The Parting Glass (Caitlin Ross Book 4) (18 page)

“The last card wasna like that.” He reached up, toying with my breast in an absent-minded way. I slapped his hand.

“Stop interfering with the Oracle. Let’s see… Aside from the Major Arcana, you had almost all wands and swords. That’s will and intellect. You’ve got brain, and you’ve got brawn, but they’re not what’s going to get you through.”

“What is?”

I smiled coyly at him.

“Surely you’re not implying I can fuck my way out of this,” he said with a frown.

“Of course not. But see, you overthink things. You’re doing it now. And you take yourself far too seriously.” A wicked idea occurred to me. “Oh! I almost forgot!”

Slipping off him, I searched through the nightstand drawer, coming up with a dressmaker’s tape measure. Timber gave it a sideways glare.

“What’s that for?”

“Sage wants to know how big you are.”

“What?” He sat straight up, appalled.

“This isn’t the best time to measure, of course. But I’m sure we can do something about that.” I lunged at him.

“Gods, woman! Get off me!” He scooted backward across the bed, laughing in spite of himself. “Get awa’! I dinna want you sharing my attributes with all your friends. Give that here!”

He grabbed at the tape. I snatched it away and dangled it out of reach. He crawled over the bed, growling, until he backed me up against the wall and managed to seize the tape in his teeth. With a jerk of his head, he tossed it across the room. Crowding close to me, he pressed his forehead against mine.

“We were having a serious conversation.”

“That was part of it,” I said in prim, Oracular tones. “You’re allowed to have fun. You don’t have to be in control of every situation. You can’t be.”

His face darkened and he sat beside me with a sigh, his hand going to his Soul Catcher. “I dinna see how it’s going to help me. Not with this.”

“Do you want to tell me?”

“I think I must. It’s what I agreed to. But can we no eat first? I’ve had nothing but coffee all day, and I’m perishing.” An insistent rumble from the direction of his stomach gave the truth to his words. “I’ve still some of the pool money left. I’ll take you out,” he wheedled.

Being only a couple of bites of pastry ahead of Timber in the food department, I felt some serious hunger pangs, myself. It had been a vigorous afternoon.

“Okay. But let’s stay in. I’ll cook.” I hadn’t been shopping since before Timber had disrupted my life, but I probably could rustle something up.

“Are you a good cook?”

“I’m a fantastic cook. It goes with being a witch.”

He shoved me out of bed. “Then get to it!”

Giggling, I threw a tank top and a pair of shorts over my sticky skin. I smelled pretty strong. Not necessarily unpleasant. Pungent. An entire afternoon of enthusiastic lovemaking could do that.

“I could use a shower.”

Timber paused in buttoning his jeans. “Aye, I expect I could, too.”

We looked at each other. Timber coughed.

“Later,” he said, buckling his belt.

Barefoot, we padded downstairs and into the kitchen. I poked my head in the fridge, Timber peering over my shoulder.

“Is there anything you don’t eat?” Funny how I could know him so well and not know something so basic. I guessed that’s what I got for doing this relationship business backward.

“Och, I’ll eat anything.” He chuckled. “I once ate rice cakes and mustard for three days when I had nothing else.”

“Disgusting. And I kissed that mouth.” I pushed the contents of the fridge around, reflecting on the possibilities. Some vegetables. Some tofu. I could do a stir-fry. The rice would take time, though. I still had about half the hummus I’d made a couple weeks ago, and it hadn’t gone bad. And…Yes! Half a bag of pita.

“Hot or cold?” I took a step back and bumped into a hard chest. Timber’s arms went around me and he nuzzled my neck.

“I thought you were hungry.”

“I am.” He nipped my shoulder. “Very.”

“For food.” I struggled out of his embrace and turned around to give him the once over. Oh. This was avoidance behavior. We had a tough conversation coming up, and he didn’t want to face it. I needed to give him something to do.

“Go sit down.” I pushed him toward the table. “Now, hot or cold? Cold will be quicker.”

“Cold, then.”

“Hummus it is. Although it doesn’t show off my culinary skill.” I hauled it out, as well as the pita, a bag of carrots and a zucchini. After washing the vegetables, I set them in front of Timber, along with a cutting board and a cleaver.

“Here. Make yourself useful and cut these up. Sticks, not rounds. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” He picked up the knife and gave the zucchini a troubled look.

“I need to clean up the reading. I think we’re through with it.”

I left him to it. When I returned to the kitchen ten minutes later, the vegetables had been reduced to a neat pile of crudités, and Timber’s energy had settled into less uneasy lines. Good. The man himself was deep in conversation with McGuyver, who had taken up a position in the middle of the table.

“Am I interrupting?”

Timber shook his head. “Just passing the time of day. He tells me he left you a lovely dead finch.”

“What?” I glared at the cat, who gave me a smug look and hopped into a chair. “Where?”

