Dweller on the Threshold (11 page)

As before, the sight of the obvious struggle in Elsa’s bedroom ripped into my throat. I couldn’t tell if the sour demon blood odor was still there because we now reeked with it. Grimacing, I felt more than heard the pieces of glass grinding against each other in the carpet as I walked to the mirror. My ears were already full with the roaring of my own racing blood.

The pattern on the mirror had a round center. The circle was open at the bottom and filled with perpendicular lines that swirled around each other. I didn’t have to measure the points to know that every single aspect of the shape was mathematically sound. It reminded me of something, and as I watched Nikolos run his finger over the edges, it hit me.

“It looks a bit like a maze, doesn’t it?”

He nodded slowly, opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it. In the next instant, his features smoothed out, his expression going closed. But one hand curled into a fist.

“Nikolos, I have a feeling the two of us are going to be working very closely together. That isn’t going to work unless you talk to me.” I gestured at the floor. “This broken glass is splattered outward in a pattern that suggests something came through that mirror. Do you know what that symbol is or not?”

He nodded and for the first time, I saw him grimace. He was hurting. From his expression, something other than poison ate at him. “It’s a soul symbol. The image of a person’s higher consciousness. It represents what makes each person special.” He frowned and picked up the onion. “Some believe that viewing your soul’s symbol sets you on a higher path of spiritual growth.”

I looked at the symbol then down at the scattered broken glass. “Uh…I’m not usually this slow…but are you saying that thing is a reflection of my sister’s soul? That it sprang through that mirror? Her soul? What, it came out of there after her or it flew out of her through there? Is that why she has that puncture wound on the back of her neck?”

“I don’t know.”

This time, my hands closed into fists. “What the hell do you know then?” I was tired of waiting for all the answers. Guess it came out in my voice.

He turned, anger shadowing his face. I think he expected me to take a step back when he came toward me, but I stood my ground. He stopped about a foot away and leaned in close. “Elsa was playing in something she had no business playing in. She wasn’t a being of magic. This onion is from a spell.”

His nearness screwed me all the hell up—it felt like every hair on my body stood at attention. My awareness of him as a male was so strong I could taste his very scent on the breath he blew between us.

Something low in my gut responded. A slow punch—hard, deep and raw.

I swallowed, knowing my eyes had gone half-mast. Air hissed from between clenched teeth as I sneered. “Stop referring to my sister in the past tense. She doesn’t mess with magic. She’s afraid of it. Believe me, she has reason. We tangled with a black wizard last year—one who knew how to call fire elementals. Neither of us came out of that one unscathed.”

He held up the onion and raised one eyebrow.

I shrugged. “It’s a basic protection spell. So what? It’s not so different from people lighting sage candles to dispel negativity or yellow ones for creativity. The only thing I see wrong with it is that it should have been in the window or doorway. It’s to keep something from coming in.” I stared at the geometric circle in the mirror. “Elsa must have known something was going to come through that mirror. She even mentioned mirrors in her notebook.”

He got control of whatever was bothering him and stepped back, his expression once again neutral. “I saw this type of shape in different things when this happened on my island—things that reflected. Sheets of polished metal, for instance. Not enough to understand the full importance, though, because most of the Dweller’s victims were taken near ponds. I always believed they came through the reflections in the water.”

 
“Reflections in the water. Wait…your island? You have an
island
? Dweller’s victims?” I sighed and rubbed my fingers over a forehead that felt as if it were about to explode. “Tell you what—I’m just going to grab a lightning-quick shower to get this gunk off me. I can’t take this smell anymore. You’re welcome to have a shower, too. I might have a pair of sweats long enough to fit you. Well, close anyway. None of my shirts will work with your shoulders.”

“I’ll wait until I’m home.”

I shrugged and walked toward Elsa’s bathroom. “Suit yourself. Let me get the first aid stuff. Blythe can start on you.”

I grabbed the first aid kit and a couple of towels from the cabinet under the sink, then handed them to Nikolos. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but again, closed up before he turned to leave the room.

“The man is going to have to learn to speak,” I muttered. I waited until he was out of the hall before going into the room Elsa kept for me. I snatched a clean pair of gray sweats, a blue T-shirt, and underwear out of the stash I left folded in the closet.

I gagged when I unwrapped my arm. Black spider-webbed lines snaked out from the six-inch gash in my forearm. It looked pretty bad. The demon poison had gone to work fast and not only did the wound sting, it smelled terrible. That burning flesh smell
had
come from me. Instead of trying to peel my jeans off, I found a pair of scissors in one of the drawers and cut the denim. I’d expected the wound in my thigh to be worse. There were three deep punctures and more black webs, but it didn’t have the burning puffiness like my arm.

Trying not to gag, I focused on gritting my teeth through a good scrubbing in the shower.

When I walked into the kitchen, Phro was sitting on the counter by the sink, her eyes half open while a smile played about her lips. I followed her gaze to find Nikolos in the process of unbuttoning his shirt. He must have washed his hands and face in the sink because his sleeves were rolled up his arms.

Blythe had placed two chairs side-by-side next to the small, pine-colored breakfast table and she stood right behind them.

“Take your shirt off, too.” She aimed that order at me.

“Blythe, my wound is in my arm and leg. The shirt is staying on.” I grinned at Nikolos. “He has to take his all the way off, though.”

Something wicked flashed in his eyes—a challenge maybe. “Your pants will have to come off.”

I was already flushed from saying something so blatantly flirty, but his words combined with the sight of him stripping sent nothing less than fire to long ignored places. He started to pull off the shirt, then grimaced and stopped.

