Crux

Chapter 9

She burned.

Inside and out, every inch of her, every nerve was on fire. Jackson’s solid presence next to her presented a challenge and a seductive temptation. She could hear the way his heart beat too fast, could smell the tangy scent of sweat slowly overwhelming the clean smell of his soap.

He was scared. Some part of her that was still human knew that was bad—he was scared for her, scared she would hurt herself. That she might die.

The rest of her wanted to roll in the feeling, to stake her claim. He should be scared. He should be wary. She was strong, fast, powerful—and she wanted him.

She needed him.

She tried to tell him to run, to get away from her, but the word came out as a tortured whimper and he whispered soothing words. The rasp of his voice skittered down her spine like a hot caress, and she moaned again, bringing her knees to her chest in spite of the restricting seatbelt.

Pain spasmed through her, wiping away desire in a rush of stabbing agony. It felt as if every muscle in her body had seized at once, and she struggled for air, struggled to breathe—

She didn’t realize the car had stopped until the passenger door opened and a cool hand brushed her forehead. The world stood still, and she felt utterly, absolutely at peace. She bumped her cheek against the hand, and she heard a man’s voice as if from a great distance. “We don’t have much time. I can’t keep her calm for long. She’s too strong.”

The seatbelt slipped away, and she felt herself being lifted by a pair of strong arms. They cradled her to a chest that didn’t smell like Jackson. Underneath the scent of aftershave and sweat was something familiar, something that made her curl closer as the frantic energy inside her focused.

This is what you are, came the purring thought, wrapping around her as she relaxed against the unfamiliar chest with a gentle sigh. Home. You’re home.

“I’m home,” she murmured softly, the words barely audible. With the rumbling inside soothed, it felt as if nothing in the world was more important than sleep. She gave in to it, drifting into oblivion with the stranger’s gentle voice chasing after her.

“You’re home, Jessica.”

It had been five years since Jackson had seen Steven Donovan, but he looked almost exactly the same. His face was as impassive as Jackson remembered, but when he glanced up, his brown eyes were worried. “Let’s get her inside.”

Though she was dead weight, Steven managed Mackenzie easily, taking long strides across the lawn toward Mahalia’s Spanish-style home. Jackson snatched Mackenzie’s bag from the backseat along with the ridiculous sack of muffins.

Mahalia laid a hand on Jackson’s arm as they followed Steven. “You did the right thing by heading down when you did.”

“It was Alec’s idea.” The confession pained him. “I had no idea what was wrong with her.”

Her dark eyes were sharp, astute. “Why would you have had a reason to, Jack? Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

He held the heavy front door open for her and tried not to look too bleak. “We almost didn’t make it, May. It’s hard to pat myself on the back for that.”

Steven moved confidently through the house in the direction of the guest bedroom, but he spared Jackson a glance over his shoulder. “You have no idea what you’ve stumbled into the middle of, son. You should be patting yourself on the back for keeping her alive and getting her here.”

“Yeah, about that… Anyone want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Later.” Steven elbowed open the bedroom door and sat on the bed, keeping Mackenzie close to his chest. “We’ve got to deal with this now. The spell that’s holding everything in wasn’t meant to last this long. The man who cast it was supposed to remove it when she was a teenager.” Steven’s eyes met Mahalia’s, and Jackson had no trouble reading the guilt that passed between them.

He wanted to argue, to demand that someone tell him what the hell was happening, but he looked at Mackenzie and saw the truth of Steven’s words; she didn’t have time for that. So he glanced at Mahalia, whose normally dark skin had taken on a pallor. “What do I need to do?”

It was almost as if his words physically shook her. She blinked and started rolling up her shirtsleeves. “We need some things from the kitchen. Come with me.”

Jackson had no choice but to follow her into the bright yellow room down the hall.

She spun her spice rack as she walked by the butcher’s block and toward the pantry. “Grab some cumin and fennel. Some ginger too.”

He obeyed, pulling the bottles from the rack even as he wrinkled his nose. “I don’t use these things, May.”

“So shut up and ignore them.” She dug through a small burlap bag hanging inside the pantry door. “Here, red sandalwood. They’ll all be a calming influence for her, and she needs it, poor child.”

Something in her tone stopped Jackson in his tracks. “Mahalia, how do you know Kenzie?”

For a moment, he thought she might answer. Then she shook her head. “There isn’t time, Jack.”

Back in the bedroom, they found Mackenzie stretched out on the bed, her head resting on a pillow at the foot of it. Steven knelt at the end of the bed, cradling Mackenzie’s face as he whispered soothing words against her forehead. “This is as calm as she’ll get.”

Mahalia hesitated. “I taught you what to do, Jack Holt. Do it.”

“I don’t even know what we’re doing.” He opened the bottles and moved to the side of the bed. Mackenzie looked worse, and he shivered.

“The walls are already there.” Mahalia laid the small piece of sandalwood on Mackenzie’s chest and placed the woman’s right hand over it. “We’re just going to shore them up a little, that’s all.”

“We’re not taking them down?” he asked, incredulous.

“No.” She snapped the word, sharp and vicious. “Jesus, no.”

Jackson held the open bottles together and upended them, sprinkling the spices over and around Mackenzie’s restless form. “She can’t live like this.”

“She won’t,” Steven said quietly. He stroked a lock of hair back from Mackenzie’s forehead with a sigh. “But we need Michelle Peyton here before we try to break the spell. We probably have the experience, but even the two of you together don’t have enough raw power. This spell is…formidable.”

