Witch Blood

THIRTEEN

BY THE TIME THEY REACHED THE WAREHOUSE, IT WAS past twilight and stars twinkled in the clear black sky. A few hours prior it had showered, leaving the air a little damp. Now Isabelle pulled that soothing dampness around her body like a cloak.

It was far too pretty a night for the job they were on.

Adam was the first to meet them when Isabelle and Thomas entered the large, brightly lit warehouse. Inside two witches had been killed in tandem, the magick sucked from the center of their souls and their bones picked clean.

Isabelle had a flash of a memory — blood, unnaturally tangled limbs — but she stopped short, squeezed her eyes shut, and willed it away.

Thomas’s warm hand touched her arm. “Are you all right?”

She opened her eyes and glanced at him. He parted his lips but before he could utter the words — undoubtedly about her sister — she stepped past him. “I’m fine.”

“Welcome,” Adam greeted them in a flat voice.

She nodded. “Adam.”

Adam leaned against the doorway of the warehouse, watching them approach. His handsome face was drawn in grim lines, his customary grin absent and shadows present in his dark blue eyes. “Isabelle, a beautiful woman on a beautiful night.” He paused and glanced back toward the center of the building. “On not such a beautiful errand.”

“How clean is the scene?” Thomas asked, coming up next to her.

Isabelle glared at him and did a quick translation in her head. Have you removed the bodies so Isabelle doesn’t have a meltdown?

Damn it, Thomas. She could take care of herself.

Adam rubbed his chin and looked for a moment about twenty years older than his thirty-five years. “It’s clean.”

Even though Isabelle was annoyed by Thomas’s high-handed protectiveness of her, she couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. Adam moved out of their way and allowed them to enter the building.

A handful of witches who had reached the warehouse before them labored within the cleared interior, some working earth magick. That power rubbed against Isabelle’s skin like rich planting soil — deep magicks meant to bury and conceal. They worked to cover up the scene of the crime from non-witches, just as they’d done at the scene of her sister’s murder.

At the far end of the building, she noted two large open doors big enough to drive a truck through. She wondered if they’d been open when Boyle had killed the witches. It would make it easier for her to work if the water from the brief rain shower had been lingering in the air during the killings. Since Boyle didn’t seem all that concerned with his murders being discovered and because this part of town was devoid of humanity at this time of night, it was possible he’d left the doors open.

A flash of white caught her eye and she glimpsed two sheets covering a section of the cracked concrete floor. The bodies had been removed, but those sheets marked the location of where they had lain. They’d done that with her sister, too.

The world lurched a little and Thomas took her by the upper arm to steady her. She straightened, calmly pulling from his grasp.

Adam walked over to them. The man always had a five o’clock shadow, but Isabelle didn’t think it was so much a fashion statement as it was simple forgetfulness to shave. Right now it made him look weary. “The warehouse is owned by Erasmus Boyle.”

Isabelle let out a small laugh. “Color me surprised.”

Thomas glanced around. “I wonder what a demon wants with a warehouse?”

“Maybe he’s planning to start a shipping business, specializing in sending packages to hell,” she commented.

She knelt and put her palm flat to the cold concrete floor, sending out tendrils of her magick to search for any moisture that might have a story to tell. Water held emotion like none of the other elements. When something violent happened in a place, the moisture picked up and retained a record of it, burned there by the intense feelings of the participants. Accessing that emotional echo was not a skill all water witches possessed, but Isabelle had been lucky enough to inherit it.

Or unlucky, as the case may be. Reliving all that emotion was rarely pleasant.

She drew a breath. Damn it. No moisture to note along the floor. Maybe in the air. There was always a little bit of moisture in the air, and her magick was usually strong enough to pull it.

She stood. “But I might wager a guess he needs a large open area that is also concealed in order to…work.”

Thomas pushed a hand through his hair, freeing it partially from the queue at his nape. “Toward what goal?”

“And,” Adam added, “if he needs a place like this, why kill a witch here and blow his cover? He killed the first two witches in their own”—he hesitated and winced, probably realizing he spoke of her sister—“environment. Sorry, Isabelle.”

