Jackson (10 page)

“The Magus Corps received a report from one of our allies in law enforcement that humans in the south end were being killed and burned in an attempt to destroy the evidence of how they were killed.”

“So that’s why there have been so many.” She sat down and blew out a breath. “Why hasn’t there been anything about the killer on the news?”

“Once we determined that it was a rogue witch enchanting them for some purpose before setting the fire we ordered a media blackout.” He joined her at the table. “The Magus Corps is not only charged with law enforcement among the pagan community. We also protect it, and one of our primary missions is to prevent the public from discovering any evidence of our immortality or true nature. “
   

“That’s smart.” Audrey forked some salad onto her plate. “So they sent you here to hunt down this rogue witch?”

“I was sent to watch and gather evidence against you.” He glanced at her over the rim of his mug. “Since you were the only responder at every one of the scenes we thought it was your doing.”

Audrey frowned. “Aside from the fact that I don’t know how to use magic to kill, or do anything else, why blame me? I was there to provide emergency medical treatment.”

“Rogue witches are devious, dangerous creatures,” he said. “It was possible you were using your job as a paramedic to return to the scenes after you killed and set the fires, to make sure the evidence was destroyed, and to appear innocent.”

She nodded. “I get it. Who suspects a paramedic of being a killer? Okay, so what cleared me?”

“When you healed me I discovered that you were untutored.” His mouth hitched, and he took a bite of his sandwich. “But I think it was the owl that truly convinced me.”

She almost choked on her tea. “Plato
talked
to you?”

 
“His presence did,” Jackson said. “A ghost owl––what you call a barn owl––is a powerful familiar. You don’t choose it, it chooses you. And it would never bond with a witch who had turned to evil. It couldn’t.”

“That sounds like a really long discussion, so we’ll table Plato for now,” she said. “What happened in the bedroom when my hair went all Medusa on me?”

“You were channeling The Lady. She will sometimes manifest in her direct descendants.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Being made a vessel in this manner changes your body, and gives her control of it.”

She held a forkful of salad in front of her mouth and then carefully placed it back on her plate.
 

“And pretty much the same thing happened to you…why?”
 

“I am a direct descendent of The Lord, her other half.” He took her hand in his. “Since we already shared a connection as lovers, her presence in you summoned him through me.”

“Oh, man.” Audrey squeezed her eyes shut. “This doesn’t make us like brother and sister”––she opened one eye––“does it? Hey. Stop laughing.”

“You are adorable when you’re terrified,” he said once he controlled his mirth. “And to answer your question, no. We are not siblings, or in any way related, except as Wiccan.”

From there they focused on eating, and when they were finished Jackson refilled their tea.
 

“I have to leave soon, Audrey, but I will return to check on you.”

“Which brings me to the final big question.” She gestured around them. “Why am I here?”

“You’re in danger, and until I can hunt down and neutralize the rogue witch responsible for the killings, I have to keep you safeguarded.” When she started to protest he said, “Your High Priestess agreed it would be best.”

“Mariah. Of course.” She felt a surge of annoyance. “I’m so lucky I have her to arrange my abductions.” She rested her head against her hand. “So why am I in danger?”

“You’re tired, my heart.” Jackson reached over to stroke her cheek. “And explaining that involves a very long discussion about the enemy we’ve been battling for centuries.”

She raised her head. “There’s an enemy, too?”

He gave her a pained look. “The Templars.”
 

 
“Templars?” Audrey almost fell off her chair. “As in the crusading, sword-swinging, totally scary warriors of God guys who were wiped out in the fourteenth century?
Those
Templars?”
 

He nodded. “Not all of them were wiped out, but they are all immortal now, like us.” He finished the last of his tea. “We’ll talk about it when I return. I must go now.”

“Immortal Templars. This just keeps getting better and better.” As Jackson kissed her temple, she looked up at him. “So am I on complete house arrest, or can I check out the garden?”

