The Dead (The Thaumaturge Series Book 1) Read online

  “That would be really great,” she admitted.

  “You can call me, you know,” I said hesitatingly, hoping that she wouldn’t notice my implication. “I mean, if you ever need to get away, or need help...”

  She paused, her eyes searching my face. “He doesn’t hurt me, Ebron.”

  I exhaled the breath that had felt too hot in my chest. Thank God. The last thing I wanted was to go busting in on their domestic issues.

  “Okay,” I said. “But you can still call, three a.m., whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

  This time her smile was genuine. “Thank you, friend.”

  “Anytime,” I said, and leaned back into the booth as the waiter arrived to set our plates in front of us.

  The arrival of the food broke up the heaviness of our conversation and we slipped easily into light town gossip. The diner filled up a little, but I lost track of the people around us, just content to be wrapped up in our friendship bubble. Then Dahlia’s phone rang and she fished it out of her purse.

  She made a face as she read the text. “Ugh, sorry, love,” she said. “My one o’clock came early. I got to get back.”

  I glanced reflexively at my half-eaten lunch and Dahlia made an apologetic face. “Stay and finish,” she said, already waving to the waiter and calling for the check. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said. “Thanks, Dalh.”

  “Drinks next week,” she leaned over to kiss my cheek and then she was gone in a flurry of spicy perfume and clicking high heels. I watched her out the window as she hurried down the sidewalk, her chin tucked into her tightly crossed arms. I waited until she disappeared from view before letting my eyes wander back up the street.

  I wouldn’t have noticed them if the car hadn’t pulled away from the curb. A Toyota blocked them from view, and they huddled up against the brick wall of the bar across the street. But the movement of the car drew my eye, and as it pulled away, I saw them.

  Corvin. And one of the women, the redhead. And they were definitely watching me through the window of the diner. I was certain about that, even as my eyes fell on them. I felt a chill run up my spine and spread across my shoulders and I started with enough force to make the table shake under my clenching hands.

  Through the dirty glass, Corvin met my gaze with a triumphant smile. They both dressed in black, wearing long dark coats, and against the grayness of the day they looked like skulking crows.

  My teeth clenched and I snarled through them, the chill quickly replaced by anger. My instinctive reaction was to bolt out of the booth, get over there and confront them. I didn’t like his stupid fucking hat and I didn’t like him sneaking around my shop and my town, watching me eat lunch.

  Some part of my brain chided me for my overreaction, for my paranoia, while the rest of me urged me to just go out there and beat the shit out of the little fucker. I imagined his smug face crumbling as my fist connected with his jaw, imagined how good it would feel for his lip to split against my knuckles.

  I took a deep breath, and then another, and when I looked back out of the window Corvin and the redheaded woman were gone, the sidewalk where they had stood empty except for the swirling leaves. Taking a deep breath, I picked up my Rueben and finished eating.

  I got back to the shop right as it began to snow again, light flakes blowing in on the north wind. It felt good to just plop down right onto my stool by the window, with my coat still pulled up to my chin. I let the silence of the empty store relax me, the hum of the heater lulling me into peace.

  Corvin’s smug face floated through my mind. Maybe it was a coincidence; maybe he’d just happened to be across the street, with no ulterior motive. Yeah, maybe, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been watching me, that he’d been trying to scare me. Or unsettle me, at the very least.

  I didn’t think I was imagining it. There had been something in his eyes, some sort of challenge that I didn’t understand. Certainly it was possible – probable even - that their visit was entirely innocent, but considering my unusual abilities, I thought that it would be safe to operate under the assumption that the witches were a threat to me.

  With that decided, the burning knot of unease in my stomach relaxed a little, and I decided that I might as well spend the day putting together the Black Friday sale I was reluctantly planning. My front was becoming more and more a legitimate business, much to my own surprise.

  I grabbed a pen and a notebook and sat down by the window just in time to see a dark figure approaching my door. My butt had barely settled into the seat and I was up again, my spine going rigid and my hands curling into fists.

