Curio (54 page)
Granddad's shop bustled with the cleaning efforts of five people. The twins, who'd been dumped on the Haward doorstep along with Father, moved about the store with a strange confidence, given their short but recent time in the Chemist tower.
Grey didn't quite understand the dynamic between the brother and sister and Whit. The three of them split their time between the mercantile and the hunting outpost. Maverick was surly but sharp, always adding a new angle to the plans Haimon hatched. Whit and Marina spent as much time yelling at each other as they did kissing. Every time Grey rounded a corner and found them tangled together, she would smile and tiptoe away. It was good to see the weight lifted from Whit's shoulders, if only for a few moments.
A similar burden pressed on Grey. The news that Banner lived, along with countless other Defenders in the tower, made their next move tricky. But they were not without allies, not without resources, and not without hope.
“Take these down to the lab.” Haimon handed Grey a crate of darkened Council devices. “Blaise'll want them.”
Leaving the noise and activity behind, she shuffled to the back room, set the box down a moment, and lifted the table and rug concealing the trapdoor. Her mark zinged the instant her foot met the top stair, and an answering clatter of tools evidenced Blaise's reaction to her nearness.
She lugged the box down to the cellar, averting her eyes from the chair in the center of the room and the bellows and tubing of an exsanguinator lying on a trunk nearby. She'd know the ins and outs of that device soon enough. She let her eyes move to the rumpled blankets nested on the couch against the far wall, where Blaise spent his nights.
Now he sat before tools and device components spread out on the counter before him. He turned to greet her, pushing a clunky pair of magnifying glasses up into his hair. The ghost of his Mad Tock persona remained in the gesture, whispering to Grey of exhilarating flight and the thrill of being pressed against him. He wore charcoal trousers, and his shirt was half buttoned as though he'd lost interest in such a mundane task somewhere mid-chest. Bare feet hooked onto the base of the stool below him.
Warmth stole up her neck and into her cheeks, nearly erasing her errand. “Haimon sent these down.” She slid the box onto the counter beside him. “What are you doing with them?”
“Investigating their workings. Learning their secrets.” He lifted a small phonograph from the box, and as he did so his shirtsleeve slid back, revealing a fresh bandage in the crook of his elbow.
“How exactly are you doing that?” Grey moved close for a better look.
With his thumb, he slid open a small compartment on the phonograph. Brownish dust filtered out of the slot before
he closed it and began turning the crank on the side. Tinny voices drifted from the amplifying horn along with a faint puff of green vapor. Grey's thoughts grew hazy and she shook her head to line them up once again.
“How does Chemia affect its operation?”
Blaise added it to a pile of similar devices and started to scratch his head. When the magnifying glasses interfered, he yanked them from his scalp and added them to the clutter. “My guess is they use it for mass mind suggestion. Perhaps to convey messages to a room of people without their conscious knowledge. The question is, can we use it to our advantage?”
“You're making weapons.” She let her hand slide down his shoulder, over the bulge of his biceps to the bandage wrapped around his elbow. “And you're using Chemia to do it.”
He lowered his head, refusing to meet her gaze. “Haimon and I are in the unique position of being able to understand our enemy's power. The same evil lurks within us. Well, more so in me than him.”
Grey slid between his knees and lifted his face, her thumb pressed to the indentation in his chin. “Your Chemia does not make you evil, Blaise.” She released his chin and planted her hands on his shoulders. “When have you ever used it to hurt another? I can see what it costs you to use it now, and it's your reluctance to abuse power that will keep you from the dark path of the Chemists.”
Near-black eyes searched hers. “You're wrong.” His fingers drifted to her abdomen, splaying over the material of her shirt. The mark on her skin danced beneath his touch. “It's this connection and my efforts to deserve such an honor that will keep my Chemia in check.” His hands moved to lock around her hips, and he dropped his forehead to rest against her chest. For a moment his ragged breathing burned
through the cotton of her blouse, but then he straightened, twisting back to the counter.
“I want to show you something. Haimon and I have been working on this.” He tapped a glass ampule with murky liquid inside.
Grey took a steadying breath and forced her attention to the vial. “What is it?”
He rose from the stool and gently pulled her to his side. His fingers traced the chain on her neck down to the glass key. “May I?” When she nodded he lifted it over her head and twisted the bow from the blade. With the precise movements of a surgeon, he tipped the hollow shaft over the potion, letting a red drop fall.
An instant change widened Grey's eyes. The potion turned a delicate silver and sent up lace-like wisps of vapor. Blaise fastened the key together once again.
“Haimon and Olan were on the right course, but even if they had combined the different types of blood, they lacked the power of Chemia to influence the elements.” He swiveled to face her. “Your blood is the key. The Defender trait overcame the potion dependence.”
“Just as your Defender blood subdues your Chemia.”
He nodded. “This could be the cure. Not a replicated potion, but an end to the dependence.”
Grey couldn't help the movement of her eyes. They darted to the chair and the exsanguinator. A shiver shook her to the core.
