The Witching Hour (The Grim Reaper Saga (Urban Fantasy Romance)) (19 page)

No matter what she did, no matter how many people she’d talked to today, her thoughts kept returning with burning clarity to her goodbye of only hours ago. It also didn’t help that whenever Tamryn walked past she’d throw a snicker or snort over her shoulder.

Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.
She’d run him off.

Friday night. Busiest night of the week. Her sisters really needed her to stay focused and right now she could care less. All she wanted to do was go home and forget today had ever happened.

“Seems the witch has a problem,” Celeste said, not glancing up from her grimoire, her personal book of spells. A half-filled cauldron sat before her on the workbench.

“Nothing,” Eve mumbled, quickly collecting the correct amount of herbs and placing them in glass stoppered vials. “Same ol’ crap Tamryn’s been making fun of me for all day.”

“Eve, really. Hun, I can feel you projecting that angst all over the place. It really wasn’t that bad.” Celeste stuck the tip of her tongue out the side of her mouth as she sprinkled some damiana into the concoction.

A bitter, stringent scent filled the room as the viscous fluid swallowed the leaves.

“What are you making?”

“Aphrodisiac. And stop switching the subject.”

“I didn’t.” Eve glanced at the clock, then out the window. Sun was setting. Now or never. Her stomach was one raging ball of anxiety. She shouldn’t have done it, told him where to find her. Because if he didn’t come when the sun went down, she’d feel like the world’s biggest dumbass.

“Yes you did. But hey, if it makes you feel better to lie--”

“Whatever, Cel. I don’t care. I’m done. Through. So over it.”

“Ha! That’ll be the day. So you still on for the club tonight?”

“With the screaming me me’s, wouldn’t miss it.”

Celeste turned, narrowing bright green eyes and smirked. “You know Tam and I really hate that nickname.”

“Well if you guys didn’t always live up to it...”

Her sister shook her head with a small smile before turning back to the cauldron.

Eve walked away, a hissing noise of bubbling brew following in her wake.

“Okay. I’ve got everything you’ve asked for here. Do you need anything else?” she asked the elder leaning heavily against the wall. He ran a hand down his whiskered cheek, glanced at the vials in her arms and shook his head.

“No, that should do.”

“Okay, then let’s go check out.”

She couldn’t help it, when she walked around the counter she glanced at the clock again. Five ‘til nine. This sucked.

“No matter how many times you look at that thing it’s not going to change to your liking.”

“What?” she asked, looking at her customer. He reached into his gray coat and pulled out a brown leather wallet.

“Time’s a funny thing. Want it to move fast and it won’t. Need it to slow down and you can’t seem to catch a breath.”

“True.” She only gave him half an ear, not really in the mood to philosophize.

“And some of us,” he cocked his head and opened his wallet, pulling out a twenty, “don’t have the luxury of it. Sometimes it simply runs out.”

Her finger remained poised over the zero button, her gaze rolling to his, a chill--like frost--swept through her body, down her spine. “What?”

He had her attention now.

He shrugged, his bespectacled gaze boring into hers. Then he smiled, exposing coffee stained teeth. “I’m simply saying. You never know when it’s your time. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

She narrowed her eyes. That was not what he’d meant. She’d swear it. His gaze had been intent with hidden meaning, as if he were trying to convey the urgency of what he said through a look.

“Do you do divination?” Was he trying to tell her some future she was yet unaware of? Her heart clenched.

Tamryn was into divination. Good at it too. She checked the tarots with regularity. Surely she’d have known if there was some black mark over Eve’s near future?

Still. There’d been power in his words. She shivered.

He passed her the money, his fingers making the briefest contact with hers. A current, like a bolt of electricity traveled from his hand to hers, zipping through her body with the speed of thought. She sucked in a breath as her nerves tingled with a rush of adrenaline. Then it was gone.

She frowned, still feeling unhinged and yet at the same time as normal as she’d ever been. He was smiling.

“Of course I don’t, my dear.”

***

The quicken of ancient power flowed through Cian’s veins. In the next instant he was slammed with a mental impression of mind numbing fear.

