Into the Woods (3 page)

“Then you are one stupid bitch.”

Gasping, she flung her head up. Pushing from him, she tried to escape, but it was too late. Silently laughing, Algaliarept wrapped his arm around her neck, grabbing her hair with his free hand and pulling her across the garden to the nearest ley line. “Let me go!” she screamed, and gathering herself, she shouted,
“celero inanio!”
sobbing as she flung the entire force of the nearest ley line at him.

With a quick thought, Algaliarept deflected the burning curse, chuckling as flickers of light blossomed to show where the blue butterflies burned before they hit the dew-wet grass. In his grasp, Ceri hesitated her struggles, aghast that he had turned her magic into killing something she loved. “Do that again, and I’ll burn anything that comes round that corner,” he encouraged, winding his fist in her hair until she began hitting him with her tiny fists.

“You lied! You lied to me!” she raged.

“I did nothing of the kind,” he said, holding her close and dragging her out of the circle so that the people now running toward her screams wouldn’t be able to trap him easily. “I’m going to keep you forever young and teach you everything I know, just as I promised.” She was panting, her struggle hesitating as she waited for the help that wouldn’t be able to free her. Closing his eyes, he smelled her hair. “And I’m going to love you,” he whispered into her ear as she began to pray to an uncaring god he’d teach her not to believe in. “I’m going to love you within an inch of your life, then love you some more.”

Anticipation high, he reached for her inner thigh. The instant his fingers touched her, she screamed, fighting to be free. A fierce smile came over him and his blood pounded in his loins. This was going to be everything he wanted. A distraction for as long as he cared to make it last.

“Let me jump you to my bed so we may begin your tutelage,” he said as the bobbing torches came closer.

“No!” she cried out, wiggling as her hair came undone to fall about her face. She looked so much more fetching, her color high and rage making her eyes sparkle.

“Wrong answer,” he said, flooding her with the force of the line.

Her eyes widened, her small lips opening to show perfect teeth. Gasping, she bit her lip, trying not to scream. Almost she passed out, and he let up the instant she started to go limp. That she wouldn’t scream made him smile. She’d scream before it was over, and finding her breaking point would be . . . exquisite.

“I’m giving you everything you want,” he breathed in her ear when she could think again, hanging in his grasp as she panted. “Everything and more, Ceri. Let me take you.” He could knock her out and take her by force, but if she gave in entirely to him . . . it would be beyond anything he’d ever accomplished.

The bobbing torches turned the corner, little dogs yapping in overdressed women’s arms.

“Stop! For the love of God, stop!” she shouted, and Algaliarept felt a deep surge of satisfaction. Destroying her will would fulfill his every need.

A young man in white and gold pushed past the women, stumbling to a stop, shock in his perfect face. A wailing outcry rose from the nobles behind him, and several turned and ran.

Ceri’s bridegroom was perfect, Algaliarept decided bitterly as he held her tighter. The man before him now complimented her in every way, slim, fair—everything Algaliarept was not. And then Algaliarept smiled—she had shunned elven perfection to be with him.

The man’s lips parted in horror as Algaliarept’s fingers entwined deeper in her hair, jerking her head up to expose the long length of her neck to him. And still Ceri stared at her bridegroom, color in her cheeks as her lungs heaved. Turning, the prince called for magicians.

At the sight of his back, Ceri’s hand opened and the card she held fell to the earth. Something in Algaliarept sparked when the devil card fell to the manicured grass. The bent gold glinted in the torch light, but it was easy to see the beautiful maiden being dragged off by an ugly, red-skinned demon. “Take me,” she whispered as three magicians stumbled into the clearing, frightened but determined. “I don’t want to grow old. You are my demon.”

With her acquiescence, it was done. Seven years of labor culminated in one satisfied laugh that made the young man in white pale. But he didn’t move to save her.

“You don’t deserve her,” Algaliarept said, and then, as the magicians moved, he shifted his thoughts to leave. The yapping dogs, the wailing women, everything vanished into the clean blackness of thought. And as they traveled the lines back to the drop of time that had been flung from space itself, Algaliarept touched her soul, ran his fingers through her aura and felt her squirm. She had wanted it. Even with her denials and screams, she wanted it. Wanted him. She was his little blue butterfly, seeking out carrion.