“It’s okay.” Isabelle shrugged. “It was just a theory.”

“And not a bad one.”

“Well, at least we can rule out that he’s targeting young female witches now that he’s taken a man and an elderly lady,” Thomas put in.

“He’s selecting them on other criteria,” Theo jumped in, striding to the three of them. He wore rubber gloves over his broad hands. Isabelle didn’t want to think about why.

“Well, I’m leaving you three to hash that out,” Isabelle put in. “I need to search for water molecules.”

Isabelle left them talking and circled the sheets, examining the floors. Reaching out with her magick, she explored the area for any residual moisture that might have retained memories of the murder. She halted in the center of the warehouse and drew the water droplets to her, petting them and purring at them with her magick until they coalesced and began to give up their recollections of what had happened that night. Warm magick rippled from the center of her chest to complete the task.

“Come on. What secrets are you keeping?” she murmured.

Isabelle grimaced as the hazy, watered down images began to flicker through her mind’s eye. She put herself through this torture for one reason and one reason only — to discover something new and different, some puzzle piece that would fit to make the picture clearer.

Now that she had her magick on the moisture, she doubted the doors had been open during the killings. Sifting through, it was difficult to find much memory.

As she gathered more moisture from the air, she felt the strain on her body from the expenditure of her magick. At the same time, the images grew more frequent and came to her a little less hazy, although fragmented, like a horror movie being played, fast forwarded, and then played again.

And then it slammed into her in one short blast of hell.

She tasted the fear of the victims on the back of her tongue — sharp and metallic. She heard their screams echoing in the cavernous building…until they didn’t echo any longer.

Isabelle didn’t know how long Thomas had had his arms around her, or how long she’d been crouching on the floor of the warehouse, both hands flat on the gritty concrete floor. Her vision had gone black and she’d lost her hearing, though she hadn’t passed out. Her body shuddered as if she were outside naked in the middle of January.

Her mouth opened and a puff of air came out as she tried to answer Thomas’s frantic questions of Are you all right? He held her close, rubbing her arms, trying to warm her up.

No.

No, she’d never be all right again. Not ever totally all right for having subjected herself to that. Worse, she’d gained nothing. There’d been no new puzzle piece. Nothing but a nightmare. Lady, and she’d just had flashes of moisture memory. How had Mira endured hearing the whole thing in real time?

She almost turned into Thomas’s chest, almost wrapped her arms around him to draw comfort. Isabelle knew without a doubt she’d find it there.

Warmth. Strength. Protectiveness. Comfort.

She stopped herself just in time.

Gathering every ounce of strength she had left and pulling the tattered remnants of her magick around her like a cloak, she pushed to her feet. “I’m fine.” The words came out without a quaver. Amazing.

Thomas rose and stared at her, unspeaking.

She turned her head and met his eyes. Isabelle could only hold the dark warmth of that gaze for a moment before glancing away.

“You won’t ever ask for help, will you, Isabelle? You think you can do it all on your own, don’t you?” His voice sounded brittle. “You think you’re so tough, but you’re not tough enough to let another person in, are you?”

Isabelle stared at the ground, completely unable to look up and meet Thomas’s eyes. The truth of his words twisted in her stomach. “I don’t need you to try and understand me, Thomas.”

His response was swift. “I think you do.”

“Whoa. What the hell?” Adam’s voice saved Isabelle from responding.

She and Thomas turned to see him standing about seven feet away from them. He’d gone stock still as he waved his hand in the air front of him.

Isabelle blinked. “Um, Adam?”

“There’s something strange about the air here. It feels…sticky.”

“Sticky?” She walked to him, followed by Thomas.

“Yeah. Like the air here has something in it, some kind of—”

“Magick?” Thomas asked.

Adam stepped back. “Feel it.”

Thomas stepped through the area that Adam had indicated. It was, Isabelle noted, very near where she’d seen the victims killed in the moisture memory. It may have been exactly where the two witches died, but she couldn’t be sure.

Thomas stopped and waved his arm. “Hmmm. It’s almost like this space is out of sync with the rest of the air around it.” He stepped to the side. “Isabelle?”

