Slightly Spellbound (20 page)

Flying is fun, but landing sure isn’t. The ground raced up, but a pulse of Bryn’s magic lobbed me skyward and out. I landed in the Amanos River with a cannonball of a splash. The water felt a little less solid than concrete, but not much. At least three ribs cracked on impact and maybe my skull, too, because a few seconds after I plunged under the icy water, I went dead unconscious.

22

I WOKE IN a cocoon of blankets with an explosive headache that felt like a grenade had gone off in my skull.

Oxygen prongs blew air into my nose, making it itch, and Dr. Suri and Bryn stood over me.

“Tamara?” Bryn said, clasping my hand.

“That’s my name. As far as I know,” I mumbled, clutching my head. I coughed, which sent knives slicing through my brain. “Ow, ow, ow,” I whispered.

Dr. Suri flashed a bright light into my eyeballs, and I tried to squeeze them shut. “Don’t do that.”

“It’s all right,” Bryn said, pushing Dr. Suri’s arm away. “I knew you would wake up,” Bryn whispered, stroking my face.

“You were in a coma for three hours,” Dr. Suri said. “A very deep coma.”

“I think I should’ve stayed there for a couple more. My head’s killing me.”

I felt Bryn’s lips against my forehead, and the verse he whispered delivered a sliver of soothing magic. I closed my eyes. “That feels better. Do that some more.”

I felt the bed sag as Bryn sat next to me. “Give us a few minutes, Prashat.”

“Of course,” Dr. Suri said, and I heard him go.

Bryn’s cool palms rested against my temples, his fingers gently stroking my scalp. He whispered a melancholy poem against my mouth, and magic eased into me. I gasped as my head tingled and went numb.

“Wow,” I said, my lips abuzz. I noticed the pain in my ribs for the first time. “How are you? You okay?” I asked, knowing that our connection caused trouble for him, too, when I got injured.

He nodded. “My head hurts. My side feels like someone pummeled it with a bat.” He raised his shirt, showing off a massive purple bruise that took up most of his right side.

“Matches mine?” I asked.

“It does.”

“You fished me out of the water?”

“Just in time,” he said. “Another minute, and you’d have gone over the falls alone. That I don’t think . . .”

“You don’t think I could’ve survived? Me either,” I said, sitting up. “These swamp people witches are becoming a real problem.” My voice was cool and hard.

“I agree. I’m fairly sure you were right about Oatha using a voodoo doll.”

“I’m a hundred percent sure. I saw her. Had a vision clear as cable TV.”

“I wrote a special protection spell. I’m not sure if it’ll work, but—”

“Go ahead,” I said. Bryn’s considered one of the best spell writers of the age. He inherited the talent, along with his blue eyes, from his momma.

“It will hurt when I close it around you.”

“Can’t hurt worse than falling into the Amanos from halfway to heaven.”

“The voodoo doll’s been connected to you by the spell Oatha cast. If I cast a spell on your body that makes it painful for anyone magical to touch you and link it to the doll, she won’t be able to touch the doll again, even with an implement, without causing herself serious pain.”

“Sneaky. I know I told you that you should only use your powers for good, but I’ve decided that sometimes there are going to be exceptions to that rule. Like when I’ve been thrown off a balcony, across the yard, and into the river. A self-defense spell with some bite is just what the doctor ordered. Or it would be, if Dr. Suri found out my injuries were voodoo-related.”

Bryn left the bedside and returned with a yellow legal pad. He put a hand over me and read the spell in Gaelic. It was rather musical and flowed over me like oil. The magic warmed me until I was feverish and crackling with it.

I sucked in a breath, making my side sing with pain. I exhaled and concentrated on keeping myself still. The spell’s energy changed. It became hot and sharp, like lots of pine needles dried on a hearth were poking me. I wiggled, feeling like a porcupine turned inside out. I hissed, but Bryn kept going. Once he started something, his concentration was a force to be reckoned with.

All at once, my body contracted, and I heard a loud pop. Then I felt better, or at least back to the level of uncomfortable I’d been before he started the spell.

Bryn set down his pad and stretched his finger out. The second he touched my arm, an electric shock zinged me. He jerked his finger back, rubbing his arm from hand to shoulder and shaking it. I guessed that he’d gotten a much worse shock than I had.

Bryn smiled, his eyes shining cobalt and rimmed with black. “Let her try to use that doll now.”

