. “But you should have been more careful.”

“With all due respect,” Caleb said, leashing back a rising tide of anger, of impatience, “I don’t understand what the problem is. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Curio came out from around the desk, his broad frame clad in casual slacks and a neat sweater. He looked like someone’s distinguished father, or some kind of nautical gentleman. Not the leader of a witch’s coven, and certainly not like a man the city would one day learn to fear.

Caleb knew better. It took effort not to clench his fists.

“That hunter,” Curio said as he stopped in front of both witches, “was not alone. One of our search parties located Jessica and tracked her to an apartment in mid-city.”

Caleb stiffened. “Wasn’t alone?” Hell! Was he too late, after all? Had the bastard found his sister and— Now his fists clenched. “Did he kill her? Did we lose our chance?”

It couldn’t be possible. He’d
know
if his sister was dead.

Wouldn’t he?

The coven master stared at him for a long, silent moment. Searched his face. His voice was somber as he replied, “That hunter killed two more, and Brian barely escaped. But at last report, she was alive. And
with
that missionary at the time of your attack.”

It took a moment, longer than it should have, but when it sank in, it did with claws. He reeled. Tried to keep it off his face, and knew he’d failed.

He’d been too late. Jessie was in the truck when he’d sent the damned thing over the railing. She’d been with the hunter already, maybe even tied up and unable to help herself when Smith’s body had turned the wheel against his will.

Hundreds of feet. Thousands of feet.

Did Caleb just kill his sister? Expend all of that hoarded power to overcome the damned Mission seal for
nothing
?

“No,” he said hoarsely. He scraped both hands over his face. “I thought it was just him. I didn’t think—Damn it. I messed up. I’m sorry, sir, I—”

Warm, callused hands settled on his shoulders and gave him a small shake. “Caleb, my friend.” Curio’s voice was strong. Bolstering, even warm. “You acted rashly, but in good faith. And, perhaps to fate’s credit, Jessica Leigh is not dead.”

Relief cut deep, a double-edged sword. “Where?” he demanded. He gripped Curio’s sweater in one fist, intensity burning through him. “Where is she?”

Alicia wrapped one hand around his shoulder as she said, “We’ll retrieve her together, won’t we?”

Very gently Curio disengaged Caleb’s hand from his collar. “I’m afraid not,” he said. Too softly. All apology. “Caleb, I know you meant well, but you cost me time and considerable effort. I’ve sent out teams already. We don’t know where she landed, but we know her soul hasn’t fled.” The implication was clear.

They’d
find her. Not him. He’d be removed from this task, from his sister’s trail, leaving him blind and dependent on the reports of others. Damn it.

Caleb straightened, shrugging off Alicia’s hand, and rapidly recalculated everything he knew. Time. Effort. Words.
Plans
.

He had one shot, one sliver of an opportunity, at doing this right. The knowledge caused a cold sweat to gather between his shoulder blades.

“All right,” he said. Nodding, brow furrowed, he met Curio’s pale blue eyes. “I’ll gather the items for the ritual and begin prep. We should begin the purification of the site, at least, in case they find her quickly. That’ll take a day, less if it’s as untouched as claimed.”

Curio’s smile warmed as he stepped back. “Good. I’m glad you understand. Begin immediately and requisition anything you need. And, Mr. Leigh?”

Caleb paused mid-turn, glancing over his shoulder. Already half gone on preparation, it took him a moment to realize that Curio waited for him. For his full, undivided attention.

He turned back around, faced the desk. “Yes, sir?”

Curio placed the very tips of his fingers together. Pointed them subtly at him. “If you ever act without my permission again,” he said in his deep, quiet voice, “I will personally peel the skin from your bones. Is that clear?”

Caleb’s hands ached from the strain of keeping them from curling into fists. His jaw shifted, teeth gritted, but he bent his head. “Yes, sir,” he said tightly. “I’m sorry.”

“Apologies, while appreciated, will not bring Jessica Leigh to us. If she had died, we would have to begin all over again. That is not time easily regained.”

“Yes, sir,” Caleb repeated. God damn it. He knew this.

Curio inclined his head. “I trust you appreciate the gravity of the situation. Do not fail me again. We need your sister.”

“I know, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Caleb turned, ignoring Alicia as she loitered behind him. Fear, worry, anxiety all clamored at the back of his mind. Knowing that time was running out, he fled the office.