Sorceress, Interrupted Page 11

  “So, how did it go?” he asked, pausing to plant a kiss on Emily’s blonde head.

  “Fine. We started with Cyrus talking to some kid who hangs out with magic-users on computer bulletin boards or some such nonsense. The kid’s checking up on leads and getting back with us.”

  “That’s good,” Wesley said. “The sooner we get to the bottom of this—”

  “The sooner I’m out of your hair?” I snapped.

  He eyed me quizzically. “The sooner it will be safer for everyone.”

  “Especially Emily.”

  He shrugged. “Well, I want to make sure it’s safe for all magic-users, but yes, I do care especially if it’s safe for Emily. I can’t help but feel like this is somehow tied to the Dragon.”

  “Of course you do, because it has to do with Emily. She’s the center of your whole freaking universe. The rest of us can die horribly as long as she’s safe.”

  He was staring at me, openmouthed. “Fantazia.”

  Somewhere inside myself I had the suspicion I was having a meltdown but was powerless to stop it. “Well, I’m not going to lie down and die for you. I’m still here, goddamn it.”

  A look of pain crossed his face and I was simultaneously glad of it—that I had hurt him—and also horrified that I was revealing how much he had hurt me. I was revealing my weakness.

  In an attempt to cover up I shook my head. “I’m not a hero. I’m finished here.” Then I turned and stalked out of the room. Speeding down the hallway, I prayed no one would see me or my barely suppressed humiliation.

  Just my luck, Cyrus was by the elevators. He stared at me in shock, and I ducked my head, hoping to cover my tears with my hair.

  “Fantazia . . .”

  “I’m going home,” I said, stabbing at the elevator button. “Away from people who think so little of me.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Don’t ever come to my bar again. You’re all off the guest list.”

  The elevator opened before I could say anything else crazy, thank God, and I flung myself in and jammed the close-door button. The doors slid shut, and I immediately burst into hot, noisy tears.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Despite what I’d said, I didn’t want to go home. Frankly, thinking about going back to the isolation of the bar was suffocating. I needed to get out, to breathe, and most importantly, to think, so I took the elevator down and walked out into the city streets with little knowledge of where I was headed or even where I might want to go. I just needed to be out. I was having a nervous breakdown. All of my repressed emotions were finally being released.

  My retreat from the regular world into one of my own choosing had been supposed to help. In my pocket universe I wouldn’t have to deal with anyone, at least not on a regular basis. I could deal with them when and how I wanted. I could prove to the world—and more importantly, to myself—that I didn’t need anyone. I could be the ultimate loner. Because, after all, if you don’t need anyone, don’t depend on anyone for anything, no one can hurt you. Instead, now I was like someone with a third-degree sunburn, where every little nudge made me wince.

  I hit the brick wall beside me. After all of these years, I was still letting those parental wounds fester. Cyrus wanted to know why I always put on the “bad girl” routine? It was my armor. It kept the bad people out and kept the scared little girl safe. If I could convince everyone else that I was a hard-ass bitch who didn’t need anyone, maybe, just maybe, I could convince the most important person of all of that: myself. To relax and just be myself, as he suggested . . . well, that would require confronting some serious emotional baggage.

  “Screw that,” I muttered.

  I suddenly noticed several men I passed a few streets back were following me. Great. Just great. Just what I needed.

  I turned and glared at them. There were four, a quartet of louts radiating a dangerous aura from both the way they stood and the clothes they wore. They were predators, and I was meant to be their prey.

  “What?” I growled.

  They’d obviously expected me to look scared and run, be a good little victim. They would chase me, overpower me and hurt me however they saw fit, do whatever made them feel like big shots or got them off.

  “Where you going, baby?” one of them asked.

  “Nowhere fast,” I replied. “Funny you should ask. But, this really isn’t a good time, guys.”

  “Oh, I’ll show you a good time,” one of them said.

  “You’ll make time,” another grunted.

  “We’ll make you scream.”

  So they were planning to rape me. Awesome. The EHJ would grab these guys and bring them all in for justice. I just wanted to go home.

  I aimed for the biggest, probably the leader, and stared into his eyes. That alone was enough to give him pause. He eyed me warily, like he didn’t understand what was happening but knew that it wasn’t right.

  “Sweetheart,” I said, in a voice somewhere between a growl and a whisper. “Use the big head on your shoulders and not the little one in between your legs. Somewhere in there, something inside you has to realize that I am not someone to tangle with. You might be dangerous, but I’m just a bit more. Every good predator must learn to size up his opponent and run when overpowered. Walk. Away.”

  There was quiet in the alley. One of the other men cursed.

  The leader seemed torn, not wanting to either lose face or take on someone so clearly tougher than himself. At last he took a step back.

