SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (117 page)

Etienne arced his sword down at Philippe, who lunged away right before Etienne pulled a big move, kicking out with superhuman strength and pushing Philippe into the tree. Philippe slammed against the trunk full force, dropping the sword as his other hand scratched down the bark on his way down. He lay in a pile at the bottom, unmoving.

Rage pushed a scream out of me as Etienne raised his blade to deliver the killing blow.

“Etienne!” I yelled.

He stumbled away from the tree, looking wide-eyed over his shoulder at me.

The oxygen snagged in my lungs as I stepped closer, not knowing how far my flames would go, and squeezed the trigger. The fluid streamed out, spitting through the candle and—

Fire roared, engulfing Etienne. He screamed, dropping the sword, running toward me, a human torch tripping to the ground in front of me. “No honor!”

Then memory devoured me.

Fire, all round, eating my skin on my hands, on my face, hissing through my clothes until it sizzled me everywhere…

When I jerked out of the memory—
my
memory, not one from my boots—I was screaming, sinking to the ground. I felt a tug at my legs, and I realized Etienne was pulling at me.

I felt the fire on him, and I screamed more, kicking, trying to escape before he set me ablaze, but he was strong, still so strong, and he held on. The only thing blocking me from the flames was my boots, and I kicked harder.

“No…honor…” he said through the fire as he grabbed at one of my vines and ripped it away from my skin. “Barbarians…”

The vine separated from me with a scream of its own, and I couldn’t get away, not with Etienne holding my other boot. With a speed that blurred my vision, he tore apart both of them, the vines flailing, trying to put out the flames that licked at them.

Then the boots were…gone.

I felt my skin puckering with pain, shrinking and tightening over the bones of my body and face. My hair fell out in clumps, leaving only wisps as I touched my head.

Creature. Monster.

I cowered as my vines squirmed on the ground near Etienne, trying to get away from him as he burned and burned. He wasn’t moving now, and his charred body, his bared teeth in a crisped skull, lay petrified.

I reached for my vines.
Come back—please!

As gray as they were now, they lifted from the ground, searching round for me, and in that excruciating space of time, I looked up, seeing Philippe stomping the grass near Etienne, putting out the fire. When he was done, he weaved on his feet, looking down at me.

I tried to hide myself. Pity? Was that what I saw on him again?

My heart seemed to split apart, because he wasn’t seeing me as the Lilly I so terribly wanted to be. I was reduced to a thing—a fire-eaten hag, a failure who had been punished by the Meratoliages.

Would he die for me
now?

St. John’s warning about Etienne “getting to” me floated round my head, and it had come all too true. Etienne hadn’t killed me or wounded me—not in the way I had expected.

He had exposed me, and nothing could have been worse.

I turned my back on Philippe, holding my hands out to my vines.
Please, come here, don’t let him see me like this anymore
, please
…

They were on their slow, crawling way, and that gave me a chance to ask one thing. “Are you okay, Philippe?”

“Yes. Lilly, are you…?”

“Okay?”

I started to nod, but a wall of tears flooded my eyes instead, scrambling my gaze. I looked back at the ground, sadness filling me as I realized that Etienne was still here.

Rashly, I got to my knees, groping for his sword, barely seeing my scarred and puckered hands grasp it before I raised it and brought it down, severing his head from his body.

But I didn’t allow myself to cry as Etienne disappeared for good.

I wasn’t certain of what I should be feeling except for shame as I kept my back turned to Philippe, the vines slithering over my feet once again, wrapping round my legs. Moisture seeped into me as they pumped their magic into my skin. My hair even flowed from my scalp, my body returning to how it had been before.

Except for the most important thing—my heart.

I couldn’t see Philippe’s pity again—even the thought of it was shredding me—so I did the only thing I could think to do.

I stumbled to my feet and I ran out of the park, far, far away, not knowing where I would go until my boots took over, guiding me to a cab.

It wasn’t until the vehicle drove up to Amari’s cabin and I saw her waiting on the porch as if she had been expecting me that I allowed the tears to burst free.

A vine inched up my leg, pressing against my heart, covering and protecting it as best it could.

