Touched With Sight (11 page)

Catherine held her shirt closed since  her hands were shaking too hard to fasten the buttons.

“
No.”

“
Pity,” the witch said, glancing away from her. She saw his eyes flick towards the sky.

He saw it too
.

“
Don't ever do that again.”

He glanced her way. “That sounds like a threat.”

“It's not a threat, witch. It's a promise. Don't ever touch me again or I will come after you.”

For the first time since she had fought him on the embankment, his face showed a flicker of uncertainty. He was quick to laugh it off, though. “And what will you do, Catherine Pierce?  You lay a finger on me, and you receive twice the damage. Already, your last little stunt has drawn blood.”

“I don't need to hurt you.” She took a step closer, and he backed up. “I don't even need to touch you, to do what I have in mind.” What thoughts were going on behind those shadowy green eyes? His expression was fierce as he glared back down at her, but for a moment—

She could swear that he almost looked afraid.

A
geas
was a contract with the goddess of Fate. Sometimes one was born indentured, other times it was bestowed upon one as a curse. Because if one did not fulfill the terms of one's geas, one died. It was old magic, the magic of the gods, spoken in the tongues of those who controlled the dragons—and it was supposed to be extinct. And yet, when Finn felt the earth move beneath his feet, and saw the fire falling from the sky, he realized that everything he knew about his world had changed. The old magic was not dead; it had been asleep this whole time, and had just blinked open its eyes, as it stirred and looked upon the world once more.

Kissing that
creature
had been a grave mistake. Anyone could have seen him. He, more than anyone, knew that the Council had eyes everywhere. But she had been posturing in front of her friends and the only way to put a shape-shifter in her place was to publicly subjugate her. Social dominance. But now—now she was as skittish as ever, and his familiar was shooting him a look. Now, he began to wonder if this uncomfortable position he found himself in had been fated.

“
Stop looking at me like that,” he said.

Graymalkin began pointedly grooming her tail.

“You feel sorry for her, don't you? Little traitor. But then, beasts will hunt in packs.”

She was silent for a while. “You can no longer claim to be impartial after what happened.”

“A lapse in judgment,” he said. “It will not happen again.”

But the heat of her body—the wiry strength in her limbs—the way she seemed to glow with light that only he could see … these things attracted even as they repelled, forcing him to recall the legends from his childhood about the half-shifter, half-witch hybrids and their chimeric forms, propensity for latent magic ability, and taste for human flesh.

It could easily happen again
.

But did he want to put out that light, or kindle it into a blazing inferno? Neither. Both.
Hell.

“
She is too powerful,” he said. “For a shifter.”
And a woman
. There was something distasteful about a female who was capable of overpowering the males around her.

But Graymalkin heard the thought, and hissed. “Shelve your Freudian inadequacies. Something has happened. Something has changed. You set something in motion with your actions.”

“It was a kiss,” he said. “Nothing earth-shattering. Not even a particularly good one.”

Liar
, that traitorous part of him whispered.
You enjoyed that far too much.

She had no idea what she was, or what she could do. She was far more powerful than an ordinary shifter. She could be a deadly weapon in the wrong hands. An assassin. A spy. A mercenary.

This was why such unions were banned. Black beasts tipped the scales. No one was entirely sure what they were capable of, and few were brave enough to find out.

Graymalkin's yellow eyes winked in the darkness. “I think you should talk to Cassandra.”

Finn bristled. The less he thought about his mother's bastard sire, the better. “That charlatan and reader of tea leaves and palms? I think not. There is no need for consultation.”

“
We'll see.”

“
I know where the Slayers are meeting now. It's almost over. Then things will return to normal.”

“
I don't think so.”

It was unusual, to have Graymalkin speak back to him. Usually they were able to reach some consensus with minimal effort. She must truly be vexed. Over the shifter? His rage grew.

“Why are you defending her?”

Graymalkin responded with another non-answer. “She is driving you to darkness.”

“What nonsense are you spouting now?”

But his familiar wouldn't elaborate. All she said was, “Be careful, Phineas.”

The witch was not at her bus stop the following Monday but Catherine was not fooled. She sensed lingering traces of his scent around her house that morning, which was irritating—and frightening. She didn't like the thought of him lurking around her bedroom window, and he hadn't mentioned stalking as part of their bargain. It was creepy. He was creepy.

And he had
kissed
her.

She was still pissed about that. The mark had faded almost instantly, but the feelings it had inspired were taking more time to dissipate. Where he had bitten her, she felt tainted. Corrupt. She had spent a long time in the shower that night, scrubbing herself. Trying to rid her skin of his scent. But when she had closed her eyes and gone to sleep that night she could still smell ozone.

Ordinarily, work would have distracted her. But Myrna hadn't called her in for days. Her hours since the break-in had been sporadic. Which made sense—there were lots of reasons, liability reasons, Myrna wouldn't want her in the store. But it meant she couldn't vent off steam while selling books about knitting to trendy hipsters, or magazines to old hobbyists working from their garage. Catherine paced her room restlessly as the rest of her family stirred awake.

She kept thinking about the sky—how it had cracked open, and spilled out blinding white fire.

