Flamebound (14 page)

“Are you sure?”

I nod. “Pretty sure.”

“Well, fuck. That didn't turn out the way I thought it would. Stupid chicken.” She thinks for a second, then reaches for the doughnut bag. “Well, if the sky really is going to fall, you might as well load up on fat and sugar.”

I laugh because the alternative is crying and I've already done enough of that to last a lifetime. Then I decide what the hell. I take the bag and scarf down a couple more doughnuts.

Lily joins me and soon the entire bag is empty. Now I'm feeling even sicker but for totally different reasons. I'm not sure if that's better or worse.

Pushing back from the table with a sigh, I say, “I need to get going. Travis will only hold down the fort so long before freaking out.”

Lily stands up as well. But it's obvious her mind is a million miles away. I'm halfway down the hallway to my room before she speaks. “He hasn't killed anyone, you know.”

I don't pretend to misunderstand. “You don't know that.”

“Yes, I do. And so would you if you'd just let yourself believe what's right in front of your face.”

She's right. I know Declan hasn't gone that far into the darkness. At least not yet. “That doesn't mean he won't.”

“But he hasn't yet. He's holding on. And that means you have to as well. If you can't hold on to anything else, hold on to that. Hold on to him.”

I nod, because she's right. I have enough trouble in my life right now without borrowing more. Declan's taking things one day at a time with me. It's about time I do the same with him.

I
've just pulled into the back parking lot at Beanz when it hits me. Half in the car, half out of the car, I feel the world starting to spin around me. I sink back into my car seat and try to figure out what the hell is going on. And then it's too late. The damn blackness sweeps over me before I can even begin to fight it.

Xandra!
It's Shelby's voice and she's screaming my name, her little hands reaching for me as tears pour down her face.

I'm here, Shelby.

Where did you go? You were gone for such a long time.

I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm here now.

Don't leave me, Xandra. Please don't leave me here alone! Not again.

I'll try not to. I promise.
I only hope I can keep that promise. This connection with Shelby is different from the compulsions, different from the way I slip inside the victim and experience what he or she experiences. With Shelby, I've done that, but more often than not it's this strange voyeuristic thing, where I'm looking at her instead of looking out at the world through her eyes.

I try to glance around the room, to pick up some clues about where she is or who might have her. But I can't see anything but her, can't feel anything but her. It's like she's in a vacuum—one I can't hope to breach.

Tell me where you are, Shelby. Give me some clue and we'll come find you right now.

I'm scared. She's mean.

She? It's a woman who has you?

Yes. And a man. He's mean, but she's worse. She tries to act like she's nice, like if I do what she says, she won't hurt me. But I don't believe her. She has really mean eyes.

Good. Don't believe her, Shelby.

I want my mommy.

I know you do, baby. Can you look around the room? Or tell me what you see out the window? I know it's high, but maybe there's something out there—

Suddenly, I'm no longer in my car, no longer in the parking lot at all. Instead, I'm in that dingy little room, with the skinny cot and threadbare blanket and tiny window close to the ceiling. It lets in a little light, but not much—especially on a grim-looking day like today. I can't see much more than the plain white walls, the dark wood floor.

And Shelby. I can see Shelby, though she isn't talking to me anymore.

I can see her face clearly despite the dim light. Her pretty face has lost its color. The small smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose stands out in startling contrast against her pale skin. Her eyes are dim, unfocused, and she's no longer squirming. No longer crying. No longer doing anything but staring sightlessly toward the center of the room.

My heart stutters in my chest for a few impossibly long seconds. She's dead. Oh dear goddess, they've bled her out, too. Killed her, too. Hysteria rises up inside me—terror and confusion and sickness all mix together in a way they didn't when I first saw what had been done to Councilor Alride.

That's enough.
The words are snapped out, the voice deeper in pitch than Shelby's, but still feminine in nature.
Don't kill her. We may still need her.

Strange rustling sounds, the clang of metal—like a handle hitting a bucket. And just that simply I'm pulled out of the room . . . and into Shelby.

My thigh hurts and my head hurts and I'm cold. So cold. A warm hand strokes my cheek. It feels good, though it doesn't chase the chill away. Or the pain.

Dear goddess, it hurts.

No, I remind myself violently even as the thought forms. I'm not cold. I'm not hurt. Shelby is.