Shadows Till Sunrise: Chapter Twelve

“He called again,” Amari said as I sat in a rickety chair on her cabin porch a few nights later.

I was soaking my boots in a metal tub of green, duckweed-filled water that Jean-Marie had procured since I didn’t want to go in the bayou itself, with its gators and snakes. Amari had magicked the makeshift pool, so I had no concern for disease, either.

Yes, it was all so very safe out here, where I could hide away…

Jean-Marie was standing by Amari, as quiet as always, while the witch kept a hand on her apprentice’s arm, her dark-spotted blindfold like two burnt eyes under the lantern light.

Evidently, the witch had no patience for my silence. “I say, Philippe’s been callin’ and callin’, child.”

“No,” I said.

No explanation necessary, because I knew I had been saying the same thing for three nights now after awakening, then watching the computer files while soaking my boots, then coming outside, where the warmth mixed with early summer humidity. There had been no more supernatural murders to track, no more Meratoliages hunting me…no more Philippe.

As the night croaked, chirped, and bubbled from the bayou, Amari swatted at an insect that was pestering her. A lizard scurried near Jean-Marie’s boots, but she never minded it.

The witch sighed and spoke in her creaky tone. “How long you gonna make him wait, Lilly?”

“It’s best this way,” I said. “The fault’s not with him—it’s with me.” I knew this because I had recorded another file for the computer on the night I returned. I had wanted to remind myself how much pain my relationship—any relationship—involved, and seeing my tears did the trick every time.

I wasn’t built for love. I doubted any Meratoliage was.

My boots, vibrant and healthy, bumped against me. It was a sorrowful pulse. They had been pumping me with memories about Philippe all night, now that they were in good form and I didn’t need memories to solve a case or run from an enemy. Conserving energy wasn’t a priority.

That meant I could remember everything that mattered.

Philippe, adoring me with his gaze, his fingertips…me, wanting to tell him that I was falling for him but, instead, we ran out of time yet again…

Had he changed his mind about me after he’d seen me as the hag again? I couldn’t imagine he could love
that
. But he had been ringing Amari as if what he had seen didn’t affect him.

So, if that were true, then what was scaring me about him? Was it that I would never be able to return his feelings because I was essentially an empty vessel? That, someday, he would realize that this, along with the burns, wasn’t worth his effort?

I had already been shunned by my family, and I couldn’t risk my heart on another rejection. And this one…oh, it would be so much worse.

Glancing at the computer I had set on a nearby, bony chair, I felt my throat and chest become heart-sore. I had already been through every video, but I had watched the personal one Philippe had created for me several times tonight. And that would have to assuage me until I was ready to let go of him altogether.

My boots sighed against me, tiny bubbles popping to the surface of the green water, breaking into nothing.

Amari cleared her throat, and I came out of my depressed daze. For some reason, she was smiling.

She spoke out the side of her mouth to Jean-Marie. “You think she could use some good news about another subject that don’t involve Loverboy?”

Jean-Marie nodded, smiling, too.

What were they about?

Amari addressed me. “I don’t mean to get those hopes of yours up, but Jean-Marie and me came out here to do more than let you know we’re sick of answerin’ your calls. We might’ve hit on somethin’.”

I furrowed my brow.

“Ah,” Amari said, waving a hand at me in dismissal, “of course you wouldn’t recall what it might be. We been hard at work on it for a while as you come and go in that sleep of yours.”

Jean-Marie whispered in Amari’s ear, and the other woman—ageless, blind, and cryptic—smiled again.

“If you’re so excitable, you go on and say it, girl,” Amari told her.

The braided one bobbed on her toes and let out a rushed whisper. I couldn’t even begin to translate it because her words were so quiet.

“She
say,”
Amari uttered louder, “that we might have a way to stretch out your memory, make your recollection work for longer than it do now, make the vines into…oh, what wouldja call it…?”

Another whisper from Jean-Marie.

“There, yeah. Supervines.”

My boots swished in the water, perking up. I allowed myself to do so, as well—slightly.

“Why, Lilly,” Amari said, “if I could see, I’d say you have a chance to pull outta this funk.”