He choked on it, instinct forcing him toward the shop. He’d sworn not to interfere, not to get involved with Eve again. He stared at the door of the Witch’s Brew, indecision warring in him.

He’d told Lise he wouldn’t see her again. Giving a million weak reasons why he couldn’t. But it seemed his feet had a mind of their own. He tried to tell himself he was just seeing to Eve’s safety. Yeah. And The Morrigan hadn’t really beat him to within an inch of his cursed life, it had all been a serious misunderstanding on his part.

A hunched, elderly man walked out the door, a brown bag clutched in his hand.

Cian ran across the road, not stopping to think what he’d do when he reached the man, but reacting on pure, primal instinct. He grabbed the slight man by the neck and slammed him against a green dumpster sitting against the alleyway between shops. The blow forced the man to drop his bag. The unmistakable sound of shattering glass rang on impact.

All Cian saw was red.

“Why are you here?” he barked. Frustration and fears for Eve making him brazen and reckless.

A black mist circled in the man’s eyes, eating away at the brown, until the entire orb was a dark, polished ebony. “Away!”

Cian was thrown to the ground. Needlework’s of pain flared through his head. A wet trickle of blood slid down the side of his forehead.

“How dare you touch me like that?”

“What did you do to her, Dagda?” he snarled.

The small, figure leaned over him. A sneer twisted his thin lips. “Dare to touch me like that again, Death, and you won’t have to worry about Chaos anymore.”

Cian got to his knees, holding onto his stomach, still glaring at Dagda. “What did you do?”

“You’re precious little witch is fine. As much as you might hate it, we’re working the same side. The Morrigan’s been whipped into blood lust. She wants the woman and she’ll do anything to have her. I want her safe.”

“Why?” Maybe finally someone would give him the answers he desperately needed.

Dagda exhaled, his gaze sharp and assessing. “Lise has told me you’ve talked. You understand there are some things I can’t tell you. But I’m making plans.”

“Plans for what? I’ve prolonged the inevitable. You know it. I know it. Give me something. Tell me something.” He was begging now. Fine, he’d beg, he’d do anything to keep her safe. If anyone could help him, show him how. Pride took a backseat to her safety.

“Chaos has plans of her own. The likes of which I’m sure neither of us will spot until it’s too late. But you’ve still got time.”

“And why should you care, Dagda?” he spat. “Why are you involving yourself in this? Why did you send me to her? Why? What’s so important about Eve?”

Dagda glanced away, clenching his jaw. As if debating his next words. Cian waited, not breathing, not wanting to kill his chances of finding out some much needed information.

The King of the Fae sighed and rolled his gaze to Cian’s face. “There is a prophesy...”

Cian’s flagging spirits jerked.

“I don’t know everything. But I can tell you this. An oracle of the chosen came to me long ago. Speaking of war. Destruction. Death. All over again. Except this time, all of humanity, normals and supers alike, will destroy themselves.”

He frowned. “When?”

“I don’t know. Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Or even a thousand years from now. But it’s an absolute guarantee.”

His stomach gave a sick roll.

“What do Eve and I have to do with this?” he growled, wondering why the God would think he cared. But then he thought about Eve, his beautiful dark rose, and he did care.

Then another thought intruded. This was impossible. There was no known lore to substantiate this wild claim.

Dagda shook his head. “I tell truth.”

“Does the Queen know?”

“No. She is Goddess of strife. Even if she were to receive the information she wouldn’t heed it. To her it would seem impractical. She was created for the sole purpose of causing disruption. The Morrigan is doing what she does best.”

“What do Eve and I have to do with this then? If the earth is to be destroyed, me fighting to save her life seems insignificant in comparison.”

Dagda clenched his jaw. “The chosen have created one perfect mate for each grim reaper.”

“What does that mean? So we each find our mates and miraculously the world is saved?” He snorted. How stupid did the god take him for?

“Yours was the face I saw in the prophesy, Cian. I don’t know if Eve is your mate. Or why it’s even important you find one. But if there’s any chance, no matter how slim, that finding her might somehow avert this fate, then I’m going to do everything in my power to see that she is safe.”