  I turned to walk away. It was a mistake. He grabbed me, whirled me around and snarled, “Bitch.” His face had gained a bit of cockiness, now that he had shown both me and his friends that he wasn’t scared. Pulling out a knife, he thrust it right at my chest.

  The blade hit me. The moment it did, it shattered into a million pieces, like glass striking concrete. I stared down at what was now really just a hilt clutched in a shaking hand, and glanced back up at him. My eyes narrowed and my jaw set.

  “You cut my shirt,” I said.

  The look on his face went from swaggering assurance to sheer horror. The other members of his entourage were slowly backing up, as if afraid any sudden movement would set me on them.

  “And you tried to kill me,” I continued. I took a step forward, closing the distance he was now desperately trying to create. “You don’t know how much that pisses me off.”

  “W-what are you?” he blubbered.

  “Something old and horrible,” I said, mentally calling up my magic. “You don’t know the half of it.” Power washed through me. I reached for the would-be attacker, not touching but still controlling him in a noncorporeal grasp. “And I think I’m going to be doing all of womankind a big favor. I probably should have done this the moment I saw you, and maybe this will make you think about picking on people smaller than yourself next time. We’re not always weaker.”

  I batted my hand toward the wall. Instantly, the goon’s body went crashing into it. His friends went running off in the opposite direction, but I just smiled and smacked him against the unforgiving brick again. Again and again and again. It was awfully cathartic.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  I glanced over my shoulder to see Cyrus. He was standing on the street, watching with an open mouth.

  “He asked for it,” I said, turning to face him. I kept my bloodied assailant magically pinned to the wall. “He wanted to rape and kill a defenseless woman. He just picked one who wasn’t so defenseless.”

  “I know. I saw that part,” Cyrus said. “And I also saw the part where his knife shattered against you.”

  I dropped the bully in disgust. He didn’t get up. While he wasn’t dead, he wasn’t in good condition. Probably needed a hospital. A good person would take him to one. I’m not a good person.

  “Remember when I said I’m immortal, Cyrus? You just got visual proof.”

  “How did you do that—a force field spell?”

  “No.” I ran a hand through my hair. “The wards, re
member? I have a djinn paint wards on my skin to protect me from weapons.”

  “I’ve heard that before. The story I heard, actually, is that someone tried to shoot you to try to avoid paying for one of your favors.” Cyrus was looking at me very strangely. “So, they’re not tattoos.”

  “Nope. With this kind of ward, you have to change the runes up every so often, use different ones. They can’t be permanently attached because they won’t work forever. Hence the painting. Not tattoos.”

  He seemed slow to process the concept. “So, they’re not tattoos you glamour away, make them disappear from the human eye?”

  “No,” I grunted, annoyed.

  “So, how are they working when they’re gone?”

  Too late I remembered that I’d magically wiped them off earlier at the ball field, not wanting to stick out. My whole face contorted in horror. I cursed under my breath.

  Cyrus was staring like he’d never seen me before. “What’s the real story? Some sort of permanent indestructibility spell?”

  I shook my head, defeated. “I was born like this.”

  “You’re naturally indestructible, like Selena?” He shook his head. “So, only magic can hurt you. But that’s strange. I didn’t think people born with the ability to use magic ever got any extra powers. Like, magic’s more than enough for us. But I guess you got the nonaging thing as well, so why not this, too?” He was clearly trying to remain nonchalant while also looking like he was realizing what I was: something terrible and different than himself.

  “This effect kicked in at the same time as my magical ability. When I was a child, I was once almost killed by a chariot. Now . . .” I shrugged. “No mortal weapon can hurt me.”

  He frowned but then said, “ ‘Mortal’? What’s that supposed to mean? You think you’re a god?”

  “I didn’t say anything like that!” I snapped. “You don’t live as long as I have and be as powerful as I am without learning a few things about Aphrodite’s family. I’ve even tangled with a few of them in the past. The gods have made weapons they use to fight and, on occasion, kill each other. If someone took one of those to me, yes, it would probably take me out. But I don’t go picking fights with gods, so I haven’t tested that theory.”

  “Why didn’t you flaunt this?” Cyrus asked. “You’ve always seemed like you get off on your power kicks. The magic, this whole immortality thing . . .”

  I turned away, just wanting out of the conversation. “Whatever.” I started walking away, leaving him and the unconscious would-be rapist behind.

  “Why did you hide it?” Cyrus demanded, catching up with me. “Why’d you let us think those wards are what really protects you?”

  I stopped walking and gave him a fierce look. He took a step backward. “Look, the not-aging thing makes me different enough. This was just too mind-bogglingly different.” I glanced back at him. “People can’t handle it. As evidenced by you backing away from me right now.”

  He had the consideration to stop but he repeated, “I thought you like having everyone scared of you. Why would you care if we’re freaked?”