Doubtful, but I was still interested. “When would we be able to experiment on this, Amari?”

“Later.” Amari looked smug for some reason. “You be busy tonight, believe me, but with this? We take baby steps, child. Baby steps.”

I’d be busy tonight? Sure—busy sulking.

As if to illustrate the size of the steps she had in mind, Amari delicately walked down and off the porch with Jean-Marie, arm in arm.

“Amari,” I called out. “Thank you. For everything.”

My voice was chipped. It was unfortunate Philippe hadn’t met me later, after Amari had figured supervines out.

She and Jean-Marie kept moving, toward the road out of the bayou. “My pleasure. Now, we won’t be long. Jus’ goin’ out collectin’ for tonight.” She started whistling an eerie tune.

All right. So they would be gathering elements for their spells, leaving me alone. Not that I was excellent company anyway.

I slumped in my chair, looking at that computer. It was no use resisting it.

Once more, I accessed Philippe’s personal video from a few days ago, and the sight of his dark pirate hair, gray eyes, and wistful smile flooded me with sharp yearning. My boots petted me, as if attempting consolation.

“Lilly,” he began, “I don’t know how often you’ll get to watch this, bein’ the busy girl you are, but I have a lot to say to you, and I don’t know if I’ll ever have the chance to say it again.” His smile warmed now, and it traveled to his gaze. “Last night, our first night, is gonna stay with me forever. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. Never…”

As the sound of something mechanical—a motorcycle?—growled through the air, I pressed Pause.

Closer and closer down the bayou road it came, and my boots fluttered in anticipation. I didn’t think they would be doing that if a Meratoliage were on its way.

My boots had fluttered only for Philippe.

I shut the computer top, cutting off what was to come in his video—him, describing our night together. And every time I heard him, his words nearly made me believe he
could
look upon my burns without pity.

But hadn’t he dueled for me nonetheless? And here he was, roaring down the road, coming to a dirt-spraying stop by the porch.

As the exhaust smoke settled, I saw that he wasn’t wearing a helmet, and his hair was tossed round him, long and free. He cut the engine, getting off the bike, coming to stand in front of the porch.

Every part of my body had ceased motion—my heart, my blood, my breathing. Even my eyelids wouldn’t blink as they took in his dark clothing, his muscled frame, his determined expression.

Had he had enough of my
no
es and mindlessly climbed on his bike, driving out here to turn me into a
yes
girl?

He lifted a finger. “I ain’t waitin’ any more, Lilly.”

Evidently so?

Then I remembered the burns, and instinctively, I bent my head, allowing my hair to cover my face. The scars, the puckered skin. He had to be seeing them.

“Goddammit,” he said, climbing a step. “Are you serious? Amari told me you’ve been watching videos and getting information from those boots, so don’t act like you have no emotions about me showing up right now.”

He was a persistent one.

“By the way,” he said, “that memory you asked me about the other night? The one from a couple months ago when I first saw your burns? I came here to tell you it’s bullshit.”

He took another step, and my pulse lurched.

“Do you remember what I’m talking about?” he asked forcefully.

My boots had transmitted quite a bit to me earlier, including the memory in question, but the cheeky things blazed the very same vision into me again.

“You were holding your revolver on me and there was
no
emotion, Philippe. My boots couldn’t show me what you might have felt at that moment at all.”

“I remember,” I said.

“Good. Because the first time I saw your burns, I was so hopped up on adrenaline, holding that revolver on you, that I couldn’t have given a tinker’s crap about your appearance. I could barely even see you in the bad light before you kicked my ass and knocked me out anyway.”

So that was the reason he hadn’t shown pity that night? He hadn’t the opportunity?

He pointed his finger at me now. “Yeah, it’s true that, when I came out of my Lilly-induced knockout, I had time to think about what I’d seen, and I did feel bad for you. I’d read your skin earlier that night, do you remember that, too?”

I nodded.

“So I knew you were in a damned fire. I’d seen you burning up in it, so
that’s
when the shock happened for me. And like I told you before, you were in a terrible state, Lilly, I ain’t gonna lie. But I also told you that there’s more to you than a face. Do you—?”