Jackson glanced at the door leading out into the back yard. “I will adjust the wards to allow you to pass, but you must stay here, Audrey.”

Audrey went up on tiptoe to kiss him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

AS HIS MEN dragged the dead bodies of Hannah Gardener’s guards into the garage, Marquette finished searching Audrey Mather’s guesthouse. The paramedic did not possess a familiar, a spell book or any item of Wiccan origin or magic, which convinced him that she was working from a second location, possibly in Hannah Gardener’s mansion. Yet when he lifted his hands and opened his mind, the cool trace of magic he detected led him into a enormous garden behind the main house.
 

For a moment Marquette was taken aback by the lush beauty of thousands of blooming flowers and the intense green of the trim bushes and trees, until he removed his glove and touched his twisted fingers to the curling petals of a snow-white rose as large as his fist. There he felt the Wiccan’s taint, deep inside the bloom, and followed it along the stem down to the ground.
 

When he pressed his hand against the soil, the lingering power permeated his flesh and wrapped his bones with more warmth so gentle and sweet he closed his eyes and swayed. It was the same sensation he felt every time the potion healed him.

A rasping screech pierced the air, and Marquette looked up to see a white barn owl watching him from the branch of a nearby crepe myrtle. The creature’s black eyes bored into his as it walked back and forth on the branch, stopping again to stretch out his wings.

He stood and reached into his pocket for his dagger, but as he drew out his hand the owl vanished, leaving behind only a single white feather that drifted to the ground.

Marquette stared at the feather and tried to fathom why it suddenly seemed so important. To the Wiccan white might symbolize truth, divinity and purity of spirit, but to the Templars it represented distinction and innocence.

It is a feather of a bird you intended to kill,
he told himself.
It is no more innocent than its murderous mistress.

“My lord.” His steward stopped behind him and reported. “The bodies have been removed from sight. The witch’s car should arrive in twenty minutes.”

“Have the men dress in their uniforms and assume the same positions outside the walls and the main house,” Marquette said as he replaced his dagger and dusted off his palms. “Bring the one you kept alive to me.”

A minute later the steward marched Hannah Gardener’s driver back into the garden. Replacing the man with one of his own had only required Marquette to wait until Hannah went into the herbal shop.
 

“Who maintains this garden?” Marquette asked the driver.
 

The man stared sullenly at the ground until the steward jerked his head back and put a blade to his throat.
 

“Audrey Mather, Ms. Gardener’s godchild.”

“Put him in with the dead,” Marquette told his steward. “When the witch arrives, bring her upstairs to me.”

He walked into the mansion through a back door one of his guards had kicked in, and was surprised to feel no burn of magic as he entered the Wiccan’s lair. Inside he took little interest in her designer furnishings and expensive art objects, although he noted the surprising number of mirrors in each room. Seeing the reflection of his handsome face made him scowl as he mounted the stairs to the second floor.

Hannah’s boudoir was elegantly appointed with the finest of linens and a bed that resembled a floating cloud of yellow silk, and expensive clothes and shoes genteelly occupied her walk-in closet. A dozen bottles of French perfume glowed like jewels on her delicate vanity, and baubles of gems and pearls crowded three different jewelry armoires.

Marquette went to the vanity, and searched it until he found Hannah Gardener’s spell book. He turned the dainty chair around so that it faced the door before he sat and began skimming through the pages. Most of the spells it contained were harmless and focused primarily on beauty enhancements and flaw concealment, but at the back of the book he found the same spell copied over and over, adjusted in some small measure each time. He recognized the original form as an old teaching spell that allowed a Wiccan mentor to transfer large amounts of knowledge and experience to an apprentice. Hannah had apparently adapted it for some other purpose, but had not written anything about it except the formula variations.

What Hannah Gardener dabbled with was of no interest to him anymore, Marquette thought, and flexed his remaining good hand. The cracked, withered skin inflicted on him by the charm at the site of the fire had begun healing less than an hour ago, and he had no idea why––but he was certain that Audrey Mather did.
 