  The bell over the door jingled as Marcus entered and he stopped dead when he saw me standing there, poised and glaring.

  “Hey?” He looked me over, leaning back a little like maybe he was going to just back out.

  “Are you following me?” I snapped.

  “I – you ... no?” he gave me a tentative smile. “I knew you would be here. This is your store.”

  “Yeah,” I took a deep breath, willing my hands to relax, willing my thudding heart to settle. “What do you need?”

  “Just a few more supplies. Are you okay?” He took a cautious step towards me, his long wool overcoat flaring as he stepped into the stream of the heater.

  “Yes,” I said with finality. “I’m fine. How long did you say you guys were staying?”

  He shrugged, but I didn’t miss how his eyes slid way from my face. “We’re staying a few more days. Corvin’s got some business here.”

  “Really,” I said flatly. “What business?”

  “His business,” Marcus replied. His voice as gentle but he still wouldn’t look at me. A wave of frustration surged through me, and I wanted to tell him to get out, that he wasn’t welcome, but before I could he looked back up and gave me a bright smile.

  “Anyway, I’m glad we’re staying. I wanted to see you again.”

  “Why?” I asked and it sounded rude even to me. But his pretty green eyes were soft and my overactive heart bumped in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

  He scoffed and I made a mollifying gesture, reaching out a little.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’ve just had a weird day.”

  “No worries.” Marcus looked at me from under his dark lashes and I couldn’t help shaking my head. My tongue felt strangely loose in my mouth, like it would just start talking all on its own.

  I walked out from behind the counter, coming closer to him but carefully staying a proper distance away. He kept looking me over and I tried to breath through the pounding of my heart, feeling like I was more on display than any of my merchandise.

  “More stuff already, huh?” I asked, shooting for professional interest and maybe managing it.

  “We’re practicing some new things, so we ran through supplies pretty quickly.”

  I tried to imagine them sitting in their hotel room, casting spells or whatever. Burning the cheap bedspreads, littering the carpet with crumbled sage. Putting melted candles out with the dirty room service dishes.

  “Okay. Well, what else do you need?”

  “We’re working on this pretty advanced spell,” he started, watching me closely for a reaction. I tried to keep my face neutral.

  “We’ve got most everything for it, but –”

  “I’m all out of chicken hearts, sorry.”

  He paused, and then his bright smile lit up his face. “Oh, well. We brought our own. But do you carry snake blood, by any chance?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry, not the season for it.”

  He grinned at me and I took the decision that I’d made earlier, the decision that the witches were a threat to me, and promptly revised it to consider Marcus to be mostly harmless.

  “Did you grow up here?” he asked, friendly enough that I didn’t feel interrogated.

  “Yeah, born and raised.”

  “It’s really pretty.”

  I snorted. “No, it’s not. Not in the f
all. In the winter and the summer, but the in between times are all mud and gray.”

  He didn’t respond at first and I felt myself tensing. He just looked at me, his expression curious and warm.

  “What?” I asked self-consciously.

  “Nothing,” he said softly. He kept looking at me and I waited for his gaze to turn heavy, to settle uncomfortably across my shoulders. But it didn’t, it stayed light and curious and so I took the opportunity to stare back, feeling that unseen but certain aura around him. I watched him grow uncomfortable, shift his weight from one foot to the next, watching his large dark hands come together as he cracked his knuckles.

  I so wanted to be better at this, at reading the subtle signs, the language of looks and sighs. Dahlia would have cracked a joke, Brittany would have been bold, Leo would have growled until Marcus gave up whatever secrets he was hiding. But I’d never had the ability to disarm. All I could do was wait in silence until Marcus exhaled a breath that sounded a lot of resignation.

  “I need more mugwort,” he said and I nodded, relieved at the familiar task, but feeling disappointment around the edges.

  “This way,” I said, turning to walk down the length of the quiet shop. I’d forgotten to put any ambient music on and our footsteps sounded loud.

