Maps, Artifacts, and Other Arcane Magic (Dowser Series Book 5) (28 page)

I tasted the Loma first. I picked up hints of yellow plum and a touch of toasted almond, along with Valrhona’s signature smooth chocolate. Overall, though, I found the bar on the too-sweet side — even though it was 64 percent cocoa — so I broke it up and stirred it into the steamed milk, savoring little sips long after it had cooled.

Gran Couva was sublime, with subtle hints of mint and fresh spices in the finish. A completely brilliant pairing — a smooth, creamy sweetness that recalled Kett’s magic — though it was much lighter and more chocolaty.

I managed to stretch the final bar from Venezuela until the jet was circling the twinkling lights in the partially cloudy early morning over Vancouver. El Pedregal delivered a rich, deep cocoa scent that filled my nasal cavities and blocked out all my worries and concerns for the time that I inhaled it. The chocolate itself was well balanced, with a delightful hint of honey in the delicate, lingering aftertaste.

Very, very tasty chocolate.

Kett knew me well. He’d also known there was a strong possibility I’d be heading home alone, which made me almost unbearably sad.

∞

The plane landed just after 3 a.m., and I climbed into the limo waiting for me outside the private hangar without blinking. I didn’t set foot inside Vancouver International Airport. I didn’t check in at customs or security, or collect two hundred dollars when I passed ‘Go’ …

Okay, I might have been unraveling a bit. The closer I got to the bakery, the closer I got to confirming if Warner was actually dead. I wasn’t sure I wanted the confirmation. Denial might be a nice place to live for a while. I’d vacationed there heavily the year before through all the shit with Sienna — and screwing around with Desmond — and enjoyed the ignorance. Though coming back to reality had been a painful bitch.

Yeah, so, unraveling.

I had the limo drop me in the alley behind the bakery, then waited for it to pull away.

Then I waited some more.

And a bit longer.

Maybe I was the one locked in stasis …

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The early morning air was cool and misty, which didn’t happen often in Vancouver, where it usually poured rain rather than sprinkled it. A few lights, perhaps from TV or computer screens, were bleeding through the closed curtains of the apartments that faced onto the alley, but a quick glance up confirmed that my own apartment was dark.

I pulled the map out of my satchel and spread it in the middle of the alley, in the general area where Warner had appeared the first time he’d been called here. Not that it needed to be open for this to work. But I was pretty sure it needed to be away from any sort of magical warding, including me.

If this was going to work.

I was hanging a lot on that ‘if.’

I’d gotten home on that ‘if.’

I stepped away — one step, two steps, three big steps back — and pulled my knife. I wasn’t sure the shadow leeches would make an appearance. They certainly wouldn’t be in the nexus with Shailaja. If Shailaja was in the nexus … but maybe she’d been whisked away to wherever Pulou kept the dragon prison. Maybe I’d jumped to conclusions, seeing my newly found father babying a crazed teen who I’d thought had killed Warner moments before.

Anyway … shadow leeches.

I just had to hope they’d be drawn to the map, whether I needed them in order to trigger the transportation spell that pulled the sentinel out of stasis or not. Warner was of the opinion that he’d been called to the alley — and me — by the presence of the map three months before, but a shadow leech had appeared right before he’d shown up.

God. Was that only three months ago?

Nothing was freaking happening. My neighbors were still slumbering, and even the cars a block away on West Fourth were few and far between. The predawn air around me felt devoid of life, empty of light and love and laughter. What if I’d miscalculated? What if Warner was locked inside the mountain with the centipede? What if I’d been meant to draw that thing out of the molten silver, slice its belly open, and free my boyfriend from its intestinal tract?

I took three more steps away from the map. Pulou had said I naturally shielded the magic of the map and the instruments …

The instruments of assassination.

I pulled off my necklace, stepping even farther back from the map as I did so. I didn’t want to defend two objects, but if I had to choose, I’d sacrifice the map over the necklace with the centipedes. Especially if that was what it took to get Warner back. Especially because Shailaja hadn’t needed the map to seriously screw with Warner anyway.