“I'll be here, Grey. By your side, the whole time.” Blaise tilted her chin up. “I won't take too much.” He chuckled. “Or give too much this time. Bit by bit, we'll make magic with our veins.”
His head angled and she leaned in to meet his lips. Her mark ignited the moment their mouths connected, and
judging from the way he crushed her close, his burned white-hot as well. His warm hands left her back long enough to clear tools and devices from the countertop. Then he lifted her to sit on the workspace, breaking away to slip the key back over her head. His lips followed the path of the chain down her collarbone and she buried her fingers in his silky black hair. At the creak of the trapdoor, he groaned into the hollow of her throat, but pulled his head up. Hands braced on either side of her hips, he nipped in for a quick kiss before turning toward the sound of footsteps.
Whit stood with Marina at his side. Grey and Blaise lurked in the doorway between the back room and the front of the shop. Grey's apple cheeks were rosy, her chignon loose, and Blaise had a distracted look that would've earned him a ribbing if they knew each other better. Maverick eyed Whit over the top of Marina's dark head, then they both faced Steinar and Haimon across the waist-high display case.
Steinar set a small, tarnished flask on the surface between them. “Defenders arise when they are needed, and we have need of them now.” He nodded to the flask. “The wellspring water my father brought from the Old Country benefits all who drink it, but some it chooses to make into warriors. My father learned to discern common characteristics among those the water chose. Bravery, compassion, loyalty, a certain disregard for personal health and safety.”
Marina snorted. “Sounds like you, Whit.”
“Yes, it does, doesn't it?” Steinar's tone remained serious. “That's why I've decided to give the remaining drops to Whit, and to you, Marina and Maverick, in hopes that the courage I see in all of you is the sign of mighty Defender hearts.”
Whit's lungs stilled. A Defender. He could be like Grey and Steinar? He could be strong as Olan had been, without the help of a dealer's mind-altering potion? He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets to hide their shaking. Marina and Maverick stared at the flask.
“What if it doesn't work? What will happen to us?” Maverick laid a hand on the glass as if he wanted to reach for the water but didn't dare.
“You will be strengthened and restored regardless of whether the water quickens inside you. By itself, it doesn't erase the effects of the Chemiaâit must be mixed with Defender blood to mitigate that curseâbut all other maladies, it alleviates.”
Maverick withdrew his hand and folded his arms over his chest. “Why offer us this curative now?”
“The treaty is broken. The time to overthrow the Chemists has come. With your help we can free our Defender brothers and sisters from the tower, and with Blaise and Haimon's efforts, and Grey's uncommon gift, we can end the suffering around us.”
Whit flattened his palms on the glass and leaned in. “I'll do it.”
Steinar nodded. “I knew you would.”
Marina nudged her shoulder into his side, smiled up at him, then turned to Steinar. “I'm in too.”
Maverick's quick eyes made a circuit of the assembled faces then landed on Grey's father. “I trust you, Steinar.”
Haimon slid three small glasses onto the countertop as Steinar unscrewed the lid of the flask. Blaise and Grey moved closer as Steinar dropped a mouthful of clear liquid into each glass. Doubt scooped hollows in Whit's chest as he reached for the water. This was the last of the precious wellspring water, and Steinar believed in the three of them enough to bestow it on them.
Let me be worthy.
Whit raised the glass to his lips and tipped it back. Liquid slid down his throat, sweet and pungent, leaving a strange spice on his tongue. He lowered the glass to the counter and stared at it, his focus narrow and inward.
A spark flared just behind his navel. The energy spread outward from his core, singing through his veins and wrapping his muscles with layers of strength. He looked up to see Marina smiling, hands pressed to her midsection and tears spilling down her cheeks. On the other side of her Maverick stared at his hands, clenching and unclenching them, his mouth hanging open.
Grey stepped forward and squeezed his shoulder. “Welcome to the family, Mighty Defenders.”
I
couldn't have done it without . . .
An often-repeated but so-necessary phrase. I'll give it my own spin. I would've died alone in a pile of questionable trail mix without my husband, boys, mom, and brother. Kory, Caedmon, Finn, Mom, and Case, you all made this possible. Thank you.
To my sisters in the inkâBrandy Vallance, Carla Laureano, and Cindi Madsenâyou have taught me so much about writing, about myself, about bravery, about Henry Cavill. Nearly all of these things have been useful.
There would only be words in a document and in my brain and in indecipherable midnight notes on my iPhone without Jacque Alberta and the Blink team. Thank you for collecting and curating the good words and cutting or curing the bad ones. I'm honored to be in the Blink family.
Kirk DouPonce, your cover art is a gift.
To the mentors and friends who eased the journey with encouragement, prayers, caffeine, margaritas, chocolate, and other magical potions, thank you for valuing my writing, my sanity, and me. Beth Vogt, Mary Agius, Beth Jusino, Lisa Bergren, Beth DeVore, Jeanne Takenaka, Kim Woodhouse, and Karen Ball, you ladies have made the difference.
I am ever enchanted with the notion of grace, with the ideals of love, bravery, and sacrifice. These exist only because of the One who sets eternity in our hearts. To Him I owe the space and beats of my own heart.