“Here, let me help.” Blythe rushed forward and stretched to grab the shirt at his shoulder. She peeled it down slowly, then bit her lip and sent me a worried glance. She tugged again, eyes flaring wide with sympathy. I didn’t know why. He hadn’t made a sound or changed his expression. She pulled one more time then let go. “Um…” She glanced at the sink.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Blythe.” I stomped over and looked up into Nikolos’s face. Dark brown eyes met mine and before I could even tell him my intentions, he inclined his head. Taking that as permission, I went around, physically lifted Blythe and set her to the side. Grabbing fistfuls of soft cotton in my hands, I didn’t even bother to count—just ripped the shirt off his back in one powerful tug. I felt the resistance of the newly-formed scabs as they came away with the material.

He winced that time.

“Sorry,” I murmured, “but we don’t have hours and it has to be cleaned out, anyway. I think Blythe was planning to soak the damned shirt off.” I picked up his heavy braid to move it out of the way, had time to notice how the hair slid silkily along my palm, then got a good look at the wound.

It had festered.

No, it had come to
life
.

Furious red and purple skin surrounded a foot-long, deep gash in the center of the man’s back. Chipped white bone shone through the torn muscles and sinew, and an angry yellow and black puss sizzled wherever it touched air. The burned flesh odor was so overpowering my eyes watered. “Oh man. Oh
shit
.”

I couldn’t help what I did next. I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed. The braid pulled in my other hand as he turned his head to meet my gaze. Heat flared in his expression. Unfamiliar emotion crawled through my chest. He had the kind of intense stare that made a person feel as if every secret, every hidden wish, were revealed in bright living color. As if he easily reached into my very soul and pulled out all of what made me alive—what made me real.

He abruptly faced away from me again. I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to breathe right. Whatever had snapped between us seemed to be growing in power. I thought back to the very instant our eyes met over the head of that demon. I’d had the strangest feeling that sharing that kill had intensified a connection I wasn’t sure I wanted.

I was losing it.

I slung the braid over his shoulder and stepped to the side, my gaze meeting Blythe’s. Her blue eyes were so wide it was a wonder they didn’t pop out. I shrugged. If I couldn’t explain my freaky reaction to this huge man to myself, I sure as hell couldn’t to anyone else. I pointed to the wound instead and Blythe snapped to attention.

Her pink cheeks paled. “Oh dear, this is going to take more than a simple run-over with the lodestone and agrimony.”

“It’s a start.” I walked to the sink to wash my hands. Phro, uncharacteristically silent, ignored me. Fred was obviously still gone, so I glanced around for Frida, and had to do a bit of dimensional peeling to find him behind Blythe.

“It would be better if I could rub the lodestone directly onto the wound,” Blythe muttered. Sounded like she was talking more to herself than us. “But I don’t think that’s a good idea. It would hurt something awful.”

Nikolos turned the chair around and straddled it so she could reach his back. “I’ve felt worse.”

Blythe began waving the rock over his skin, chanting something unintelligible.

I pulled the other chair a little away from Nikolos so I could watch, and caught him smiling again. He had very straight, white teeth. I got a good look at his chest and agreed that yes, he had indeed felt worse.

The man was built on long lines, his body managing to look surprisingly lean despite the large, well-defined muscles and broad shoulders. He would be over-muscled on a smaller frame. The scars, though—they were something else. They criss-crossed his chest like some crazy road map. Layered thickly over the tops of older ones in places—the scars told the story behind that mass of trapped souls.

I had been trying so hard not to look at that mass. If I concentrated, I could block it—see only him. But the pain and exhaustion sucked at my ability to focus, and every so often I caught its swirling black edges. And, as if they knew when it happened, faint cries came from around him, growing louder until I had to work to shut the sight and sound out again. He wasn’t like any soul eater I’d read about—they weren’t supposed to look human—so I could only assume these were victims of some sort. Phro said he was old and from those scars, he’d been in a lot of battles. He was built like a warrior. Like Blythe’s
big special warrior
.

How could one man carry such a weight? What had he done in all those battles…what kind of memories and experiences did he have to live with?

Blythe squealed. I jerked, startled as she began juggling the lodestone from hand to hand. She scurried to the sink and plunked the rock in. A pop sounded, followed by a sizzle and curse words. If “poop” and “goose feathers” could be considered curses.

I got up and walked to the sink to find a black smudge on the white porcelain. “What happened?”

“The lodestone exploded.”

“Is that normal?”

She shook her head. “I must have overloaded it. Darn. It was a good one. I paid a ton to get that shipped directly from a witch in the Alps.” Blythe rubbed her finger over the smudge and nothing came off. “Weird. It’s actually
in
the sink.”

I touched the spot in the sink. It was warm. Apprehension shivered down my spine.

Biting her lip, Blythe turned on the water and splashed some on the stain. “I think it’s permanent.” She shut off the water, looked up at me and blinked. “I’ve never seen that happen. I think it would take a lot of evil.”

“Well, you did see the demons.” Cradling my throbbing arm to my chest, I briefly closed my eyes. “What do you need for this agrimony bath?”

“Boiling water. Not that much. Just enough for a sponge bath.”

“Can you zap some?”

“I try not to zap heat.” Blythe grinned and stepped toward the items spilling over the table and onto the floor. All the little baggies from her purse.

I smirked. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t want to do that.” I pulled out a stew pot and filled it with water before setting it to boil. The crawling fire in my arm was starting to make movement difficult. I rubbed it and turned to find that Fred had returned.

He stood behind Nikolos, his shoulders slumped. Something in my belly eased upon seeing my constant companion. It tightened back up when I saw his expression. His normally tan farmer’s skin was so pale I could nearly see through it. I lifted an eyebrow, silently telling him to spill.

“Their spirit guides didn’t return.”

His words, murmured so low, didn’t compute. Knowing he would go on, I waited.