Jackson tossed the emptied bottles aside and knelt by the bed, confident Mahalia would take her place on the other side of it. “You’re calling Nick’s sister?”

Mahalia reached for him and rested their clasped hands on Mackenzie’s solar plexus. “We don’t have a choice. Now hush and concentrate. Steven, try to clear your mind and not suck up any of our power.”

Jackson took a deep breath as he felt magic begin to flow from Mahalia over Mackenzie’s body, into his and back again, taking some of his own power with it. He tried to focus on the magical walls already inside of her, but the memory of Mackenzie’s laughter kept distracting him.

“Don’t fight it, Jack,” Mahalia whispered. “Use it.”

They’d worked enough magic together for her to know him inside and out, and the exchange of energy often carried thoughts and emotions, as well. He squeezed his eyes shut and remembered Mackenzie as he’d first seen her, laughing with Derek and Penny in Nick’s bar. He recalled how she’d realized he was following her, been frightened and confronted him anyway. He thought of the way she’d smiled tentatively at him that first night and easily the next at his apartment.

It wasn’t enough. He could see the walls, crumbling and dusty, straining to fall. Exhaustion pulled at him, and he could feel the same thing happening to Mahalia. “It isn’t working,” he grated out.

“Just hold on. Just a tiny—” Her voice failed her, and her hands trembled.

Jackson steeled himself and reached for the memory of the kiss Mackenzie had given him in the car, right before sleep had claimed her. Her mouth had been soft and obliging, and he ached to take her lips with his again when she was in her right mind, when something besides feral lust drove her into his arms.

Steven’s voice floated to them, nothing more than a dim whisper. “It’s working.”

He felt the shifting inside Mackenzie, the surge of power that righted the walls, even as he struggled to draw air into his burning lungs. The magic began to ebb, to pull back like a wave already crested on the shore, and Jackson could only hope it had been enough.

Please.

The thought was fleeting, desperate, and Jackson wasn’t sure whose it was, but it summed up his feelings pretty well, so he echoed it in his head as Mahalia pulled her hands from his with a weary sigh. “Steven?”

“It’s done.” He sounded relieved. “She’ll sleep now, I imagine. You should probably do the same.”

Jackson tried to respond, but his body felt leaden. He swayed and caught himself on the edge of the bed. The last thing he heard before he fell to the floor was Mahalia calling his name.

It was hard to tell how much time had passed when Jackson drifted awake again. Mackenzie curled next to him on the guest bed, fast asleep. Whoever had removed his shoes—Steven, probably, given the likelihood that Mahalia had been in no condition to do so—had removed Mackenzie’s sweat-drenched clothes, as well, and tucked her back into bed in an oversized man’s shirt.

She looked a hundred times better than when they’d arrived, her color returned to normal and her breathing slow and even. The expression on her face was peaceful.

He fought the urge to reach out, to brush an errant curl from her forehead. Instead, he rose, careful not to disturb her, and made his way down the hall.

He found Steven in the kitchen, making coffee. “Thanks for not letting me sleep it off on the floor.”

Steven smiled wearily as he reached for another mug. “You did a good job, Jackson.”

He rubbed his head and covered a yawn. “Most of it was May’s doing.” He accepted the steaming coffee Steven offered with a nod of thanks. “She’ll be out for a while yet, I guess.”

“Yes, she said to expect her to sleep for most of the afternoon.” Steven added cream to his own coffee. “I suppose you have a lot of questions.”

Jackson headed for the brightly lit breakfast nook and pulled out a chair. “They can wait,” he said, hesitant to seek answers Mackenzie would want, as well. “Well, mostly.”

“Mostly.” Steven took the seat across from his. “We should talk about the spell. I’m sure you got a sense of how strong it is.” He sipped his coffee and met Jackson’s eyes. “If you want to be really frightened, consider the fact that it was cast twenty-one years ago. I know because I was there when Zacharias cast it on her.”

Jackson almost dropped his mug. “Zacharias Nelson? Crazy Zach?” He didn’t wait for Steven’s confirmation, just rose from the chair again, nervous energy driving him across the tile floor. “What the hell kind of a thing is this, Donovan? First, someone shoulders past some of the most powerful wards I, myself, have ever seen to steal a shirt, and now you’re telling me that notorious wizards were casting spells like that on Mackenzie as a toddler?”

“It was an unusual situation.” When Jackson glanced back, he found Steven staring into his mug. “I’ll explain the whole story when Mackenzie is ready to hear it. The short version is that her parents got mixed up with someone very powerful and very dangerous, someone who needs Mackenzie to complete a spell he started planning over forty years ago.”

He froze, something about Steven’s words triggering a memory. “You’re talking about Charles Talbot.”

“His adopted son, Marcus, would be the man who approached her.”

“Shit. It was the Seer.” He ran a shaky hand over his face and swore again. “Charles Talbot was in my house. Mackenzie—” Another thought occurred to him, and he crossed back to the table. “It’s not an urban legend, is it? He’s trying to make one. The one.”

Steven looked tired. “Yes. He’s trying to make a cougar who can transform humans. Mackenzie is supposed to give birth to that baby. And since we have to assume he knows she’s alive now…”

Jackson sat woodenly. “He won’t stop until he has her.” The words sounded as though they came from someone else, hollow and far away. “What do we do?”

The look on Steven’s face was anything but encouraging. “That’s what we have to figure out.”