All of the gods of old had been sleeping for eons. Some even went so far as to claim that they were dead. Others said that the gods had simply given up, that they were waiting for the world to capsize on a tide of its own ruin so they could begin anew. Catherine's mother had always discouraged her from repeating such things, fearful of invoking some ancient blasphemy.

Shape-shifters would not call themselves superstitious, but they did believe in forces that escaped the detection of most humans. They believed in an earth goddess, their creator, and in the healing powers of certain stones. Nobody would call it magic—magic was for witches, and witches alone—but every living thing held a spark, an energy field, and stones had silent secrets of their own.

In their pantheon of gods and goddesses, there were many major and minor figures. The two main ones, Earth and Sky, claimed the most followers among the Otherkind. The Earth Goddess had created all the plants and animals. Shifters were created in Her image, and it was from Her that they received the ability to Change.

The Sky God, envious of all the attention and gifts Earth showered upon her creations, and the worship she received because of this, had, according to myth, created witches in His image. It had been done in retaliation; he and Earth were lovers once, but He was a vengeful and possessive God, with a heart as cold as ice, and She fell for the far gentler and less vainglorious Sea.

Spurned, Sky gave his witches dominion over air, fire, water, and earth. It was his way of thumbing his nose at the two lovers. He was just as cruel as his children. Just as capricious.

Catherine pulled on her zodiac bracelet and a rose quartz necklace she had received from her grandmother many years ago. The stones felt like ice against her feverish skin, weighing her down with their comforting heaviness, and focusing her thoughts. As the agitation drained out of her, the quartz seemed to throb with life—and not quite in sync with her own heartbeat, either.

Of all the elements, earth was the one that gave witches the most trouble. Even those skilled in it found that their powers would desert them mysteriously, at the most crucial of times. It was a shifter element—earthy, wild, stealthy and secretive. And while there was magic to be found in the soil, and in rocks, and in wood, the Earth Goddess had never held much stock in witches.

I wish I had something iron
, she thought wearily. Iron alone was the one earthly element witches could never hope to master.

But they possessed nothing iron in their house. Catherine had checked her mother's jewelry box, disappointed but unsurprised. The Council had eyes everywhere, and possession of such an artifact without good reason would be taken as a threat.
And yet this Council stooge goes about with silver ring, blade, and shackles. Who the fuck does he think he is?

Catherine got on the bus. She looked up with dread every time the bus came to a stop. The witch wasn't at any of them. Maybe he had decided that her help was useless. In which case, she was willing to sacrifice a little privacy at the cost of his company. But her hopes were in vain—he was there, waiting, leaning against the school's bus stop sign as he had last Friday.

As if he hadn't moved.

“
There's something different about you,” the witch remarked as she got off glowering.

She clutched her necklace to her throat protectively, and he snorted. “Rose quartz—for protection? How…quaint.”

“You were staking out my house.”

“
It's against me?”

She ignored him. Easier that way.

“Rose quartz,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Against a Triad witch.”

He continued chuckling to himself during the entire walk to her class.

“Shut the fuck up,” she said. “I don't have to take this from you.”

“
Rose quartz will not protect you from me. It will not even protect you from the evil eye, if the desire for ill will is strong enough.  But I will take your fear as a sign of respect.”

“
I don't respect you.”

“
But you fear me,” he said, leaning in to keep his voice from being heard. She could taste his breath on his tongue. See the pores in his flawless pale skin. It was all she could do to keep from spitting right in his face. The witch let his eyes fall to her lips.

“
That's close enough.”

Too close.

She braced herself, but he did not try to kiss her again. With a sneer, he pulled away from her. As if satisfied that he had made his point. He didn't even touch her. He kept at polite distance, speaking to her only when necessary, and only used one glamor—and since it was on Mr. Hauberk, who she never really liked anyway, she couldn't get too worked up over that.

Her heart thudded against her necklace.
Prey-heart
, Predator said.
Beating too fast
.

The sky was broken
, she thought.
It cracked in two, and the world was bleeding out in streaks of lightning
.

She was too busy watching him. She could sense his growing irritation; it radiated off of him, as if he were a cat twitching his tail around in agitation. She may not have been able to smell his emotions, the way she could with humans, but she recognized that rigid posture as a sign of stress. Something was bothering him. He was distracted. Withholding information.

Important
information.

Sharon started speaking to him then, and he straightened imperceptibly.

Predator noted his hunching posture with interest.
He's guarding
.

Not all weaknesses were physical, although they could be revealed through physical cues.

When Catherine got home there was a jasper ring on the doorstep. She didn't have to ask where it came from. That sharp, metallic smell was as strong as if he were standing right beside her. She shook her head slowly, staring down at the orange and black stone. It radiated magic, and she was loathe to touch it with her bare skin. What was it? Some kind of spell?

Prey ran circles inside her head, too distracted to pay it much notice. Predator scoffed at the unimportance of such baubles. They were no help—and yet, their lack of interest was reassuring.

A quick online search defined the properties of jasper as “protective” and of “banishing destructive forces.” It had the same pleasant, comforting feel as the rose quartz necklace she had inherited from her grandmother, and was cool as water to the touch. The witch's intentions might have been tainted, but the ring itself was not. The magic was not strong, and radiated tranquility.

It isn't his
, she realized, suddenly, not quite sure how she knew this.
It belonged to someone else.