“I saw several of her relatives laid out on the floor. I guess they were helping to protect her while she used the voodoo doll on me. They looked pretty dead to the world after you flung your magic at them. I wonder if they were just knocked out or if . . . ?” I trailed off.

It was Bryn’s turn to be cool as a whiskey on the rocks. “They were accomplices to her attempted murder of you. Anyone who’s seen a publication on the supernatural world in the past few months should’ve anticipated that we’d answer a mortal threat with deadly force.”

“I suppose so,” I said, still uncomfortable. Being in a shoot-out was one thing. To my mind, that was fighting in self-defense. But magic that killed from miles away? I shuddered. Technically, I guessed it was still self-defense. They’d attacked me from a distance; Bryn had attacked them back that same way. It just didn’t sit well with me.

I glanced at him. These were the moments it was hard to trust him. I loved his mastery of words and the way he could draw me close without touching, but that kind of seductive charm was otherworldly. He’d lived in Duvall on and off since he’d been thirteen, but he wasn’t like the rest of us. He was part Ireland, part Ivy League. His power didn’t crave the sun like mine. His was night magic.

“We’re so different,” I said.

He leaned toward me, his expression softening. “That’s why we’re good for each other,” he said. “Sometimes cold calculation is necessary. Treachery has to be answered with force. It’s the only thing evil respects. But history has proven that power without empathy leads to massacre.

“Compassion’s your heart’s blood, Tamara,” he said. “It gives you a valuable perspective, like when justice turns to vengeance. While I have you, I won’t lose my way. You’re my North Star.”

I swallowed, tongue-tied for a moment. I thought Bryn gave me too much credit. I wasn’t exceptionally good. I was like most people, basically decent and trying to do the right thing. Still, it was nice to hear that Bryn believed I was special. I wondered if that feeling would last. Would I be such a good moral compass if I pointed too far fae? That part of me didn’t seem to have much conscience, and Bryn recoiled from me in that form. What if I couldn’t stop myself from becoming . . . ? No, I could stop it. I was in control of my own self.

“That was really sweet. Thanks for saying it,” I said, then puckered up and smacked my lips in a makeshift kiss. He smiled.

I rolled onto my uninjured side and levered myself into a sitting position with a huff of breath at the pain. “Has anyone heard from Vangie?” I asked.

Bryn shook his head.

“It’s past the time she was supposed to pick me up for her wedding. She’s not going to get married today,” I said, then bit my lip, forlorn.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Bryn said, giving my hand a small squeeze.

I swallowed. “I hope Vangie’s stepfamily’s been distracted enough by you and me to leave Vangie unharmed if they’ve got her. But if Oatha can’t use a Tammy Jo doll now to torture me with, I bet she’ll be plenty mad when she gets back around to Vangie. The thing I don’t understand is why they’re attacking me if they’ve got her. They could just kill her and leave town.”

“I don’t know,” Bryn said. “Maybe they worry that you’ll make trouble once her body is found. That you’ll testify that she told you they were trying to kill her and they attacked you in your house when you prevented them from finding her.”

“Once her body is found . . .” I repeated, feeling the blood drain from my face. I pushed the covers down. “She could still be alive. We’ve got to find them.”

“Tamara, I know you heal quickly, but even you need a few more hours in bed after suffering a concussion and a coma, and breaking half a dozen ribs.”

“Half a dozen, huh? No wonder my chest hurts,” I grumbled. I glanced down at my naked body and frowned. “For pete’s sake, Bryn, how come you didn’t put some clothes on me?”

“Clothes weren’t a high priority when I carried you in here unconscious and half dead.”

“Well, you knew I’d wake up eventually and then I’d want to be dressed,” I said, wrapping the covers around my shoulders. “Can you do me a favor and go upstairs to get me some jeans and a shirt? And underwear and socks,” I said, pulling the oxygen tubing off my head.

“About that.”

“Yes?” I asked, going still.

“You don’t have any jeans left.”

“What?”

“Everything’s ripped beyond repair. You’re pretty hard on your clothes these days.”

“I’m—” I sputtered. “I’m not hard on them. Other people are!” I clutched my wounded side and cursed. Over the past few months I’d been in so many fights. It was hell on a wardrobe. “So what do I have left here to wear?”

“Party dresses and La Perla underwear.”