“He doesna say.”

“Great.” I got out some plates and silverware and plunked them down, accompanied by the bowl of hummus and the pita. “I can’t offer anything to drink but water. Sorry.”

“Water’s fine.”

I filled two glasses from the faucet, placed one before Timber, and sat.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s have it.”

He spooned some hummus onto his plate and added a fistful of vegetables and a round of pita. Ripping the bread in half, he scooped up some hummus and took a bite.

“This is very good. Did you make it?”

“I did everything but grow the chickpeas,” I told him, impatient with his delaying tactics. “Come on. Spill.”

He leered at me. “Oh, I did. Several times, if you’ll remember.”

I rolled my eyes. McGuyver popped his head up over the edge of the table and yowled.

“Och, fine. I’ll stop being a ‘fecking idjit.’” Still, he ate a carrot before continuing, his eyes hooded. Deciding where to begin, I thought. I filled my own plate, to give him time.

“I find myself in a… disquieting situation.” He took another bite of hummus and pita, chewed, and swallowed. “I asked your cards what I should do. They werena so very helpful.”

“Give up control, make a decision, and stick with it,” I said.

“Aye. And surrender to the power of love.” He grinned at me, a bit self-conscious. I found it endearing. “I think I got that part. But the rest… What Stonefeather has done, it’s not so easy to make a decision about it.”

“What did he do?” This would be the crux of the problem, I was pretty sure.

“He removed his Shadow.”

The pita I had been in the process of swallowing stuck in my throat. I took a hasty sip of water. “He
what
?”

“He removed his Shadow,” Timber repeated, grim.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I reconsidered. I knew plenty of people who practiced denial as an art form, almost as a way of life. Attempting to remove the Shadow altogether would just be one more step. A big step, to be sure. But just one.

“I understand why Mitch wouldna speak of it,” Timber said in a low voice. “It goes against everything he’s taught me. I dinna believe many things to be abominations. But that would be one of them. Breaking one’s soul on purpose.”

My food forgotten, I contemplated what we had found in Stonefeather’s house. Herbs for exorcism and astral projection: he’d need those to get the thing out of him. The flint knife, to cut the psychic cord binding it to him.

“I don’t get the yucca,” I said. “Or the mandrake. And, Timber, the thing at Gina’s had a body. A solid body. At least, it did at first.”

“Aye. I can only speculate on that part, myself. But I believe I’m right.” He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “Yucca promotes transmutation of energy. And mandrake is a good place to put energy.”

“Gods.” I saw where this was going.

“Aye.” Timber acknowledged me with a bleak nod. “He took it out, meaning to put it in the mandrake root. But then… And again, I can only suppose, but I believe this is what happened… It was too much a part of him, perhaps. Or he gave it too much energy. And it drew of Stonefeather’s substance to make a body for itself.”

“Which would explain why the root exploded.”

Again, he nodded. “It must have been a shock to see.”

I shoved my plate away, feeling sick.

“Caitlin. You’ve eaten almost nothing.”

“I have a nervous stomach. I can’t eat when something upsets me.” I gave him a weak smile. “And that’s something you need to understand about me.”

He pushed my plate back at me. “I understand, but I canna allow it. Not now. I’ll need your strength.”

Dutifully, I choked down a few more bites. “So what’s the problem? You have the Shadow.” I gestured to his Soul Catcher. “You need to find Stonefeather and put it back.”

“It’s not so easy.”

“Why?”

Timber shoved his own plate aside. He’d managed to clean it. “You saw what happened when Gina hit the Shadow over the head.”

“I didn’t see it, but yeah. It fell apart.”

He remained silent, waiting for me to catch up. I did.

“Aye,” he said, seeing the realization on my face. “If the Shadow took Stonefeather’s substance for its body, he canna have much left. Not enough to contain what he removed. So if I try to put it back…” His words trailed off into nothing. I finished the thought for him.

“It’ll kill him.”

Chapter Fifteen

need some air,” Timber said after a time. “And I could use a drink. Let’s go for a walk.”

We went upstairs to retrieve Timber’s shirt and boots and my sandals, and headed out. It was a beautiful, clear evening, about eight o’clock; we’d spent more time in bed than I would have thought possible. At the memory, a warm tingling spread through my groin and my knees wobbled. Timber noticed.

“I did tell you to eat more.”

“It’s not hunger.” I felt the blood rise to my face. I knew I had no reason for embarrassment. Still. Adjusting to the new aspect of our relationship had its difficulties. “My legs are tired.”

“Oh, indeed?” He sounded intrigued. “Fancy that.”

We reached the Mall, and he put his arm around me. It surprised me a little; Timber struck me as rather reserved, and I’d thought it might be too soon for public displays of affection. It seemed once he made up his mind, he didn’t hold anything back.

“So,” he said. “Where can a man get a decent whisky around here?”