She stepped through. It was like walking through thick cobwebs. “It’s as if the molecules are vibrating slower than they should be. It feels like a warding, but not quite. More like a—”

“More like how a doorway to the demon dimension might open?”

“Maybe.” Isabelle licked her lips, her thoughts whirling. “In the moisture memory the demon said something…something about his victims having certain qualities he needed. I think he meant magickally.”

All three of them went silent.

“Are either of you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Adam finally. “Maybe this demon is trying to get back over the rainbow?”

Thomas rubbed his chin and sighed. “There’s no way to know for sure, but I’d say this is a decent find and a powerful clue. Maybe this demon is trying to go home. Maybe there’s some spell we don’t know about that will allow him to open a portal on this side.”

Isabelle glanced at the white sheets and tried to not go where her memories wanted to take her. Seemed she just kept collecting bad ones. “Some spell that requires a lot of blood magick.”

THEY ARRIVED BACK AT THE COVEN AT TWELVE PAST three in the morning after scouring the warehouse for every clue they could. There hadn’t been much. Isabelle leaned against the wall by the side of the door in the Coven’s dimly lit foyer and watched Adam and Thomas enter after her.

Both men looked tired and unkempt. So did she, but tired and unkempt looked a hell of a lot better on them than her. Adam’s hair was an inch too long and stuck up all over his head in spikes, and his jeans were worn tantalizingly thin in some places.

Thomas’s hair hung loose over his shoulders and dark stubble marked his jaw. He looked bed-mussed. He’d looked a lot like that after they’d made love, his eyes hooded and dark with lust. Remembering made her shiver.

“I’m going to bed. I’m so damned tired I can’t even think anymore,” mumbled Adam as he walked past.

“Night, Adam,” she mumbled back.

Thomas started to walk past her, toward the stairs. She reached out and touched his upper arm. He turned to look at her and she said, “You were right. Right about me not being as strong as I would like to think. Right about not being able to ask for help or let people in.” She shrugged. “I hate it, but you’re right.”

In response, Thomas only swept his arm around her waist and crushed her to his chest. His mouth came down on hers. Stubble rubbed the skin around her mouth, playing contrast to his warm exploring lips.

Isabelle didn’t have time to breathe, let alone object to the impulsive action. She wanted to, she really did, but the ability to push him away had died with a whimper as soon as he’d touched her.

She responded to his hot, urgent mouth without a flicker of hesitation. He demanded she part her lips to admit his tongue, but she was there first. She slanted her mouth across his and slid her tongue within to spar and stroke. His hand found the hem of her shirt and pushed beneath it, where he used skillful fingers to massage the tense muscles of her back. Her body let go of a degree of her tension with a shudder.

Brushing his lips languorously against hers for several moments, he broke the kiss and cupped her cheek. “Maybe you can practice on me.”

Isabelle stumbled back, feeling a little breathless. No man but Thomas had ever made Isabelle Novak feel breathless.

She swallowed hard and tried not to let uncertainty show in her eyes as she remembered the panic attack she’d had in front of the Coven the other night and the inviting length of the driveway leading away from the building.

But she didn’t want that anymore. That fear. That loneliness and self-reliance that she’d been wearing like a protective coat of armor for as long as she could remember.

Gazing up into Thomas’s eyes, she realized just how much she wanted him. Not just for the sex, but wanted his strength and caring, his protectiveness and intelligence.

She smiled, letting the uncertainty bleed away from her eyes. “I want to try, Thomas.”

He leaned in again and kissed her senseless. She hung on to his shirt, fingers fisted, as his lips worked over hers — teeth nipping at her lower lip, tongue exploring her mouth. Warmth bloomed through her chest, comfortable and nice.

When he stepped away from her, Isabelle could hardly focus her gaze, but Thomas had a distracted look on his face.

“He’s collecting them,” Thomas said, rubbing his chin the way he did when he mulled something over. “That has to be it. He’s going after certain witches with certain qualities and absorbing their magick. Once he has the right combination, the right balance, something happens.”

Isabelle took a moment to yank herself from the Hormonal Happy Land where Thomas’s kiss had sent her and focus on the important issue at hand. “A doorway opens and he gets to go home.”