Something was missing. Some piece to the puzzle. It didn’t make sense. How could finding a mate avert a catastrophe of that magnitude? “What aren’t you telling me, Dagda?”

“That’s all I was given. But remember this. In two more days The Morrigan will strike. She’ll be cunning. Keep aware of everyone. Strangers, friends, even her family. I do not know what she plans. But it is coming, and if I know my Queen, in the least likely way.”

Cian stood, shoving blunt fingers through his hair. The air vibrated with the whistle of a howling wind, he turned his head for a split-second, huddling against the strength of the ripping gale. Then there was silence, an eerie hum of nothing. As quick as the wind had started it vanished, and with it, the Earth God.

An impotent rage filled his gut with fire, gnawed away at his insides. He’d wanted information. But this was the last thing he’d expected to be told. It was almost too much to take in. This went beyond protecting Eve. And he still couldn’t understand what her significance was. To him, she meant everything. But how could one lone witch and death save the world? Learning more had helped nothing, only deepened the mystery.

“Cian.”

He snapped around, bent at the knees, ready to tear whatever it was to pieces.

There she stood, his exotic priestess. Her hair was hanging down, long and loose and flowing well past her shoulders. Her golden eyes were huge. Bow shaped lips turned down into a frown. Her pale skin shone radiant in the light of the moon.  

He tried to shut off the emotions, tell himself that the blood pounding in his ears and the knife twisting in his gut meant nothing.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He ground his jaw, then decided. “You said you worked tonight. I came to see you, Eve Philips.”

She smiled. It was only a slow curling of the lips, but it put heat in his loins and had him taking a step closer.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes. Wishing he had stayed away, wishing he’d never met her, that she could have kept her husband. That none of this ever had to happen to her. All the secrets, all the lies he’d already told. When the truth came out she would hate him.

He opened his eyes. “I couldn’t stay away.”

***

Eve didn’t even try to stop the stupid I’m-so-ridiculously-happy grin from hijacking her face.

I couldn’t stay away.

Her heart jerked against her chest just thinking about it. So maybe he had a thing for rambling fools after all.

“How’s the tattoo?” he finally asked after a moment of silence.

She touched the tender spot on her back. “Little sore and itchy. But otherwise, it’s pretty good. I need to put some more tattoo goo on it though. It’s getting a little dry.”

“Hmm...”

She glanced at him out the corner of her eye. He seemed distracted, his thoughts a million miles away. She waved a hand in front of his face. “Earth to Cian.”

He looked at her. “What?”

“You feeling okay? You seem bothered.”

Exhaling, he ran his hand over his head. She loved that hair of his. It was so long, so out of date, and yet it fit. On most any other man, hair that length would be such a turn off. Maybe because he looked so masculine, but it didn’t distract. A wicked desire to have him spread that hair out beneath her and her roll around naked in it made her shiver.

“I’m sorry, Eve. I am distracted, I shouldn’t be. Maybe I’m not good company tonight.”

“No. No, you’re fine.” There wasn’t a chance she was going to let him leave her now.

But the truth was he didn’t seem fine. Not really, and suddenly she felt an urge to do something nice for him. Normally she’d take her friends to a diner and help share their woes over a plate of Mac’s famous chili-cheese fries. But with a vamp that was pretty well out of the question.

Vamps couldn’t metabolize regular food, eating anything that didn’t involve platelets tended to give them the human equivalent of food poisoning. She’d had to concoct several blood cleansing potions for untried newbs still unsettled at the thought of feeding.

Which left only one other place at this time of night. Thankfully an Indian summer had bespelled the day, it was unnaturally warm, all the better for what she had in mind, if she had time that was. She checked her watch. Another two hours before she had to meet the screaming me me’s at the club.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

He frowned. “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

Eve glanced around. At nine at night, San Francisco was packed with tourists. The flash of several cameras and happily smiling faces attested to that. Loud music from competing clubs, mixed with the high-pitched chatter of vendors and revelers, made it too noisy and crowded. Not something she’d normally mind, but tonight she sensed he might enjoy something a little more sedate and peaceful.

“No, not here. Someplace quiet. Come with me. I know just the spot.” She grabbed his hand and led him off the beaten path.