Blood In The Stars (11 page)

She stared at the four walls of her new prison. Where was here?

Damien Hellerman.

Damien.

Son of the devil . . . man from Hell.

Perhaps this was Hell.

Chapter 9

Tires squealed to a halt in the center of the circular drive of a majestic English Tudor on Sheridan Road in Winnetka, a wealthy suburb in northern Chicago. Jason shoved open his door and jumped out. His feet crunched across the gravel in his rush to the front entrance. He didn’t bother to ring the doorbell, but kicked open the door to the mansion and strode into the foyer.

Miller stood in the dining room, face purple with rage. “What the hell are you doing? You’re going to pay for that door!” he yelled.

Jason stomped to the dining room and slapped his credit card onto the table, hissing, “Charge me.”

He clenched the collar of Miller’s expensive, designer

dress shirt and pulled him a hairs’ breadth from his furious face. “Where is she, you useless wizard?”

Miller pursed his lips, looking toward the ceiling, unperturbed. “My, my. Don’t bother to knock. I always welcome brainless bodyguards.”

“Where the hell is she?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. So if you’ll kindly let me go . . .”

Jason threw Miller back in disgust. “Candy was watching her and suddenly she disappeared. As if she had never been in the building in the first place! I trusted you to protect her and you lost her. Where is she?”

“Come see for yourself,” Miller muttered, moving aside and waving his arm at the dining table. “I left work to scry for her.”

Two maps lined the table. A world map lay to the side and in the center was a map of the greater Chicago area. Beside the maps, a crystal bottle stopper hung off a string and a strand of human hair had been wrapped around the transparent rock. Daria’s hair, from the looks of it.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Women shed everywhere,” Miller replied.

After Candy told him of Daria’s disappearance, Jason had called Miller at the office only to learn the witch had left for the day. On the drive to Winnetka, his anger had twisted around his heart like a poisonous snake and anxiety had reduced him to taking rapid, shallow breaths. Now he stood in the dining area, too livid to think, too worried to be reasonable. The only thing left to do was lash out.

“You should have called me,” he glowered. “Isn’t the House of Witches supposed to be protecting the auspicious one? How could you let her out of your sight?”

“Shut the fuck up! I don’t need this from you right now!” Miller scowled. “And I
did
call. Your phone wasn’t on.”

They couldn’t leave Daria alone for even one second. That second could mean her life. He shouldn’t have met with Alastor. He should have stayed with Daria. If he had, then this wouldn’t have happened. Daria was his responsibility and it was his fault that she had disappeared.

“You’re about to break my antique chair,” Miller warned, raising a brow.

Jason unclasped his hand, surprised at how white his knuckles had turned from the grip on the chair. He stepped back, needing some space, some breathing room.

Miller ran his hand through his crop of spiky wheat-colored hair. Worried creases marred his forehead and his already slender face seemed more gaunt than usual. Shadows darkened the skin under his eyes and for the first time, Jason noticed faint lines etched into Miller’s face.

Witches differed from the rest of them. Time left them fragile the way it did all humans. And the witch
was
trying, had clearly been trying for a while based on his frustrated expression.

Jason slapped his hand on the map. “What did you find? She’s probably not on this plane.”

“I
know
that,” Miller snapped. “Look.”

He held the string with the hair-wrapped crystal stopper above the map. It circled around the Chicago metro area, rotating slower and slower, until suddenly it stopped, hovering above the map, its string taut. Had the crystal sunk onto the map, they’d know Daria was at that location. This floating crystal confirmed she was in the area but not on the mortal plane.

“We’re bound here,” Miller reminded, tossing him a warning glance. “That includes you.”

“Let me worry about that.” Then Jason shrugged, reassuring himself. “It might not be that far.”

Heaviness suddenly weighed on his wrists and he unconsciously rubbed both. Miller’s narrowed eyes followed his movements.

It was all in his head. Jason knew that. When he was in his human form, he never noticed, much less felt his family’s punishments. He hadn’t moved between the planes—Heaven, Hell, and those of mortals—in centuries. The last time, he had gone to Hell to verify Alice’s body. It hadn’t hurt nearly as much as when he visited Heaven. The unbearable pain on his wrists from that attempt had engraved itself into his memory.

