Call Out (25 page)

“Not many,” Quinn said. “It’s limited to a
handful of very senior....oh holy Mary, Mother of God.”

Martine’s eyes widened, and Ashe looked
grim.

“If one of those guys is in on this, we’re
all fucked,” Quinn said.

The room fell into an abrupt and utter
silence as that pronouncement rattled around in all of our heads. I
shook it off, though. I wasn’t giving up without a fight, and I
wouldn’t let anyone else, either.

“Well, then, I guess we better hope its
option C,” I said, moving to lounge against one arm of the sofa
with my feet in London’s lap. “Um..what is option C?”

Ashe leaned forward to rest his arms on his
thighs. “Option C isn’t much better, princess. Hell, it might even
be worse.”

“Maybe worse,” Quinn agreed. “Less
predictable, sure. But not as scary as squaring off against someone
who’s been an agent since before I hit puberty.”

“And what is option C?” London asked
again.

“Magic,” Carmichael said from the doorway.
“Real magic. Spellcasting. Rituals. What we like to call
thaumaturgy.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Carmichael began to explain thaumaturgy and
the difference between it and the natural abilities that we were
all now familiar with. He, Ashe, Quinn, and Martine were all but
talking over each other as they gave an impromptu lecture on
spellcasting, and I’m sure it was all very important and endlessly
fascinating, but I didn’t hear much of it. About two seconds into
Carmichael’s spiel, London licked his lips just the same way he had
in the vision he’d fed me earlier. Needless to say, my mind started
filling in the missing pieces, imagining what happened next in that
little scenario. I didn’t have enough mental capacity left over to
process what the magical folk were yammering about.

Sometime later, London turned to look at me
and caught me staring. At least something of what I was thinking –
daydreaming – must have shown on my face, because he gave me a smug
little smile. And licked his lips again, the bastard.

I’d had enough. Rolling off of the sofa and
onto my feet, I stormed out of the room, going just a hair
off-course to shove Quinn out of my way. It wasn’t his fault. None
of this was the fault of anyone here, but I didn’t much care. All I
cared about right now was venting a little – and letting London
know I wasn’t exactly pleased with him.

I guess he got the memo, because he walked
into the bedroom about two seconds after I threw myself on the bed
in a huff.

“Elizabeth....” he began, moving to sit on
the edge of the bed.

“Shut up,” I said. “Just shut up.” I sat up
and looked at him for a few seconds, then climbed off the bed. “And
stay here.”

I stepped back into the hallway, running
almost at once into the very person I’d been going to look for.
Dylan asked if I was okay, and I nodded and pointed toward her
bedroom. I followed her inside and shut the door.

“Condoms,” I snapped. “Now. And don’t even
think about throwing the magic shit in my face. And if you’re
running low, it’s your own damn fault for screwing 24-7.”

Dylan tried, and failed, to raise an eyebrow
at me. They both sort of wiggled around, and I felt my foul mood
slip a little. “Sure you don’t need Midol instead?”

“Shut your facehole,” I said, trying not to
smile.

She grinned and opened a drawer in her
nightstand, coming up with a giant box of condoms. I didn’t even
know you could buy them in bulk, but at least they weren’t flavored
or anything. There are some things you don’t want to know about
your best friend.

“Quinn’s idea of a joke,” she explained. “Try
not to use them all at once.”

“Yeah, well. Just in case Ashe is right about
the magical-Viagra thing, be ready to come hose us down in
like...two hours?”

Dylan laughed and hugged me, and then I
headed back into the bedroom. I closed and locked the door behind
me and then turned to toss the massive box to London, who was still
sitting exactly where I’d left him, as instructed. His eyes
widened.

“Not a word about magic,” I said. “Not one
damned word.”

“But....”

“Dylan has instructions to check on us if we
don’t surface in two hours,” I assured him. “It’ll be fine.”

London nodded and put the box on the night
stand. He looked as uncertain as a virgin on prom night. I thought
it made him even more adorable.

Smiling, I lay down on the bed and told him,
“Come here,” holding my arm out in an invitation to cuddle. He
snuggled against me, and for a long time we just lay in one
another’s arms, indulging in the same sort of mostly innocent
kisses and caresses we’d allowed ourselves the past couple of
days.