“I’m not much of a whisky drinker,” I admitted.

“You canna mean it. With a name like Ross?” He tightened his arm in something between a squeeze and a shake. “We’ll have to fix that.”

I considered the possibilities. I didn’t spend much of my time haunting bars, either.

“Well, I’d think the County Clare, then. If you’ve no objection.”

“Is there a session tonight?” he asked with obvious misgivings.

“What is it, Thursday? No. It should be quiet.”

“Good,” he nodded. “It’s quiet I need, just now.”

We ambled down the Mall to Thirteenth and headed into the pub. It was busier than I would have expected for a Thursday, but not packed. We had no problem finding a booth in a corner of the middle room, in sight of the bar. Timber picked up the Scotch list, set it down almost at once, and waved the waitress over.

“Macallan twelve-year,” he told her with authority. “Two, straight up. Make them double.”

“Double?” I squeaked as the waitress hurried away. “Timber, I’m not a great drinker. I like a glass of wine now and then, a couple of beers at the session. I’ll fall down.”

“If needs must, I’ll carry you. After all,” he added with a suggestive grin, “I’ve done it before.”

“You wouldn’t think of taking advantage of a drunken woman!”

“Och, no,” he assured me. “It wouldna be very interesting.”

Our drinks came. I had to admit the whisky made a pretty sight. It had the same color as good amber, and, like amber, seemed to reflect the light from within. It smelled of oak and peat, with the barest hint of fruit.

“You’ll want to take it slow at first,” Timber warned me.

I sipped, eyes watering as the fumes went up my nose. It was strong but smooth, reminding me of cognac. When I swallowed, it burned all the way down and lit a fire in my belly. As if I needed encouragement, considering the company.

“See? You’re a natural.” He took a healthy swig of his own drink, wrist stiff, and let out a sigh. “Gods, there are times I am grateful to the barley. I dinna like this business, Caitlin. I dinna like it at all.”

“Stonefeather?” What else? But still.

“Aye.” Timber drank again, more slowly. “It goes against the grain. In every way. Not only what he’s done, but what I’m called to do, as well.”

“What do you mean?” I sipped more of the exquisite fire.

“I’m a Healer. It’s more than what I do; it’s what I am. Even before… Before Mitch, I went about it my own way. Or tried to. I put things back together. Mend what’s broken.” He finished his drink and signaled for another.

“Well? Isn’t putting it back what you need to do?”

He waited until his second Scotch arrived. “How can I? How can I give this back to him?” He motioned to his Soul Catcher. “Even though he needs it? Knowing what will happen?”

“I imagine that’s part of the test.”

“Aye. Damn.” He stared into his glass.

I tried another tack. “You mentioned the other day that Mitch had particular reasons for sending you.”

Timber raised wary eyes. “Did I?”

“Yes. And this morning you said you understood it.” I paused for another swallow of whisky. “Understood why you needed to see it for yourself.”

His face closed like a vault door. “I told you this afternoon there are things I dinna speak of. That would be one of them.”

“Okay.” I shrugged, feigning unconcern. I would have taken a bet that he needed very badly to speak of whatever it was. Experience told me it would eat him alive, otherwise. Maybe not today, but sooner or later. But experience also told me not to push. Our relationship was still too new. Best not to strain it.

At that moment, a loud, feminine voice rang out through the bar.

“Timber Alasdair MacDuff! Don’t you dare move! I want to speak to you.”

“Alasdair?” I lifted my eyebrows. “I like it.”

Timber didn’t seem to hear me. “Hell. It’s Spruce. I thought you said this place would be quiet!”

“I may be psychic, but I can’t keep track of the whereabouts of everyone in the entire city. People I don’t know don’t even register on my radar.”

He bolted his whisky, preparing for a confrontation. I made myself inconspicuous, sinking into the dark paneling surrounding our booth. Curious as I might be about the sister who intimidated a man as large and capable as Timber, I had no desire to get in the middle of a family squabble.

At first, I just saw a giggle of girls heading our direction. College aged girls, dressed for a night out. A weeknight out, I amended: jeans and nicer shirts, a few skirts, little touches of jewelry. I remembered my own shorts and skanky tank top, not to mention the fact that I’d spent all afternoon in bed doing unspeakable things to the man beside me. And I hadn’t showered, and probably smelled ripe. I died a little inside. Then I grasped the fact that it
had
been me in bed with Timber, and that several of the approaching girls were eyeing him with undisguised interest. I sat up straighter.

The girls reached our table.

“Well?” The one in the lead glared down at him.

From remarks Timber had made in passing, I had expected a six-foot Amazon built like Brünhilde. Or, considering his heritage, Flora MacDonald. But, compared to her brother, Spruce MacDuff was tiny. No more than five-foot six; maybe a little less. With an over-generous mouth and a face that verged on plain, she shared none of her brother’s extraordinary beauty. But her great cloud of dark, curly hair and enchanting blue eyes made the connection clear. And her enormous energy more than made up for her lack of stature.