My hand was halfway to thunking my head when I jerked it back. That would be more hurtful than helpful. I licked my lips. “Okay then. I’ll sure be sorry if any more of that expensive lingerie gets ripped to shreds, but that’ll teach you not to buy me undies that cost more than the down payment on a used car.”

“I had hoped that if any of that lingerie was torn off you, I’d be the one doing the tearing,” Bryn said ruefully. “At least you look great in it before it’s ruined.”

“That’s one way of looking at it. A guy’s way,” I said with a hint of a smile. “Can you go upstairs and grab me a dress to wear? Or are you too sore?” I asked, wincing at the way he grimaced when he stood. His sharing my injuries wasn’t good.

“I’m all right.” He walked to the door and paused. “Tamara?”

“Yes, Bryn?”

“I love you.”

“I know,” I said, smiling sympathetically. “It’s your only dangerous vice, but you indulge like there’s no tomorrow.”

23

EVEN THOUGH I’D planned to head straight out after getting dressed, we only made it as far as the front door before I had to return to the guest room, gasping for breath. I did need more time to heal.

I eased onto the edge of the bed, my pewter dress with the beaded hem falling over my scraped knees.

“Bring me tea and cake,” I told Bryn. “Or just cake. And the leftover chocolate buttercream frosting that’s in the green Tupperware on the bottom shelf.” When I’m recovering . . . or just having a regular day, I’ve found that a good dose of chocolate helps clear my head.

“How about some protein first, sweetheart? I’ll scramble you some eggs.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s so sweet of you. You know what would be sweeter? If you brought me some frosting. If I’m going to get killed by swamp witches, my last meal isn’t going to be scrambled eggs—no offense to chickens. In times of trouble, eggs are really better off as a team player. And the rest of the team is semisweet chocolate chips, butter, and heavy cream.”

Bryn didn’t looked thrilled about it, but he came back with a pot of tea, a slice of cake, and two teaspoons of extra frosting on the side.

“What’s this? Are we on frosting rations? In case I’m too wounded to make more for a while?”

He leaned against the dresser and smiled. “I want you to have some appetite left for grilled ham and eggs.”

“And I want you to stop confusing me with Mercutio. He’s a cat, so he needs meat. I’m a half faery, so I need sugar.”

He frowned, and I regretted mentioning my fae side. I needed to watch that. Or not. If Bryn couldn’t accept me as I was, maybe it was better to know sooner rather than later.

I drank two cups of strong tea and ate my cake and extra frosting. Then I lay down and rested. While asleep, I dreamed of faraway places and heard a pretty female voice say in an Irish lilt, “There you are. Be well and step lively. Your wounds won’t trouble us.” I woke with the taste of honeyed apples on my tongue, and my skin glowed pure gold. The pain I’d had was much less. Fae healing of some kind?

Finding me awake, Bryn brought a laptop computer and a map into the room. When he opened an article with pictures of the Therouxs, I blinked and my jaw dropped.

“How old is that picture of Beau and Oatha?”

“A few months.”

“No way,” I said, leaning forward. “She looks at least fifteen years older now. Where are all her wrinkles and the streaks of gray in her hair? And his face looks so smooth. Where are the acne scars on his cheeks and the stubble and . . . That’s not what they look like. Not at all. It’s like they’ve been airbrushed twenty times.”

Bryn narrowed his eyes.

“When you’ve seen them, haven’t they looked all old and rough to you?” I asked.

“No, they looked like this picture.”

I gasped. “How come I don’t get the airbrushed ‘I could run for political office’ makeup and face-lift effect?”

“They must be using glamours to smooth out their appearance. To look more respectable to the police and witches who’ve investigated them. Maybe they can’t maintain the glamour when they are casting these major spells.”

“I need to talk to Edie. If we can’t figure out where they are with a spell, maybe we can use the Duvall ghost network to track them down.”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea where they are,” he said, pointing to a map. The area he’d pointed to was about ten miles from Old Town. “Without as many members of their clan reinforcing the concealment spell, it’ll be harder for them to hide.”

I rubbed my ribs. The pain was much less intense. “Good, that frosting’s kicking in. I’ll be ready to go in no time.”

A yowl from the kitchen announced sunset and that Mercutio was hungry. I glanced toward the kitchen. “Now there’s someone who’ll appreciate some grilled ham. Or some raw ham.”