I laid the necklace on the dirty asphalt at my feet. My heart ached over treating it so badly, and I whispered a promise to it — so really, to myself — about adding the vampire wedding rings to the chain in the morning. The silver of the centipedes caught in what little moonlight was filtering through the mist-filled clouds.

I stepped away, my knife held at the ready. The mist collected in a layer of moisture on my face and hair, mimicking the tears I should have released but couldn’t.

I held my breath so long that I felt myself growing faint, but I refused to exhale. I wondered if I could asphyxiate myself through sheer willpower. I wondered when my body would take over to demand oxygen, to force me to move forward.

I was always moving forward, wasn’t I?

Always forgiving, always resilient.

Maybe it was time to stop. Maybe it was too much.

I’d had these thoughts before and dismissed them … Warner. Warner had been in my kitchen … he had made me pancakes.

And I’d wanted that.

I had so, so wanted that life.

My lungs were going to explode. I was going to collapse in this alley. The garbage truck would probably run over me in the morning … no, Bryn would find me first when she came in for her baking shift.

I let my breath out with a gasp, then inhaled again, painfully filling my lungs and rebooting my brain.

A shadow streaked out from behind the bakery’s green dumpster. It was heading for the necklace, not the map.

I lunged, thrusting my knife into that seething mass of evil incarnate, and taking wicked pleasure in slashing it apart.

I could feel other leeches gathering in the shadows around me. They hid in the crevices of apartment roofs. They hid between the slats of the fences that edged the alley, and underneath the car illegally parked two buildings away.

They watched me.

The first shadow leech tried to get away from me and my blade, but I held onto its magic. I sliced it to ribbons until it collapsed like the tangle of yarn in the bottom of Gran’s knitting basket.

I let them all watch as I destroyed.

Warner was doubtful that we could kill the leeches. They’d sought eternal life. They had sacrificed their mortal forms and their magic to be reborn in this leech form, to serve Shailaja in her quest.

But I could rip and shred their magic. I could destroy the very thing that held them together.

And I would.

I would take on each and every one of them. If they fled, I would hunt them down.

Then I would walk into the nexus and wrap my bare hands around Shailaja’s throat. The guardians would hesitate, just long enough for me to rip the magic out of her.

I’d done it before. I could do it again.

I was the avenger now.

I lifted my foot and its silver-bottomed hiking boot. I stomped the shredded shadow leech at my feet to crush the evil sorcery out of it. To destroy the black magic —
 

I remembered Sienna’s eyes. And how dark they’d turned the deeper she’d delved into sacrificial magic.

I wondered if my own eyes would flood with black magic after I destroyed the shadow leech at my feet … after creating the sacrificial knife, the bakery wards, and draining Sienna’s magic into my katana with blood magic … I wondered if this was what it felt like to be in the thrall of darkness.

I released my hold on the leech’s magic.

It disappeared.

I stood, winded by my own viciousness.

I was alone.

Then light exploded in the alley, blinding my still-sensitive eyes so much that I had to shield my face with my arm. Magic hit me. I stumbled back, then leaned into it.

Golden transportation magic. Dragon magic.

The light winked out.

I stumbled again, forward this time, as I dropped my arm to look … to see … to taste.

Warner, once again wearing his training leathers, stood frowning at the map at his feet. The striped cashmere scarf I’d given him on the shores of Lago Puarun hung from his otherwise limp hand.

I stepped toward him and drew his attention.

His frown deepened. He looked me full in the face, but he didn’t know me. My heart started beating madly in my chest, so hard and fast it instantly winded me.

He didn’t remember me.

He slid one foot back and rested his hand on his knife … the weapon I’d tailored for him by molding and honing the magic and blade of the sacrificial knife.

He was going to draw the blade and attack. I could see the instinct in his stance, in the way his shoulders shifted sideways. I would draw my own knife, then. I would defend myself.

He didn’t remember the black forest pancakes … the exchanged glances … the kisses. The laughter.

He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his blade.