  “This place really is great,” Marcus said from behind me. “There’s some herb shops in Denver too, but I really wasn’t expecting to find all this ..., uh –”

  “In the middle of nowhere, Montana?” I supplied and he grinned.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “I know this place is a little Podunk.”

  He chuckled. I couldn’t get over how white his teeth were, how sexy his mouth. When he smiled his whole face lit up, crinkling his eyes.

  “Well, Missoula was nice,” he said. “But this place does seem a little more authentically Montanan.” He lowered his voice and leaned in conspiratorially. “There are antlers everywhere.”

  “Ah,” I said, nodding. “That’s the work of Pete Bueller. Pete’s antler art is a big hit around here.”

  “Sounds impressive,” he said, with feigned sincerity. Then his eyes drifted past me and his whole face lit up.

  “Wow!” he said, stepping around me to touch reverently at the wide-mouthed bottles on the high shelf. “Is that woad? You have actual woad?”

  “Yeah,” I said, feeling my chest puff out a little. “Careful, though,” I added, watching his fingers glide over the stoppered corks, “those bottles are fragile.”

  “Sorry,” he said, stepping back, which brought him a few inches closer to me. He gave me a sly glance. “I’ll try to keep my hands to myself.”

  I huffed a laugh. “You know your herbs, though.”

  “What can I say? I’m more than just a pretty face.”

  I smiled slowly back, though it felt strange on my mouth. It felt like ice was breaking off the surface. Our eyes met again, and this time heat flared between us, unmistakable, and I took an involuntary step forward. His eyes widened.

  A little panicked, I broke eye contact and continued down the wall of jars, ignoring my pounding heart. I stopped in front of the library ladder. “I'll grab you the mugwort.”

  “Thanks,” he said, right behind me. “Let me hold that for you.”

  He stepped around the opposite side of the ladder and gripped it, his hands on top of mine. Surprised, I looked at him through the rung, our faces very close together. So near to him, I could definitely make out something, not exactly a glow, but a shimmer in the air around him. It reminded me of how air is distorted by extreme heat.

  I could taste his breath, when he exhaled, and smell him, too. He smelled like incense and earth, and a faint summery smell that made me think of line-dried laundry. My breath caught in my throat. Our eyes met and locked and this time the smile he gave me was uncertain.

  Something passed between us, something electric that I felt travel up my hands and through my arms down to settle warmly in my chest. A line between his eyebrows appeared as he drew them together, and then his smile widened a bit. And damn if I couldn't help it - I smiled back. He started to say something, but at that moment, my cell phone rang loudly and we both jumped.

  “Sorry,” I said, scrambling for the phone in my pocket and, seeing that it was my mother, swiped ignore. He'd moved away, holding the ladder at arm's length now.

  “Here you go,” I said when I’d climbed down, hastily shoving the paper bag at his chest. He took it reflexively and I moved away, heading back to the counter.

  “Thanks again.” He me the same credit card he’d used the day before. It had his name on it and I wondered if he bought all the coven’s supplies on his own dime, or if they took turns. Maybe they reimbursed him?

  “Sure,” I replied, smiling but not meeting his eyes.

  “Hey,” he said a little louder and I looked up. He carefully extracted one of my business cards from the little ceramic holder and as I watched, printed a phone number.

  “My cell number,” he said, pushing it across the counter to me. “We’ll be here all weekend. We should get a drink or something.”

  “Oh.” I took it, holding it between thumb and forefinger. “Thanks.”

  “No, thank you.” He held up the bag and gave it a little shake and then smiled. “Call me, okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said numbly, my heart finally quiet, my stomach finally still. I watched him walk out of the door, the bell jingling overhead.

  “Sure,” I said out loud, and set the card down on the counter, where I could pretend to ignore it.