As the minutes passed, I began to realize
that unless I wanted to still be cuddling when our two hours was up
I was going to have to make the first move. I went for subtle,
sliding my hand under his shirt and up the smooth plane of his body
to run my fingers through the sparse hair on his chest.

London’s breath caught, and he covered my
hand with his. “I don’t think I can do this,” he whispered.

I propped up on one elbow so I could look at
him. “Performance anxiety?”

The question surprised a shaky laugh out of
London, but his expression turned serious again as he said, “I
don’t want to take a chance on hurting you.”

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and
counted to ten. I wasn’t sure yet that I could keep my temper, so I
counted to ten again before speaking. “I’m not fragile, London. And
we know what we’re getting into. I need this. We both do.” He
opened his mouth to speak – probably to tell me again what a bad
idea this was – and I laid a finger across his lips. “You know I’m
right.”

It was London’s turn to stay silent for a
long moment. “Maybe….” he began, then paused. “I’ve learned more
control. Over my…powers. Maybe I can keep my shields up. I don’t
know.”

“No.”

“No? No, I can’t keep my shields up?”

“No, you’re not going to even try.” Again he
started to speak, and again I stopped him with a touch. “You need
to be able to let them down, to let go. I know you do.”

“I can’t….” I cut off his protest, pressing
my mouth to his in a lingering kiss.

“Let go,” I murmured against his lips and
kissed him again. And again.

Time passed, though whether it was a minute
or ten, I couldn’t say with any certainty. London pulled me down to
lie against his chest, and I felt his heart pounding out its rhythm
double-time. I wondered if anxiety or anticipation had his pulse
racing.

And then London let his shields down, and I
had my answer.

“It’s going to be okay,” I told him. I held
London, kissed him, and murmured soothing words to him until
finally, finally I felt his fear begin to recede.

As we moved from cuddling and kissing into
serious foreplay, desire rose up to supplant the fear. The psychic
reverb tried to kick in, but I was ready for it. I figured if I
focused on another of the dozen emotions whirling through me then
maybe I could minimize the Viagra-effect. I knew it was possible to
get swept up in those other emotions as well, but they seemed less
dangerous.

Love and affection might have been less
dangerous to us under the circumstances, but they’re more powerful
than lust – and a helluva lot scarier. Even as I felt my own fear
spike, I could sense the echo of it in London’s emotions. And then,
I was alone in my head.

I tried to push up so that I could see
London’s face, but my arms were shaky. I managed to sit up somehow,
and I brushed the hair back from his sweaty brow. He flinched at my
touch.

“Please don’t…don’t touch me,” he stammered,
his voice hardly more than a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered back as tears
blinded me.

“Don’t,” London said, his voice a little
stronger. “God, don’t cry.” He struggled to sit up and wrapped his
arms around me. I felt tendrils of guilt and regret slip out around
his shields and remembered what he’d once said about having a hard
time keeping me out. I remembered too that touch made his empathy
stronger.

“Shit,” I said, sliding across the bed to put
some distance between us. I wiped at my eyes. “I’m okay.”

“Elizabeth….”

“I know you need some space. It’s okay.”

London drew his knees up and wrapped his arms
around them, his face hidden in the circle of his arms. He looked
defeated. Broken.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

London shook his head without lifting it.
“This is so not your fault.” He looked up at me then. “Why?”

“Why what?” I looked away, watching my hand
smooth wrinkles out of the sheet.

“Why me?” he asked, his voice hushed. “Why
are you okay with…with all of this?”

I made myself meet his eyes. “Honestly?” I
gave him a wry little smile. “I have no idea.” I offered him my
hand. He took it without hesitation and gave a little tug. I
accepted the invitation and moved to sit beside him. He surprised
me by lying back and pulling me down with him to cuddle.

“You’ve gotten a lot better at getting your
shields back up.”

“Yup. Now if I could just keep them up.”

“You’ll get there,” I assured him, snuggling
closer so that I could press a kiss to his temple. “You’ll get
there.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

A knock on the bedroom door jerked me out of
a light doze, and I snuggled closer to London.