This isn't happening to me. I repeat the thought like it's my new mantra, determined to hold it together. I have to hold it together if we have any hope at all of finding Shelby before it's too late.

Locking out the pain, the cold, the fear that is a ravenous monster inside me—inside Shelby—I try to focus. To see not just her, but the room around her. To see through her eyes. The room. The man hurting her. The woman who seems to control everything.

It's the first time I've ever tried anything like this and I don't have a clue what I'm doing. It's hard, impossibly hard, because everything seems to be muffled. The woman's voice. The eyes I use to look at her. Everything. Nothing is as it appears.

Shelby!
I try to separate myself from her, from the pain that is coming in waves now. From the cold that seems to get deeper and more frigid with every second that passes.
Shelby! Answer me.

I'm here, Xandra.

Can you give me something?
I repeat.
Can you see anything out the window? Can you see the woman's face? Can you hear any noises? Construction? Traffic? Water?

My head hurts.

I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry.

I'm sleepy. My legs hurt.
There's a strange clicking noise that I can't identify, until I realize that it's her teeth. She's shivering so much, her teeth have begun to chatter. Poor, poor baby.

I know, honey. That's why I want to come find you. So we can get you some medicine. Your mommy will help me take care of your head and your leg.
Provided the monsters who have her don't bleed her dry before then. But I need to know where to look. Is there anything—

Shelby turns her head and I get it. A quick picture, just a glimpse, of the top of a building outside her window. And not just any building. One with tall, glass-paned, triangular turrets on the top. And a clock built in right below one of the turrets.

I've got it, Shelby. I've got it.

Okay, Xandra. Okay.
Her voice is fading.
I'm so tired now.

I know, sweetheart. I know. Just hang on for me. Can you do that? Can you hang on just a little longer?

She doesn't answer. Panic rears its ugly head, but I beat it back down. She's asleep, I tell myself as I climb out of my car. Just asleep. Not dead.

I grab my purse and cell phone, head into Beanz. As I do, I can't help looking up at the small part of the Austin skyline I can see from where I'm standing. The Frost Bank Building, with its glass turrets and imbedded clocks facing out in all directions.

*   *   *

Travis hits me as soon as I make it through the door, lobbing questions at me about my bruises and cuts and whether I need him to take me to the hospital. Within seconds, my other employees—all of whom feel more like family than anything else—gather around me. Marta makes the biggest fuss, insists on helping me back to my office and bringing me a cup of tea and some oatmeal.

I let her because it makes them all feel better—I probably should have tried to put some makeup on to cover these bruises before heading out this morning—and because it suits my purposes to be alone in my office for a while. I want to call Nate, to tell him what I found out about Shelby.

Goddess knows, it isn't much, but there aren't that many places in Austin with a bird's-eye view of the Frost Bank Building. Even fewer with that particular angle. Surely Nate will be able to do something with it, even if it means searching every building in the area.

But when I call, I end up getting his voice mail. Disappointed and more than a little worried—I'm not sure how much longer Shelby is going to be able to last—I leave an urgent message. Then I stare at my phone and contemplate calling Declan. He hasn't called me this morning, but then, I am the one who flinched away from him last night. Who let him leave. Maybe that means I should be the one to call him.

But what if he doesn't want to hear from me? After all, Declan isn't much of a game player when it comes to this kind of stuff. If he wants to talk to me, he'll talk to me. Maybe I should—ugh! I barely resist the urge to slam the phone, or my head, into the desk. This is why I don't do relationships. Trying to figure out the other person's intentions makes you bat-shit crazy.

Deciding to hell with it—if he doesn't want to talk to me, he doesn't have to pick up—I search through my contacts for his name. But before I can press
CALL
, my phone starts to ring. It's my aunt Tsura and, while I adore her, I can't help thinking about sending the call straight to voice mail. Because while she's my favorite aunt, she's also my mother's twin sister and accomplished spy. Oh, she'll hand me some crap about wanting me to send her some of my special French roast coffee beans—because nobody has better coffee than I do—but the truth is she's probably on a reconnaissance mission for my mother.

But in the end, I pick it up. If I don't, she'll just keep calling. And soon enough, my mother will join the game, too.

“Hi, Aunt Tsura. How are you?”

