Dance By Midnight (2 page)

"Okay we'll call that a no." She reached out to my head and where she touched, it hurt. I winced. "Sorry. Looks like she might have rammed your head into that marble. Concussion…probably why you look like hammered shit. Is your mom nearby? Got a cell we can call her on?"

I cleared my throat. "Not a kid. Twenty-six."

Her eyes widened. "Wow…I need more light, cause you look really young. And you…." She sat back, and then scrambled back, kicking up leaves and dirt in her rush to get away from me.

I was light headed and the pounding between my ears intensified. My palms itched (no jokes, please) and felt warm, like holding them over an open fire.

"What…what the hell
are
you?" She held up her hand and a large, complicated pentagram appeared between us. It spun like a combination lock as she concentrated on it. To the right, then the left, then back to the right.

My eyelids felt like lead. I looked at her through slits. Yeah, I was going to pass out. I was gonna faint in front of this hot chick in a short skirt and she was going to bash my head in with her kick ass boots. "Tourist." I managed to say.

She spoke as she watched the pentagram. "Dude…you're not just some tourist. Tourists don't glow the way you're—" Her eyes widened as she dismissed the huge star, got on her feet and came close again. "Oh man…so that's why that Cherubim was here messing where she shouldn't be." She gave me a half smile. Her hair was long and brushed over her arms. "My
dex
says you're a child of the God Mother!"

Yippie?

A FACE FOR SORE EYES

I sort of jolted awake. My arms and knees came up as I tried to get my balance. Something wet and cold slipped off my face. I didn't know where I was, when I was, how I was—

"Hey, relax. Nothing's getting through to this place, 'kay? Just take a few deep breaths. I think that Cherubim cracked your skull—but if I remember right—yours is a commodity harder than granite."

I
knew
that voice. The sound of it brought back a boat load of images. A red headed woman smiling, a small blonde 'tweener, a window full of twinkling crystals and a doll called a
Cozen
—

When I opened my eyes I zeroed in on a face I hadn't seen in years. "Mike?"

He grinned down at me. It was him. A friend I'd met and chummed around with in Roswell, Georgia. We'd hit it off and shared a few beers, did a bit of ghost hunting, and even managed to diffuse a cursed object. "You recognize me. I figure that's a good thing, means your head's okay. Nothing scrambled."

Oh he didn't know the half of it. "Mike…." My smile turned upside down. "What're you doing in Savannah?" I tried to sit up again. "We're still in Savannah right?"

He put a hand on my shoulder again and gave it a gentle push so I would lay back down. "Yeah we're still here. We're at my place in Madison Square. Old town. Sam's got the townhouse warded like Fort Knox so like I said, no Cherubim's getting to you."

"Sam?"

"Samantha. She said an Angel was beating you up in the graveyard. Now, I remember a lot of things from back in Roswell, but I never figured you'd go picking fights with Angels."

The things he said weren't congruent with the things I remembered. "You…
know
about the Ethereals?"

"I know about the planes, if that's what you're asking. Still learning the hierarchy. Five planes. Remember you used to tell me that? Physical, Mental, Astral, Ethereal and Abysmal." He grinned again. Mike had grown a scraggly beard and his hair was longer now, over his ears. "Been over two years since I saw you. You disappeared from the radar." Mike pursed his lips as he twisted his head toward his right shoulder. "You look different, Dags. I almost didn't recognize you."

"I look different?" I was in a bed, my shirt missing—in fact everything was missing!—in what looked like a spare bedroom. I figured that because a few cardboard boxes were stacked in the farthest corner, blinds covered the windows, and a set of golf clubs were propped up by a closet door. Sticking out of the closet was a weight bench and accessories. I poked at his upper arm. It felt like steel under his skin. "You been working out?" I wasn't joking. Mike was wearing a 'wife beater' t-shirt and he looked like a body builder.

"I keep in shape more now than I did." He stood and that's when I saw he'd been sitting on what looked like a bar stool. "But you look…are you taller now?"

"My old clothes don't fit." I pushed myself up onto my elbows and then made it to a sitting position with my legs off the bed. I also made sure the sheets kept my privates private. "A lot's happened, Mike, since we saw each other. A fucking hell of a lot. The problem is—I can't remember the most recent year."

"You lost a year?"

"Yeah."

"Sam called you a Guardian."

"Yeah."

"What does that mean?"

"I have no idea."

"That's 'effed up, Dags. So…you got the tattoos removed." He pointed to my hand.

I looked at the palm. "You knew about the tattoos?"

"Well yeah. Stella called and told me what you did, wanted me to come and blast your ass for letting some complete stranger brand you. Don't you remember?"

Stella…Rosenberg. She'd been my landlady…among other things.

"Someone branded him?" Sam came to the door then, a mug in her hand. She looked different. Her hair was pulled back from her face on the sides and the makeup was toned down. The mark under her left eye was still there and I leaned more toward it being a tattoo. She handed the mug to me. "It's hot so grab the handle."

I did and she was right, it was hot. I held it under my nose. It smelled like peppermint and honey. "What is it?"

"My version of a hot toddy. It'll put some color back in those cheeks."

Mike nodded to her. "Sam's a great healer. It's sort of her specialty."

"I needed a healer?"

"You remember what the Cherubim did?"

I sipped the toddy. It was spicy and sweet. I liked it. "I remember it hurt."

"She broke your head, Mr. McConnell."

"Just call me Dags."

"That's a funny name."

"So's Sam. Rhymes with Spam."

She looked at Mike. "I say we roast him. I can sell his clothing and the SUV."

I glared at her but didn't comment. I wanted more of the hot toddy. My headache was gone but I still felt woozy.

"So." She leaned towards me. "Branded?"