A short time later his men dragged Hannah Gardener kicking and screaming into the room, and dropped her in front of Marquette. He studied her glowing features; aside from her mussed hair and smeared lipstick she looked glorious.

“Hello, Harlot.” He gave her a benign smile. “Did you bring me something to die for?”

One of his men offered him her purse, and he opened it and peered inside, extracting a single vial of potion.
 

Marquette held it up to the sunlight, uncapped it and sniffed it before he regarded his prisoner.
 

“You kept your word. I’m utterly astonished.”

Her lips peeled back from her blood-stained teeth in a snarl made all the more gruesome by her beautiful face. “I’ve cursed it. Drink it and it will turn your suffering into an eternity of hell.”

“I already reside there, my dear. Besides, you can’t curse me. You’re merely a mortal.” He tipped the vial into his mouth and drank down the potion, and watched his hands transform. “Now, where is your dear godchild, Audrey?”

A flicker of shock passed over her features before she spat at his boots, and then screamed until he stood and kicked her in the face.
 

“I don’t know,” she shrieked, cowering and holding her hands to her broken nose. “She left hours ago.”

“Tie her down on the bed,” Marquette told his men, who dragged Hannah over and bound her with the silken cords from her gold velvet drapes. Once she was secured the Templar leaned over her. “I want Audrey. Tell me where she is, or I will set fire to this place and let you burn with it.”

“You can’t kill me,” Hannah raged as she struggled against her bonds. “I’m your only hope, Marquette. If I die, I take the formula for the potion with me.”

He sat down on the mattress beside her and brushed the tangle of hair back from her eyes.
 

“I have the formula for the potion, my dear. I have had it, for years now. But what I never knew was why it healed me, until I visited your beautiful garden. I understand now that it wasn’t the potion at all. It was the witch who enchanted it with all the human lives she’s stolen.” He wiped a streak of blood from her chin. “How many has she butchered to keep me whole?”

A strange look came into the witch’s eyes.
 

“I don’t know. She never told me she was doing that when she prepared it. I swear to you, I would never have–“

“You couldn’t have stopped her,” he advised her pleasantly. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” Hannah said, and began to sob. “The High Priestess took her to bring her into the circle. She’s probably with the coven now.”

At least this had the ring of truth to it. “Can you reach her?”

She nodded eagerly. “I can call her and have her come home. We were supposed to go to Portland today, so I could deliver the potion to you.”

“Now you will deliver this murderer to me.” He stood and walked out into the hall with his steward. “Keep her tied to the bed and dial the phone for her. Have her tell the girl that she has injured herself and needs her to come home. As soon as Audrey Mather arrives, have the men set fire to the place.”

The man nodded. “Should we kill the girl as well?”

Marquette seized his steward by the throat. “If
anything
happens to Audrey Mather, you will beg me to kill you.” He jerked the man’s terrified face close to his. “For decades.”

AFTER JACKSON LEFT Audrey took her tea and went out into the back garden, which was small but well-tended and filled with interesting flowers and plants. In the short time he’d been in Seattle Jackson had planted several beds of new plants, including a patch of cooking herbs.

She found a wrought iron table and some chairs and sat down to make some phone calls from her mobile. She managed to take a week of sick leave by telling her supervisor that she had the flu, but her partner was not as easy to convince.

“You sound fine,” he told her bluntly. “What’s going on?”

Jackson had warned her not to reveal anything to her human friends and co-workers.
 

“I’ve got some family issues I need to handle. I’ll be back next week if I can.”

“I guess that means I’m on with Sarah tomorrow.” He sighed heavily. “I tried calling you at the guest house earlier. Where are you?”

“I’m staying with a friend.” Her mobile beeped. “Listen, Norm, I’ve got another call. Talk to you later.” She switched over to the incoming call. “Mather.”

“Audrey.” It was her godmother, and she sounded congested and frantic. “Please, come home right away. I fell down the stairs, and I think my nose is broken. The staff already left so there’s no one to help me.”