“Go away!” I called. “We’re naked!”

“Bullshit,” was Ashe’s response from the
other side of the door. “Open up.”

“That’s what he said,” I mumbled as a dragged
myself out of bed. I opened the door, expecting to be met with
anger or at least consternation, but Ashe didn’t seem to be upset
with me.

“Come with me a minute,” he said. “No, not
you, Stretch. You stay put.”

I stepped out into the hall and closed the
door behind me. “Is this where you bless me out for my stupid
stunt?”

“It’s where I should bless London out for
his
stupid stunt. But that can wait,” he answered as he led
me down the hall to the bedroom he shared with Quinn.

Peterson was sitting on one bed, his hands
cupped at cross-angles, like a kid with a captive lightning bug.
His eyes were closed, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. I
ignored him and turned toward Ashe, but he moved past me to stand
beside Peterson.

The other agent opened his eyes and looked up
at Ashe. “Seems fine, but there’s only one way to know for
sure.”

“Thanks, Ronnie,” Ashe said, reaching out to
accept what looked like a necklace.

I moved in for a closer look, recognizing the
triangle shaped pendant at once for what it was. “Why do you have a
Harry Potter necklace?”

Peterson gave me a small, tired smile – the
first I’d seen from him since he arrived at the safe house.
“Quinn’s idea of a joke.”

“I’m sensing a theme,” I said, more or less
to myself.

“Quinn likes his little jokes,” Peterson
added.

“I’m guessing the vegemite was him, too?”

Peterson smiled at me again, a real smile
this time, and I figured his secret agent dossier probably had
‘killer smile’ listed as one of his superpowers. “Yeah, that was
him. That and this here,” he said, indicating the pendant, “are
pretty subtle for him.”

“I get the vegemite thing, but the
necklace?”

“I wanted something I could make into an
amulet, and he brought me this,” Ashe explained.

“An amulet? Like an actual
magical…thing?”

Ashe shook his head and gave me a knowing
look. “I could have sworn you were in the room during our
thaumaturgy lesson earlier.”

“Only physically,” I said. “I was a little
distracted.”

“I just bet you were.”

“What did London do to you anyway?” Peterson
asked.

“That’s none of your concern,” Ashe
interrupted.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll tell you…on one
condition.” Peterson hiked an eyebrow – man I hate people who can
do that – and waited. “You have to give him hell about it.” I was
rewarded with another of Peterson’s smiles and found myself smiling
back at him. “Sex,” I said.

Both of Peterson’s eyebrows shot up this
time. “Like…porn?”

“Only if the porn industry could make the
stuff first person and interactive.”

A look passed between Ashe and Peterson, and
I didn’t much care for it. “What?” I asked, my tone more harsh than
I had intended.

“I’m out of this conversation,” Peterson
said, pushing himself up from the bed. “I’m gonna go find
Quinn.”

Once he was gone, Ashe tried to distract me
by handing me the necklace. “This is yours, princess.”

I took the necklace, resisting the urge to
thank Ashe since I still had no idea what I would be thanking him
for. Instead I asked, “What just happened?”

Ashe took a deep breath and let it out. “The
way you described that sending London did…it indicates that his
magic might be even stronger than we suspected.”

“Oh,” I said, not knowing what else to
say.

“Which means it’s a good thing I finally got
off my arrogant ass and got some help with that amulet.”

I held the necklace up. “What is it?”

Ashe leaned a hip against the dresser. “If
one of us practitioners knows how to do it, we can put a little bit
of our magic into an item – like that one. It only works with some
types of magic, so – for instance – Martine couldn’t make an amulet
that would ward off a sending.”

“Okay.” I looked at the necklace for a moment
as my mind worked. “Your shields.”

“Exactly,” Ashe said with a smile. “I’ve been
working on this since we got here. As close as you are to London –
and as close as you tend to be in a physical sense – you end up
catching most of the fallout when he loses control. And you’re too
damned stubborn to back off, so I figured I better find a way to
protect you.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “You should have had
it today, when the psycho bitch attacked him. But I’ve never made
one of these before – never needed to – and even though I wasn’t
making much headway, I wouldn’t ask for help.”