“Exactly.”

“He trades the lives of at least four witches just so he can go home.” Anger vanquished the last of the passion Thomas had kindled in her moments ago.

“I’m sure we’re nothing but cattle to him.”

She chewed the side of her thumb, thinking. “When we foiled Boyle’s attempt to take the little girl yesterday, he simply found other witches to fulfill what he would’ve gotten from the child. Like ingredients for a stew.” Her voice broke on the words. “So there’s no way for us to protect anyone.”

“You did protect someone.”

“But in the long run—”

He cupped her chin and guided her gaze to his. “No. Isabelle, this was not your fault in any way. Don’t even go there. I know it’s hard. I’m trying not to go there either. I keep thinking there should’ve been some way to stop this from happening and I feel guilty I didn’t—”

“There was nothing you could’ve done—”

“Exactly, Isabelle. There was nothing either of us could’ve done.” He stared into her eyes for several heartbeats, his vehement words echoing through her mind.

Isabelle pulled from him and walked away a few paces. He was right. Plus, they didn’t have the luxury of wallowing, not if they had any chance of finding Boyle and protecting future victims.

“I know,” she answered. “We need to concentrate on the task at hand and not dwell on might-have-beens. Boyle will kill again and this needs to be about those targeted witches, not us.” Sorrow for Brandon and Mary clogged her throat and made the words come out husky. Because of the moisture memory, she almost felt like she’d known them.

“Yeah. That means sleep so that we can function at our best. We both need to get some of it. It’s late and we have a long day ahead of us.”

She snorted and turned toward him. “Sleep? That’s not something I’ll be getting much of tonight.”

He sighed in defeat. “Yeah, me neither. Drink?”

“Definitely.” She considered the options. “I have some great peppermint tea in my room.”

“Tea? I was thinking bourbon, whisky, or scotch. Hell, maybe tonight all three at once.”

“Are you afraid drinking peppermint tea will hurt your manly image?”

His lips twisted. “Only if you serve it in tiny china teacups and make me raise my pinky when I sip it.”

“I won’t do that, but I will put lemon in it.”

“I can hardly wait,” he answered in a dry tone. He motioned toward the stairs. “Lead the way.”

Once in her room, she poured two mugs of steaming hot water from the purified water dispenser, plunked a couple of peppermint tea bags in each one, and then finished them off with the highly anticipated lemon wedges.

Thomas sat sprawled on the couch in the sitting room, looking too big for the small area. He had one long leg extended and one arm thrown up on the couch back. His silky hair cascaded down one shoulder and he’d unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. She could see a bit of smooth, fine muscled chest beneath. Even though she tried to suppress her reaction to him, her mouth watered.

He glanced at the pieces of clothing she had lying around with a raised eyebrow. A blue shirt was draped over the back of a chair. A pair of jeans lay wadded up in the corner. She remembered how spotless his room was. Though from Thomas she’d expect no less. At least she hadn’t left any of her underwear wadded up on the floor.

“No one ever said I was tidy.” She shrugged and handed him a cup. “Voilà.”

He took a sip, grimaced and set the cup on the table.

Isabelle sank into a chair across from him. “Mmmm…I love a man secure enough in his masculinity to drink a cup of tea. It’s so sexy.”

Thomas picked the cup back up again and leaned against the couch. Isabelle hid a smile.

“You did a fantastic job at the warehouse, Isabelle. It took a lot of courage to tap the moisture in the room. I know what it cost you. I don’t regret asking you in to help out the Coven.”

“Well, I’m glad you think I did a good job, but my agenda isn’t the Coven’s agenda, it’s my own. They just happen to coincide in this case.” She took a sip of the tea. “So don’t go offering me a job or anything. I won’t accept.”

He held up a hand. “Wasn’t going to. You’ve got a career already. You’re a travel writer, right?”

“Yes. Although I wouldn’t call it a career, more like just an excuse to take trips.”

She didn’t have to work for money. It was the one way Catalina seemed to show she cared about her daughters, though dollar bills were a cold substitute for motherly love.

“I never travel unless it’s on Coven business.”