  Chapter Eight

  I moped around until just past four, skittish and uncomfortable. Business slowed as the weather turned again, and the weak sunlight faded into gray. By the time I cleaned up and counted the till, it was full dark outside. No last minute customers tonight, unfortunately. I would have rather dealt with a disemboweled corpse than my step-father.

  But no one else came in, so I reluctantly locked up and headed out to my cold truck, wishing again that I had a remote starter. The steering wheel was icy under my hands, and I drove with one hand tucked under my own thigh. I had to swing by my trailer before I headed out to my mom's, to let Johnny out.

  The trailer was quiet, and there was no sign yet of Leo. I had thought to ask him along, if for no other reason than to watch my step-dad squirm. Lloyd hated me, but he was terrified of Leo, even without knowing what Leo really was.

  Johnny leapt up enthusiastically at the sight of me, but I had little time to do anything other than toss him outside. Even he was unhappy with the cold - he squatted to pee and then rushed back inside, diving into the ratted up blankets in his corner. I left the lights on for him and got back into the truck, wishing I could just stay home.

  I drove too fast for the road conditions, my nervous and agitated mind finding release through acceleration. The road out to my mom's place was all gravel and with the snow, icy and slick. Her house was surrounded by scrubland, all sage and wheatgrass, right on the edge of my great-grandfather's acreage.

  The old ranch itself was run by my mother's cousin, and while we were close enough to spend the occasional Christmas with them, we didn't have anything to do with the running of the ranch. My grandparents had wanted out of the ranching business, but they had retained this small parcel of land where they had built a house. The house I had grown up in, after my dad split and left my mom alone and pregnant at nineteen.

  My grandparents hadn't been exactly thrilled about their only daughter and her bastard child returning home, but around here, family is family, no matter what. I remember my childhood mostly as being terribly lonely, with long empty stretches of time where it seemed like I had been left alone in the world. My mom worked two jobs, and my grandparents had little time for me.

  My grandparents were long dead now, and my mother had remained, living now with her piece-of-shit husband, whom she had married when I was thirteen, four years after my grandparents had died. I moved out one
month shy of my eighteenth birthday. Leo had given me the money to rent a trailer in town, and no one protested when I packed my stuff and split. If I had stayed, it would have been a toss up as to which one of us would have killed my step-dad first, Leo or me.

  I passed the familiar row of mailboxes, and turned down the dark dirt road. The moon shone out over the mountains, and I wondered briefly where Marcus and his coven were and what they were up to. I hadn't decided yet if I would tell Leo about them; on the one hand, it seemed like a good idea in case they were causing trouble. But then again . . . I couldn't forget the shy smile on Marcus's face when our hands touched. Leo certainly didn't need to know about that.

  The porch light was on at my mom's house and I parked by the shed, trying to avoid the three howling Blue Heelers that spun and leapt around my truck. They followed me across the gravel driveway, and up on the porch, pawing at my legs.

  I took a moment to rub their bellies and scratch their ears, putting off the evening for as long as I could. My mom, for all her faults, was as tenderhearted as they came, and growing up our house had always been full of pets. My grandmother hadn't liked them, but my grandfather had been a big pet lover, too. He hadn't even protested when at the age of nine I'd brought home a baby skunk. I'd found it by the road, and even at that age I knew better than to tell him that when I'd found it, it had been dead.

  “Good dogs,” I muttered to them, scratching Porky behind the ear. He went cross-eyed with pleasure, and leaned against my leg to give me better access. Reluctantly, I pushed him away and, rapping once on the door, stepped inside.

  I let myself into the small foyer, blinking against the sudden brightness, harsh after the dark yard. Tinny laughter and applause blasted from the next room - Wheel of Fortune from the sound of it. Over that, the chattering of talk radio drifted out from the kitchen. I smelled garlic and lots of it, which told me that my mom had cooked chicken Parmesan, one of the half dozen dishes she rotated through. Sweat immediately pooled in my armpits; Lloyd preferred to walk around the house in as little clothing as possible and therefore kept the thermostat at tropical levels.