Don’t cry, Ceri
, he thought, knowing she heard him when her mind seemed to quiver.

He was going to keep this one for himself. Turn the Dulciate elf into a showcase of his talents. No one had ever come willingly, before. He was an artist, and destroying her as he made her into what he wanted, would be his finest masterpiece.

Until I find someone with a little more skill, that is
, he thought, knowing that wasn’t likely to happen for, oh, probably another thousand years.

Two Ghosts for Sister Rachel

Two Ghosts for Sister Rachel
first appeared in the anthology
Holidays Are Hell
. Family was becoming more important to Rachel at about this time in the series, and dropping back to when she was still living at home and working for her hard-won independence gave me a chance to show where Rachel developed not only her stamina but also her refusal to give up hope in the face of low odds. I thought it was important for the reader to see the Rachel beyond the tough, capable, and get-back-up kind of girl I usually focused on, the one who came from the fragile, weak, and death-row childhood. It makes her choices easier to understand.

ONE

I
stuck the end of the pencil between my teeth, brushing the eraser specks off the paper as I considered how best to answer the employment application.
WHAT SKILLS CAN YOU BRING TO INDERLAND SECURITY THAT ARE CLEARLY UNIQUE TO YOU
?

Sparkling wit?
I thought, twining my foot around the kitchen chair and feeling stupid.
A smile? The desire to smear the pavement with bad guys?

Sighing, I tucked my hair behind my ear and slumped. My eyes shifted to the clock above the sink as it ticked minutes into hours. I wasn’t going to waste my life. Eighteen was too young to be accepted into the I.S. intern program without a parent’s signature, but if I put my application in now, it would sit at the top of the stack until I was old enough, according to the guidance counselor. Like the recruiter had said, there was nothing wrong with going into the I.S. right out of college if you knew that’s what you wanted to do. The fast track.

The faint sound of the front door opening brought my heart to my throat. I glanced at the sunset-gloomed window. Jamming the application under the stacked napkins, I shouted, “Hi, Mom! I thought you weren’t going to be back until eight!”

Damn it, how was I supposed to finish this thing if she kept coming back?

But my alarm shifted to elation when a high falsetto voice responded, “It’s eight in Buenos Aires, dear. Be a dove and find my rubbers for me? It’s snowing.”

“Robbie?” I stood so fast the chair nearly fell over. Heart pounding, I darted out of the kitchen and into the green hallway. There at the end, in a windbreaker and shaking snow from himself, was my brother Robbie. His narrow height came close to brushing the top of the door, and his shock of red hair caught the glow from the porch light. Slush-wet Dockers showed from under his jeans, totally inappropriate for the weather. On the porch behind him, a cabbie set down two suitcases.

“Hey!” I exclaimed, bringing his head up to show his green eyes glinting mischievously. “You were supposed to be on the vamp flight. Why didn’t you call? I would’ve come to get you.”

Robbie shoved a wad of money at the driver. Door still gaping behind him, he opened his arms, and I landed against him, my face hitting his upper chest instead of his middle like it had when we had said goodbye. His arms went around me, and I breathed in the scent of old Brimstone from the dives he worked in. The tears pricked, and I held my breath so I wouldn’t cry. It had been over four and a half years. Inconsiderate snot had been at the West Coast all this time, leaving me to cope with Mom. But he’d come home this year for the solstice, and I sniffed back everything and smiled up at him.

“Hey, Firefly,” he said, using our dad’s pet name for me and grinning as he measured where my hair had grown to. “You got tall. And wow, hair down to your waist? What are you doing, going for the world’s record?”

He looked content and happy, and I dropped back a step, suddenly uncomfortable. “Yeah, well, it’s been almost five years,” I accused. Behind him, the cab drove away, headlamps dim from the snow and moving slowly.

Robbie sighed. “Don’t start,” he begged. “I get enough of that from Mom. You going to let me in?” He glanced behind him at the snow. “It is cold out here.”

“Wimp,” I said, then grabbed one of the suitcases. “Ever hear about that magical thing called a coat?”