“What? You never get vacations?”

Thomas shrugged.

“Oh, I get it. You just don’t take vacations.”

“Not usually.”

He rested his feet on the coffee table in front of him, slumped in his chair and let out a deep groan of relaxation that Isabelle felt all through her body. Thomas rolled his head lazily. “So, tell me about some of the places you’ve been.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Eqypt, Tibet, India, Australia, Russia. I’ve been just about everywhere.”

“What country do you like best?”

“That’s like asking a parent to pick their favorite child. All countries have different good points, depending on what time of the year it is.” She paused, thinking. “I don’t know. I would have a different answer to this question every single day.”

“So what’s your answer today?”

Smiling a little, she reflected on some of her favored places before answering. “I love Naples, Italy, in the spring. I love the smell of the city and the yowling of stray cats everyone feeds at the water’s edge. I love waking up and down the cobblestone streets to buy a loaf of fresh bread. I love sitting in an outdoor cafe and drinking small, strong cups of coffee while I eat the warm bread straight out of its white bakery bag.”

He took a sip of the tea, grimaced again and set it on the table. “So you do that alone?”

Isabelle fought the urge to defend herself. The comment pricked and she knew why. Yes, alone. She was always alone. Only until recently had that become tedious.

“I like being alone,” she answered simply.

He nodded, but his eyes said clearly that he didn’t believe her. He was right not to.

“So what about you? Why no vacations? Why no traveling?”

“My work has kept me in the States for the most part. I started working for my father when I was fifteen. When he died, the Coven appointed me head. This job has taken all my time and energy.”

Isabelle tched. “All work and no play.”

He gazed at her through hooded eyes. “Do you think I’m a dull boy, Isabelle?”

She smiled. “I wouldn’t say that. I would say that I might be a loner, but you’re a workaholic.”

“We’re the perfect pair.”

“A match made in hell.”

A speculative look enveloped his face. “All opposites, you and I. You can’t stay still and all I’ve ever done is stay still. I’m patient and a planner and you’re impulsive.”

“You drink champagne and eat gourmet food and I like Ho Hos and Diet Coke.” She rested her head on the couch back and dropped her eyelids to half-mast. “Like I said, a match made in hell.”

“Or somewhere.”

They sat for a while in companionable silence, Isabelle with her feet tucked beneath her. She closed her eyes for a moment, but opened them when she felt Thomas take the cup from her hand and set it on the coffee table.

“It’s time to sleep,” he murmured. “We have a demon to catch tomorrow.”

She nodded and stood, wavering on her feet. He caught her around the waist and she leaned into him, enjoying for a moment that he could take her full weight and not even notice it. Thomas guided her to the bed and undid the buttons of her shirt with deft fingers.

She gave him a heavy-lidded leer. “What exactly do you think you’re doing, Mr. Monahan?”

She’d been going for playful, but his expression was serious. “I’m getting you ready to sleep.” He dragged his gaze to her eyes. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.” He eased her shirt down and off her shoulders, then unbuttoned her pants.

She had mixed feelings about his response and the businesslike way he undressed her. On the one hand, she’d wanted to avoid any more intimate contact with the dangerous Thomas Monahan. On the other hand, now that he was here with his hands on her and the scent of him teasing her…

“You’re such a gentleman,” she murmured.

He sent her pants sliding down her legs and glanced at her face. “Trust me when I say I really don’t want to be a gentleman right now. Where are your pajamas?”

She reached around and undid her bra. The bit of fabric fell to the floor between them. “I don’t own any.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

Grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, she went up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. He slanted his mouth over hers and parted her lips, spearing his tongue into her mouth hungrily. He tasted like peppermint tea and lemon.

Thomas wrapped his hands around her waist and slid them up her bare back. One hand pressed her against him, the other found her nape and controlled the movements of her head while he kissed her.

When they finally pulled apart, she breathed heavily. “I think I just decided I don’t want you to be a gentleman.”

“Isabelle,” he murmured, “you’re a confusing woman.” Then he pushed her backward onto the bed and came down on top of her.

This was wrong, so very wrong, but damned if she cared right now.