I didn’t reciprocate. Instead, I lifted my hands away from my body. I stood before him, arms lifted, hands empty, seemingly defenseless.

“Warner,” I whispered.

His stern expression softened. His eyes widened with sadness, then clouded with anger.

I reached for him, and in two steps he’d crushed me in his arms.

I kissed him fiercely, high up on my tiptoes to grab fistfuls of his hair and press myself fully against him.

“Jade,” he groaned.

“Warner,” I whispered a second time. Then I disentangled myself and reached down to collect the map. Still holding onto Warner with one hand, I tugged him back with me to pick up the necklace and loop it loosely around my neck. Its rightful place.

Then I took my dragon to bed.

∞

I should have immediately walked through the portal with the instrument of assassination. I should have sought out Pulou. I should have explained my actions to my father. They needed to know what Warner and I knew about Shailaja.

But I didn’t.

I took Warner’s hand and wordlessly led him through the wards of the bakery kitchen, then up the back stairs to my apartment. I didn’t bother to turn on the lights or check to see if there was a note on the fridge from my absent mother.

I tugged him into the bathroom, closed the door behind us, and turned the shower on as hot as it would go. I wanted to take him directly into my room, but I just couldn’t get over the fact that I had dried vampire vomit in my hair.

The tiny frosted window in the bathroom offered barely any light. I stripped off my clothing, throwing everything on the floor except my necklace. Then I stepped into the tub while Warner watched me. I left the shower curtain partly open, turning my back to the spray so I could wet my hair and take my turn to watch Warner undress in the near darkness.

The training leathers were actual clothing, not manifested by his magic. I could really only see his movements in the dark, but that was enough for right now, right here.

Warner stepped into the shower with me, and I traded places with him so he could enjoy the searing hot water while I washed my hair.

The pineapple scent of my shampoo mixed with the vanilla of my soap as we washed. We stood next to each other but didn’t talk, nor did we touch other than a brush of fingers when I passed him the soap, or a moment’s contact between our hips and shoulders as we traded places underneath the hot water.

As soon as we were marginally clean, I turned off the water. I offered Warner a fresh towel, and we dried off in the dark, steam-filled narrow bathroom. Warner was so wide at the shoulders that he had to angle his elbows so he didn’t hit the walls when toweling his hair.

Still damp in various places I couldn’t be bothered with, I dropped my towel on the floor and tugged Warner’s out of his hand to treat it the same way.

Then I pulled him — naked — through the hall and into my bedroom.

This time, I locked the door behind us. I ignored the unmade bed and the messy pile of clean laundry in the chair, crossing over to light a chocolate-scented square pillar candle on the bedside table.

I had never lit this candle before, though I’d owned it for a couple of years. I’d purchased it from a gift shop on West Fourth Avenue as a tiny splurge, back when I hadn’t had much money to spare while I was opening the bakery. I often smelled it, using it as a sensory treat before bedtime.

I turned, bathing in the soft glow of the candle as I looked back at Warner.

He stood with his back to the door, large enough that he filled the room before even really stepping into it.

I reached up and slowly pulled the necklace off over my head.

He groaned. The gold of his dragon magic rolled over his otherwise shadowed eyes.

Warmth melted through my lower belly at the unbidden noise.

Not taking my eyes off the length, breadth, and beauty of him by candlelight, I lowered the necklace onto the side table, letting it slowly coil in a pool of golden rings and silver centipedes.

I lifted my fingers away from the chain and sent my dowser senses out in search of his magic. Without the protective barrier of the necklace, his smoky-edged, creamy dark-chocolate-and-cherry magic flooded my senses so swiftly that my body jerked toward him involuntarily. I cried out.

Before I could feel embarrassed by this reaction, he was wrapping his arms around me, holding me fast and tight against his warm length.

“I’m here,” he whispered into my wet hair.

I nodded.

“I’m here, Jade,” he repeated.

I started to cry.

He kissed my tears. Then, cupping my face in his large hands, he wiped them away with his thumbs.

I inhaled, slowly and deeply, to calm myself, but the tears were only the beginning of the release of my grief.