“Spruce.” Timber cleared his throat, looking from his sister to her companions with palpable discomfort. “I put oil in your car. You were down a quart.”

“Don’t try to sweet talk me, Timber MacDuff.” As I’d noticed over the phone, she had no trace of accent. I remembered she’d been born in America.

“What d’ye want, then?” Timber leaned back against the wall and stretched his legs out, resigned to getting trounced.

“I want to know if you’ve done what I suggested. In our talk. Last night,” she clarified, when her brother didn’t respond soon enough to suit her.

He snorted. “Talk? Ye mean when ye ripped me up one side and down the other?”

“Have you done right by that poor woman? Because if you haven’t, I have ways of convincing you.”

Oh, dear. It seemed Spruce had been nagging Timber about me. Of course she’d known; she’d hinted as much when I spoke to her on the phone. And she could have no idea, yet, how things had changed. Her glare made me squirm in my seat, and it wasn’t even directed at me. I had no idea how Timber could stand it.

As if at some unspoken signal, the girls with Spruce clustered closer, getting a good eyeful. Then they fell to whispering and giggling amongst themselves. I caught a phrase here and there.

“Omigod, he’s gorgeous!”

“Spruce, is he really your
brother
?”

“Those eyes! I could die! And the accent!”

“I wonder if he’s built like that
everywhere
?”

I smirked. I knew the truth of the last, and I had no intention of sharing.

Timber chuckled to himself, deep in his throat. One of the girls pretended to swoon.

“Not your usual crowd, is it Spruce?” he remarked with a lifted eyebrow. “Did ye round them up on the off chance of running intae me, then? I’m flattered.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised to find you where there’s whisky flowing,” Spruce sniffed. “Though I suppose it could be worse.”

A thundercloud passed over Timber’s face and he leaned forward, exuding danger.

“That,” he growled, “was uncalled for. Ye ken that quite well.”

Spruce took a step back. It astonished me to see her daunted.

“I’m sorry, Timber,” she said in a contrite voice. “I worry.”

He unwound a tiny bit. “Och, well. I’ve given ye enough cause. No mind. But ye can call off your friends.” He grabbed my arm, pulling me toward him. Belatedly, I recalled I had been hiding, and made myself obvious.

“I’m
with Caitlin
.” My lover gave his sister a significant glare.

Some whispers from the gallery: “Doesn’t she run that New Age store? I hear she’s a
witch
!”

Spruce heard them, too. Turning to confront her friends, she shooed them off. “Enough. Go on back to our table; I’ll be with you in a minute.”

The extraneous girls flounced away. Spruce returned her attention to her brother. And to me. Took in Timber’s ruffled hair. My flushed face and neglected appearance. For all I knew, our pheromones, too. She smiled, satisfied.

“Well, then. Good enough. I’ll leave you to it.”

“And I’ll thank you for it,” Timber grumbled.

“You’re a gigantic shite, Timber,” Spruce said. “But I love you anyway.”

“Aye, I love you too, Spruce,” he conceded. “Now be off with you.”

Grinning, she started away. Then she stopped and came back.

“By the way, I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Aye? What now?” I could see him wishing for another whisky.

“I told you not to give out my number.”

“I didna give out your number.”

“Then why do people keep calling the apartment looking for you?” Spruce folded her arms across her chest, unassailable in her logic.

Timber sat up straighter. “Who called me at your apartment? I dinna ken anyone here.”

“Well, she did.” Spruce pointed at me.

“I looked you up.” Both Timber and Spruce fixed on me. “You’re the only S. MacDuff in the phone book.”

“Okay, I’ll allow that,” Spruce said. “But what about the other one?”

“
What
other one?” Timber rumbled, the warning back.

“Some old guy called you tonight. He had a funny name. I think it was Stonefeather.”

“
What
?” Timber almost roared, rising so abruptly to his feet that he all but knocked the table over. “And ye didna think tae write it down?”

“I pretended I didn’t know you. I really don’t want some of your acquaintances knowing where I live.”

“
A ’faighinn muin luath orm!
”

“Not a chance.” Spruce poked him in the chest. “Sit down. You’re making a scene.”

Timber sat, glowering. I had to admit, I admired Spruce’s ability to manage him.

“Anyway, he didn’t buy it. He gave me a message.”

“And d’ye happen tae remember it?” Timber asked, sounding weary.

“Of course I do. It was pretty strange, but that didn’t surprise me any, knowing you.”

She peeked at him for a reaction. He simply gestured for her to continue.

“He said, ‘Tell the Lion I need the thing in his keeping. He should come to me where the Moon lives on the Mountain.’”

Timber glanced at me. I shrugged.