I repeated what Mike and I'd already talked about before she came in. "And yeah, it was a stupid thing to do. But like I told him, I didn't remember having it done. I went to one of their rituals and the dude in charge said it was for purification for me and three others because we were going to represent the four corners—"

"Quarters. Circles don't have corners. Basic geometry." Sam smiled.

I glared. "
Quarters
. I was designated air and I drank something in a chalice—"

"You didn't ask what it was?"

"No."

"And you drank it?"

"Yeah."

"You knew these people?"

I set the mug on a nightstand by the bed. "Look, I already admitted it was a stupid thing to do because when I woke up my palms were tattooed."

She reached out and took my wrist. Her fingers were thin and her nails buffed.

"He had them removed and doesn't remember it," Mike said.

"Oh…they're not removed. They're still there." She pulled my hand flat, pulling my fingers back to a point where I winced and tried to pull it away. "The marks are under the skin. Looks like…something integrated the…." She stopped and looked at me. "
Who
did this?"

"I don't know the tattoo artist's name—"

"Uh uh. I'm asking who authorized this? Where did this symbol come from?"

I sighed, feeling as embarrassed now as I'd been then about my own stupidity. "Well the guy that authorized this was named Allard Bonville, but he—"

Sam moved faster than I expected. Not that I expected any movement. Before I could protest she had the hand and wrist she'd been examining wrenched up behind my back and I found myself kissing the floor. She sat on my bare ass and I swore I was going to get carpet burns on places I did
not
want carpet burns! "You're
Cruorem
!"

I cringed. Sometimes we just do stupid shit in our lives that follows us no matter where we go. I wanted to protest that I wasn't a member, and that as far as I knew Bonville was no longer a threat. But that was just impossible because she had my face crushed into the carpet.

I did hear the all too familiar click of a safety being removed from a gun. "Samantha—let him go or I swear, Sentinel or not, I'll fucking blow your head off. Dags is the closest thing to a friend I have and he knew Teresa and Brendi. Let. Him. Go."

Several seconds ticked by before she let go of my arm and took her knee off of my back. Mike grabbed the sheet from the bed and helped me to my feet. He stepped between Sam and I, the gun still in his hand, as I covered up. Things seemed so surreal at that moment—as long as I'd known Mike I'd never seen him with a gun. I didn't even know he knew how to use one. And…it was a really big gun.

Sam stood several feet away by the bedroom door. She looked ready to bolt. "
Cruorem
are worthless pieces of trash. They don't use magic for good—and Bonville is the worst of them."

I peeked out from behind Mike. Did I mention Mike's taller than me? I come to the top of his shoulders. "Hey, choir here. I admit it was stupid of me, but I told you, I didn't choose to have the tattoos. I woke up and they were there."

"So why are they integrated? And why are they pulsing?"

I looked at my hands. "I don't see anything pulsing."

"It's not something you can see. I felt it. The symbols are portals. Did you know that?"

I nodded. "Bonville had pretty much marked me and three others as instruments in a ritual. The last thing I remember was…." And that's where the memories sort of petered out. I had flashes of a bracelet, one I'd received from a friend. Silver skulls. But I had no idea why I thought of it or where that bracelet was.

"That's where your memory ends, doesn't it?" Mike asked.

I nodded. Mike still stood in front of me and I didn't really feel any need to move out from behind him.

Sam's shoulders relaxed. "So…was it this ritual that fused that book in your soul?"

I put my hand to my chest as Mike finally moved. He stepped forward and turned to face me. "Book in your soul?"

Now they were
both
looking at me. I held out my hands (yes the sheet was secure). "I don't know. What I was told was that the same Witch that helped me identify the symbols is the one that used the book to save my life."

Mike reset the safety on the gun and tucked it into the back of his jeans which just seemed a bit crazy to me. He
carried
a gun, not just used it? He sat on the bed and faced me. "A Witch used a book to save your life. Shit Dags, and I thought I had a bad year."

"Your year wasn't caused by brain-dead stupidity." Sam's tone wasn't as sharp as her words. "This book—it's the old
Cruorem
Grimoire
, isn't it?"

"I guess…." I hated the fact the only thing I could do was shrug. "I just don't remember anything past that moment. That was December…." I ran a hand through my hair. My head hurt again. "
Last
December."

Mike waved dismissively at me. "I'm sorry. You've had a rough year and it's okay. You've always been there when I needed you and now I know why you disappeared."

I searched his face and found something I didn't like. I couldn't read minds—or maybe I could and forgot how. But I knew Mike well enough, remembered him, that I recognized pain when I saw it. "Mike…what happened? Did you call me and I wasn't there?"

His face told me everything, and nothing. When I'd first met Mike he was married, and then a few months later he was in the middle of a divorce and discussing the custody of his daughter. She'd been fourteen at the time. Brendi. I remembered her because when he brought her into the bar where I worked and she always asked me to make her a Shirley Temple with extra cherries.

When Mike looked away I knew Brendi was the reason he was here in Savannah. "What happened—"

"Teresa's dead." His voice was flat and he moved away to the window. I watched him, aware of Sam's eyes on me. "Remember how we came to the agreement? That Brendi would stay with me while Teresa chased her job?"

"Yeah...that was after that
Cozen
doll tried to take your soul."

"Yeah. Little fucker. Well, Teresa moved, ended up in Seattle. Brendi and I were happy. The store did pretty good for a while, but just when the economy tanked and I found myself in a sort of financial straight, I called Teresa to see if she could help take care of Brendi till I got back on my feet. Teresa didn't answer my calls and she always had before. I really started worrying when Brendi's birthday came and went and Teresa didn't send anything, she didn't even visit, and before then she never missed our daughter's birthday."

I put my hand to the wall, my knees shaky. I already sort of knew what he was going to say and I didn't
want
to hear it.