“Fine, baby. How'd you know it was me? Are your powers chan—”

“Your number's in my phone. I looked at the caller ID.”

“Oh, right. Of course.” She sounds disappointed. Not exactly a surprise. “How are you doing, Xandra? Is Austin treating you well?”

“Absolutely.” I sit gingerly in my desk chair, try to ignore the pain that swamps me with each little move that I make. “The coffeehouse is busy, but that's how I like it.”

“Of course it's busy! You make the best coffee around. In fact, that's why I'm calling. I need you to send me five pounds of your French roast beans. I just can't get coffee like that around here.”

“I'll be happy to. Are you at home in Ipswitch or are you in New York?”

“I'm in New York right now, but I'll be home in a few days. You can send the coffee to Ipswitch. Or better yet, you can come visit and bring it with you.”

I sigh, glance at the clock. It took her less than two minutes to get around to my mother's dirty work. Must be a record of some sort. Usually she has a bit more finesse. “I was just home a few weeks ago for the solstice. Remember? Mom tried to poison me?”

“I'm so sorry to have missed that!”

I choke on a sip of tea. “You sound disappointed.”

“Only because I would have healed you right up, darling. Rachael is a great healer, but she's still learning the craft. There's a lot she doesn't know, including different ways to treat poisoning.” She clucks her tongue. “I still can't believe Alia tried to do that. Sometimes I wonder about why she was gifted with all that power.”

So do I. But that's my mother for you. Macchiavelli had been talking about her when he wrote that the ends justified the means. She doesn't care whom she hurts as long as the end result is the one she wants.

“Speaking of healing, how are you feeling? Are you all right?”

I shift uneasily, then wish I hadn't when my leg starts to ache—exactly where Shelby's cut is. “I'm fine. Just working hard. You know the drill.”

“I do.” She laughs lightly. “But everything's healed up from a couple of weeks ago? No complications?”

“I'm good. Honest. You and Declan did a great job fixing me up.”

“Yes, well, he's got quite a talent for healing himself. Which is a surprise, since healers are usually drawn to the light.” She sighs. “Oh well. The goddess works in mysterious ways, doesn't she? I've seen that over and over again with the way things have turned out in this family.”

“She really does.”

“Speaking of which, I heard you might have run into a little trouble down there in Austin last night.”

“What do you mean?” She can't know about Viktor Alride's death yet, can she? I've been keeping an ear to the ground, so to speak, all morning, and nothing has come across any of the usual magical channels. So far, it seems the ACW is keeping the Councilor's death locked down pretty tightly. Surely I would have received a call from my parents if it was otherwise. Between my magic and the implications of his death . . . I guarantee my mother would want to check on me.

“You didn't sense anything
strange
last night, did you?”

Then again, maybe that was what this was—my mother's way of checking on me without really checking on me. Thinking about that, trying to figure this out, I know I sound wary when I answer, “That depends what you mean by strange.”

Silence comes from the other end of the phone and I know my aunt is trying to puzzle out my reticence. I'm not normally one to play cat-and-mouse games, but this is my aunt, my mother's sister. She's a wily one, just like my mom, and I can totally believe this conversation is more of a fishing expedition than a simple chance to check up on me. And maybe I should tell her what's up—tell her about Alride and everything that happened before and since—but all that will do is worry my family. Considering it took every ounce of persuasion Declan had to convince my mother to go home a few days ago, the last thing I want—or need—is something that will send her scrambling right back here.

At least not if I want to keep my sanity.

And not if I want to protect Declan. Yes, he told me he didn't kill Alride. And yes, I believe him. But that doesn't mean anyone else will.

When the silence continues to stretch between my aunt and me—she's waiting me out, I can tell—I finally decide enough's enough. “I've got to go, Aunt Tsura. One of my baristas just stuck his head back here and told me we were getting slammed.” I cross my fingers against the little white lie.

“Of course, of course. I shouldn't have called during your business hours.” And still she makes no move to hang up the phone. Instead she says, “You know, Xan, if you need me . . . if you get into trouble . . . you can always call me. I'll come.”

I can't help but soften toward her. The sincerity in her voice, the obvious love, is just one of the reasons she's my favorite of my mother's six sisters.

“I'm good. I swear.”

“You sure about that? Declan's treating you right?”

“Declan's doing everything he can to keep me in bed and out of trouble.”