He snorted his opinion, hefting the last of the luggage and following me in. The door shut, and I headed down the second, longer hallway to his room, eager to get him inside and part of our small family again. “I’m glad you came,” I said, feeling my pulse race from the suitcase’s weight. I hadn’t been in the hospital in years, but fatigue still came fast. “Mom’s going to skin you when she gets back.”

“Yeah, well I wanted to talk to you alone first.”

Flipping the light switch with an elbow, I lugged his suitcase into his old room, glad I’d vacuumed already. Blowing out my exhaustion, I turned with my arms crossed over my chest to hide my heavy breathing. “About what?”

Robbie wasn’t listening. He had taken off his jacket to show a sharp-looking pinstripe shirt with a tie. Smiling, he spun in a slow circle. “It looks exactly the same.”

I shrugged. “You know Mom.”

His eyes landed on mine. “How is she?”

I looked at the floor. “Same. You want some coffee?”

With an easy motion, he swung the suitcase I had dragged in up onto the bed. “Don’t tell me you drink coffee.”

Half my mouth curved up into a smile. “Sweat of the gods,” I quipped, coming close when he unzipped a front pocket and pulled out a clearly expensive bag of coffee. If the bland, environmentally conscious packaging hadn’t told me what was in it, the heavenly scent of ground beans would have. “How did you get
that
through customs intact?” I said, and he smiled.

“I checked it.”

His arm landed across my shoulders, and together we navigated the narrow hallway to the kitchen. Robbie was eight years older than me, a sullen babysitter who had become an overly protective brother, who had then vanished four-plus years ago when I needed him the most, fleeing the pain of our dad’s death. I had hated him for a long time, envious that he could run when I was left to deal with Mom. But then I found out he’d been paying for Mom’s psychiatrist. Plus some of my hospital bills. We all helped the way we could. And it wasn’t like he could make that kind of money here in Cincinnati.

Robbie slowed as we entered the kitchen, silent as he took in the changes. Gone was the cabinet with its hanging herbs, the rack of dog-eared spell books, the ceramic spoons, and copper spell pots. It looked like a normal kitchen, which was abnormal for Mom.

“When did this happen?” he asked, rocking into motion and heading for the coffeemaker. It looked like a shrine with its creamer, sugar, special spoons, and three varieties of grounds in special little boxes.

I sat at the table and scuffed my feet.
Since Dad died,
I thought, but didn’t say it. I didn’t need to.

The silence stretched uncomfortably. I’d like to say Robbie looked like my dad, but apart from his height and his spare frame, there wasn’t much of Dad about him. The red hair and green eyes we shared came from Mom. The earth magic skill I dabbled in came from Mom, too. Robbie was better at ley line magic. Dad had been topnotch at that, having worked in the Arcane Division of the Inderland Security, the I.S. for short.

Guilt hit me, and I glanced at the application peeking out from under the napkins.

“So,” Robbie drawled as he threw out the old grounds and rinsed the carafe. “You want to go to Fountain Square for the solstice? I haven’t seen the circle close in years.”

I fought to keep the disappointment from my face—he had been trying to get tickets to the Takata concert. Crap. “Sure,” I said, smiling. “We’ll have to dig up a coat for you, though.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he said as he scooped out four tablespoons, glanced at me and then dumped the last one back in the bag. “You want to go to the concert instead?”

I jerked straight in the chair. “You got them!” I squealed, and he grinned.

“Yup,” he said, tapping his chest and reaching into a pocket. But then his long face went worried. I held my breath until he pulled a set of tickets from a back pocket, teasing me.

“Booger,” I said, falling back into the chair.

“Brat,” he shot back.

But I was in too good a mood to care. God, I was going to be listening to Takata when the seasons shifted. How cool was that? Anticipation made my foot jiggle, and I looked at the phone. I had to call Julie. She would die. She would die right on the spot.

“How did your classes go?” Robbie said suddenly. His back was to me as he got the coffeemaker going, and I flushed. Why was that always the second thing out of their mouth, right after how tall you’ve gotten? “You graduated, right?” he added, turning.

“Duh.” I scuffed my feet and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I’d graduated, but admitting I’d flunked every ley line class I had taken wasn’t anything I wanted to do.