Dark Needs at Night's Edge

39

"Forgodsakes, lay off!" Mari's voice sounded from the mirror minutes later. "We're coming!"

Néomi cracked open her lids when Conrad sank down beside her on the cot. He gently cradled her head in his lap.

"Why do you always get to go first?" Mari's voice demanded.

"Because I'm bigger than you are," came Bowen's reply.

When the Lykae emerged from the glass, with Mari following, their eyes went wide.

Mari started for Néomi, but Bowen's hand shot out for her arm, shoving her behind him. After he scanned the area and scented the air, he turned to Conrad. "Who did this to your female?"

"Demon," Conrad answered, his voice hoarse from yelling. "Named Cadeon."

"That bastard!" Bowen snapped, drawing Mari to his side. "You should've let me smash him in the jungle!"

"Cade? Oh, Hekate, you can't be serious!" Mari hurried to Néomi. "So that's who's been trying to call me. It had to have been an accident."

Néomi weakly nodded, then coughed up more blood.

Conrad squeezed her hand too forcefully, looking to be teetering on the brink.

Mari's gaze landed on Néomi's neck. "You bit her. Did you see her memories?"

"No, it was just hours ago—"

"Then how did you know to contact me through the mirror?"

"Néomi told me after... after she was... Damn it, what does it matter? Just fix this spell, witch."

"I'm so sorry." Mari shook her head sadly. "I can't fix it. I told Néomi this going in."

"Heal—this—body."

"It's just a shell. Even if I could heal her, she'd just get killed again and again."

"If all she needs is a real body—I'll return directly!"

That's my Conrad. So intense.

"The conditions for the assumption of another's body are lengthy," Mari said. "Chiefly among them—the body has to be donated by its owner. Not, er, commandeered."

"Restore her old one. I knew warlocks who could revivify flesh, creating a body from a strand of hair." He was clearly trying so hard, struggling to say the right words. "You could do that with Néomi," he said, his voice breaking on her name.

Mari answered, "That's how they make soulless zombies."

Conrad said, "We have a soul, waiting right here." When Néomi felt herself becoming less substantial, he murmured, "Stay with me, Néomi. Please, baby."

"Embodying a spirit isn't a science. It's an art, and it'd be outside my skill set as it is, much less if I have to revivify her dead body as well. Normally, a witch would heal the body in one step, then implant the spirit in another step. Now you want me to do both at the same time? Even though I've never done either before?"

"Yes—you must!" Inhaling deeply for control, he grated, "A dream demon marked me. I think that curse had something to do with her injury. This happened to Néomi just before the demon was killed tonight."

Mari's eyes narrowed. "You mean a dream demon hijacked my subject to give you a nightmare? My mystickal signature was all over her. And some tool just ignored that?"

Bowen put his hand on her shoulder. "He might no' have seen it, Mari."

"Anyone immersed in magick of this sort would have seen it. That really pisses me off. I'm supposed to be the most powerful witch, and my spell got owned in two weeks."

Think... think.

Control—never had Conrad needed it more; never had he been more in danger of losing it completely.

Wait... "Witch, if you don't do something about this, everyone will think they can overturn your spells at will. Who would pay you for spells that don't take?"

MacRieve growled, just as Mariketa said, "You think I can't see what you're doing? Unfortunately, it's working."

"You canna think of this!" MacRieve snapped.

Mariketa cast the Lykae a troubled glance, then told Conrad, "Vampire, understand that I've never done this on a human. And another problem—I don't even have her body. I'd need to scry for the location of it, again while I'm doing everything else!"

"She's fading." Conrad raked his fingers through his hair. "Time's running out! What do we have to lose?"

MacRieve said, "She could come back wrong."

Conrad met his eyes. "I'll do what's necessary if she does."

"It's no' only that," the Lykae said. "Mari can enthrall herself in the mirror. Her eyes will incinerate anything that comes between her and her reflection, and she'll get stuck in an eternal trance. I feel for you, vampire, but I will no' allow her to put herself at risk."

"Sebastian saved your life—and he spared you from an unspeakable fate. You owe him a debt."

MacRieve's gaze flickered over Mariketa and changed color with some fierce emotion. Hardening his expression, he turned to Conrad. "No' a debt like this."

Mariketa turned to Néomi on the cot. "Would you want this, honey? A mortal life?"

When she nodded weakly, Mariketa stood and crossed to MacRieve. Gazing up at him, the witch said, "I think I can do this. I have to try. I mean, look at the vampire."

Néomi had just gone unconscious—Conrad knew he appeared on the razor's edge when MacRieve scowled.

"We're running out of time," Conrad grated.

Mariketa pulled MacRieve farther to the side. "You said that if I married you, you would never get in the way of my career. This is spectacularly getting in my career's way. Do you know how good this would look on my résumé?"

"I also promised your parents and your coven that I would no' let you get lost in the mirror again. You're no' ready yet, lass! It's too soon after... that last time."

"Bowen, this has sat ill with me since I did the spell on Néomi. And I know you hate Cade, but he and his brother did save my life. He's been calling for my help with this. If I save Néomi, I'll be able to repay my debt to them." She took one of his hands in both of hers. "Just believe in me. I can do this. I feel like I can." When he clenched his jaw, evidently a sign of defeat, she smiled. "Will you get my Big-Spell gloves?"

Muttering in Gaelic, he scuffed back into the mirror.

While MacRieve was gone, the witch told Conrad, "The cost is going to be high, vampire. I'm gonna need ten mil for this one. I accept real estate, stones, or bullion. Or stock certificates from the twenties that are exponentially undervalued. And you have to vow to the Lore to pay it, since we don't have time for contracts."

"Agreed, ten million," he answered easily. "I vow to the Lore to pay it. But you must agree to keep this secret. If the demons know, they will only come after her again."

"I'm bound by the mercenary code to keep our dealings confidential," she said, but she was clearly troubled, conflicted about hiding this from her demon friend, a demon who'd apparently saved her life.

"Good, then. For the record, witch, I think you can do this, too."

Her expression briefly turned grim. "Just be ready to make hard choices, Conrad, in case I can't."

Still surly, MacRieve returned with a strange pair of fingerless gloves. The palms looked to be lined with some kind of bendable mirror.

As Mariketa donned them, she took a deep breath, seeming to shake off her disquiet. She told Conrad, "I like Néomi—I'd have tried this for half that amount."

"I love Néomi—I'd have paid anything you could dream up."

"Oh, snap! Live and learn, eh? Okay, one vampire's Bride brought back from the grave." She slapped her gloved hands and rubbed them together. "Let's put the fun back in funeral!"