It shouldn’t be nearly as bad today. It didn’t matter, even if it was. He had to find Daria. If that meant traversing the known world, so be it.

Maybe it was centuries-old guilt that drove him. Perhaps it was his affection for her. Or simply, he couldn’t let the last twenty-seven years go to waste. Couldn’t let go of the happiest two decades of his life without a fight.

His brother had thought Jason wouldn’t be as sad if Daria died. Alastor was right, for sadness barely described Jason’s feelings. Losing Daria far outweighed simple sadness. The thought threatened to break him, to extinguish the only light he had in his life and ruin all he had worked for.

“You’ll need my help.” Miller finally said. “Give me a few minutes to make a potion.”

Jason plucked a strand of hair from his head and handed it to Miller who took it gingerly between his forefinger and thumb before leaving for the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, Jason held a disgusting black concoction in his left hand and the crystal in his right. He sniffed the tar-like liquid in the mug. It reminded him of a mix of burnt plastic and rotting meat. His stomach turned and he had to work to keep his breakfast down.

“It’s a tracking potion. No matter where you end up, I’ll know,” Miller explained.

Jason grimaced. Someone really needed to invent better tasting stuff. Tracking potions were great, but they certainly couldn’t be more powerful than his family’s punishments.

“I’ll bring you back.”

Jason smiled at his friend. “I guess we’ll find out how good of a witch you are. If we make it back—”

“What do you mean
if
? You better be back, you bastard. I still need you to pay for that door.”

“Of course we’ll make it back,” Jason replied quietly. “I’ve always made it back.” No matter the century or the location, he had always returned. No exceptions. Not today, not ever. Despite the grim line of his lips, Miller nodded.

Jason downed the potion in one gulp. The vile liquid left an acrid bitterness in his mouth. No amount of tongue sloshing got rid of the awful taste. He shoved the mug at Miller, wondering if this was payback for the intrusion.

With his fist clutching the crystal, Jason brought it about a foot from his chest. And he thought of Daria. He thought of her lovely smile, her pretty laughter, and the sweet gaze of her eyes when she sat across from him during dinner.

A dazzling white beam began to emanate from inside his fist. It grew larger, enveloping his hand, then larger still until it encompassed his entire body. Then he began to change his form. For a brief second, the tattoo on the back of his left shoulder pulsed in pain. Then it subsided. His clothes transformed into his black trench and boots, and his hair grew long.

As his body left the mortal plane and transported to Daria, he heard Miller’s voice and fading expletive.

“Shit! Don’t take the crystal with you. It’s Baccarat!”

Blackness drowned Jason, blinding him. He stopped to rub his wrists, the weight on them dragging down his shoulders. The atmosphere hung thick, laboring his breath and pulling each step back as though he waded through glue. With each additional stride, his movements became more fluid and soon he strode through the darkness with confidence. Except he didn’t know where he headed.

Nothing differentiated the darkness. No sounds permeated the never-ending abyss. Yet this was where the crystal brought him. Somewhere in this inky expanse, Damien had hidden Daria.

Jason continued walking, hoping he headed in the right direction. He didn’t know how long he walked. Time had no meaning here. Suddenly, he stilled, not even daring to breathe. He felt her.

Jason.

Daria called his name. He was sure of it. Though faint at first, her voice grew louder, its pull stronger. Until despite his blindness, he sidestepped to the right, certain she beckoned to him, oblivious to the increasing pain on his wrists.

When her essence surrounded him, he stopped and took a chance. Though she seemed to encompass the air around him, her singular voice had come from directly ahead. He called forth a blast of energy and ruptured the never-ending void before him.

Wood splinters, broken glass, and bent metal littered the floor. Daria barely glanced at the debris. She stared at the door as acceptance, that final, painful emotion punched her in the stomach.

She’d never get out of this room, never leave. She dropped her face into her hands and sank down on the bed as she tried to get a grip on the overwhelming turmoil threatening to unleash a flood of tears from her eyes. Her emotions and reason wrestled for control.

Everything in the room that could be lifted had already been smashed to bits. But no matter what she threw at the door or windows, she found no escape. Not even a scratch. Now there was nothing left to throw, nothing left to help her escape.

She stared at the four walls of her bedroom prison. Perhaps prison was better than creatures coming to eat her. At least she was still alive. But Jason had said he’d protect her. Where was he now when she needed him the most?

“Jason . . . where are you?”

She sighed. It was stupid to hope for him. He was simply a representative of his House, he had said. She was just an assignment. He hung around because it was his duty, not because he wanted to.

Then why did he say all those things? She wanted to pummel him with her fists while asking that question. If he hadn’t meant it, he shouldn’t have said it. It made him a hypocrite.

But in her heart of hearts, she wanted him to mean it. She didn’t want it to be a pretty lie.

Daria lifted her chin. She deserved to hear the truth. To do that, she needed to get out of here.

She marched to the bedroom door and pounded on the wood. “Damien Hellerman! Let me out right now!”

A few seconds later, she heard a knock. Daria jumped and backed up in alarm as the door opened. In came Damien, as if on cue.

“Well?” he asked, hands on his hips. “Have you given my proposal some thought? Because this is your fate.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, eyeing him in suspicion.

“You’ve been single your whole life and now suddenly everyone who is anyone wants to marry you. And there’s something in you that just can’t turn us away. Am I right?”

He couldn’t know about the loneliness that ate away at her, the emptiness inside that compelled her to join the matchmaking service. Yet his words indicated he did. As though he knew the auspicious one had these feelings. Were that true, it meant she could fall in love with anyone right now.

Then maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe it was just her time.

“Everyone has something likeable about him,” Daria pointed out, not about to fall for Damien’s trap. “That’s just human nature.”

“But you’ve been feeling especially lonely lately. Maybe even unfulfilled in your life. It’s because you’re nearing maturation. You’re ready to find a mate. You
need
to get married.”

His words struck her with their truth.
Maturation.
Jason had used the same word, confiding that she would have powers then. Except he hadn’t known what powers she would develop. Maybe Damien did.

“What happens at maturation?”

Damien shrugged. “No one really knows. None of the auspicious ones have lived long enough to share. But,” he emphasized, “it means you can marry. That’s all that matters to me. So what do you say? Ready?”

Ready, indeed. Rage boiled her blood and she searched for something to throw at him. Her lifelong happiness held as much importance as an errand he planned to finish.

“Marriage is for the rest of your life. It’s not child’s play.” Ire continued to bubble inside her. Damien had proposed but didn’t take it seriously. It was all one big joke for him. She wasn’t even worthy of a homework assignment.

Damien laughed. “Listen to yourself. Are you my mother? Look,” he began, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back down to sit on the bed. “I’m the oldest son. You’re the auspicious one. This is meant to be. We’re a match made in Heaven—Hell—whatever.”

Her face twisted with disbelief as she haughtily declared, “I don’t do Hell.”

“We can live with the humans. I don’t mind.”

Daria rolled her eyes and groaned. Nothing got through this man’s thick skull.

“I don’t want to marry you!” she practically screamed.

“But you’d marry Jason if he asked you?” he glowered.

His question threw her off guard. She hadn’t even thought about it because Jason hadn’t proposed.

“He doesn’t want to marry me,” she answered dully.

Indignation rose in Damien’s glittering black eyes and Daria wondered if it was for her benefit. “That son of—”

The words had barely left Damien’s lips when her dresser imploded through the wall, drowning out Daria’s scream. The wood shrank and streamed through a tiny pinhole in the wall by an invisible vacuum on the other side. Then the wall began to disappear.

The hole grew larger, taller, until it expanded from floor to ceiling with the edges fading into blurriness. Damien stood and scowled at the hole through narrowed eyes, his lips curling in disgust. Nothing lay beyond the wall except an impenetrable darkness.

Within the infinite black space came an outline of a man. The blackness surrounded him like turbid water, a goo that clung to every cranny of his person.