  “I don’t know!” The tears from earlier had begun to brew again. In frustration, I crossed my arms over my chest and turned, shooting him my darkest glare. “What does it matter, anyway? What are you doing here, besides witnessing what kind of freak I am?”

  “Looking for you,” he said.

  “Wanted to save the damsel in distress?” I snorted. “Can’t handle myself out here on the mean streets? Can’t handle myself in this big bad world of—”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t know you were in trouble until I stumbled upon all of that. I just wanted to talk to you.”

  “Oh? What more did you want to tell me, Cyrus? I think you’ve said enough. You think I’m a horrible person who no one likes. You don’t have to beat me over the head with it. I get it.”

  “It’s nothing to do with that,” he said. “You just looked really upset when you left. I . . . I’ve never seen you look like that.”

  “And you thought it was something you said.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I figure it’s something the Old One said.”

  I sighed. “I’m not going to cry on your shoulder, Cyrus. Nor am I going to confess any more deep, dark secrets. You’ve already learned way too much about me. If all this is just you wanting to satisfy your curiosity, we’re done. You’re barking up the wrong tree. You’ll have better luck getting Wesley to spill his secrets.”

  “That’s fine. I don’t care to know,” he said. At my dubious look, he shrugged. “Okay, I’m dying to hear what upset the toughest woman I know like that, but I didn’t come all the way out here for it.”

  “So, what did you come for?”

  “I thought you needed a friend.”

  I stared at him in shock. I think my mouth dropped open.

  “Since your list of friends doesn’t seem very long, I figure I’m probably all you’ve got. Or at least that I’ll do. So, you don’t have to say anything, you don’t even have to do anything. Just . . . I’m here for you. Especially after what just happened. If you want to simply stroll around the city in silence, well, I’ve got my walking shoes on. After all you’ve done for me, it’s the least I can do. Even if I’m rough on you sometimes.”

  I shook my head. “You’re the strangest man I know, Cyrus.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever. Go ahead and insult me.”

  “No one else manages to be both a nice person and also a mouthy asshole at the same time.” I tucked my arm into his. “Let’s walk.”

  He smiled. “Whatever you say, Fantazia. But you might want to fix your shirt, so you don’t give every guy walking down the street a thrill. Unless you really are some kind of crazy exhibitionist.”

  I glanced down. There was a large slit in the chest of my tank top where my assailant’s knife had cut the fabric. My bra had narrowly missed damage, but a lot of cleavage was showing. I changed the garment into a blue halter top that was mostly backless but covered up to my neck.

  Cyrus shook his head. “I’ve been meaning to ask you how you conjure up clothes like that. Do you make them out of nothing?”

  “Let’s just say somewhere a store lost a bit of inventory.”

  “You’re as much of a thief as I am.” He grinned. The expression almost looked flirty. There was no chance he was flirting with me after all of this. Was there?

  “Careful there,” I said, making sure to keep my tone light. “You wouldn’t want to go around complimenting me. After coming out here to ‘be my friend,’ as you put it, you might make me start to believe that you don’t hold me entirely in contempt. I might believe you actually like me.”

  His eyes stayed strangely unreadable. “I might actually like you.”

  “Well.” I didn’t know what to say to that—I like you, too? If that didn’t sound childish, what did? I have a strange urge to pull you into an alley and do very naughty things to you? That would definitely ruin the moment, since he hated it when I put on the sex kitten act. Except that with him it was starting to not be an act. I really did have that urge. But he wouldn’t take it that way.

  I decided to say nothing, and felt the awkwardness between us ratchet up a notch.

  “So, if you won’t tell me what made you sad,” Cyrus said, breaking the terrible silence, “tell me something that made you happy in your life. Not something that pleased you momentarily, but something that made you life-changingly happy.”

  I glanced over at him. Seeing his expression, I snorted. “You thought I was going to say sex, didn’t you? That’s why you put in that bit about nothing that ‘pleased me momentarily.’ ”

  He laughed. “I was actually thinking you would say shoes. The women in the EHJ, they can talk about shoes for hours: the colors, the heels . . . and they use adjectives like ‘lickable’ in relation to them.” He paused and gave me a wicked grin. “Sex can make you life-changingly happy. For all your talk, I would have thought you’d know. So
rry to hear you’ve been with the wrong men.”

  Damn him. I knew he was just trying to tease me, but considering the thoughts I’d just been having, instead of being insulted I was even more driven to take him somewhere secluded and test his theory about happiness. In fact, forget the seclusion. I was willing to go at it right here and now, which was definitely a sign that something was wrong with me.

  “Nothing comes to mind,” I said, trying desperately to put away thoughts of tearing cloth, sweaty skin and the feeling of a brick wall against bare flesh.

  He frowned. “Oh, stop that.”

  My eyes widened. “Stop what?” He hadn’t picked now as a time to become psychic, had he? Or had I said those things out loud?

  “The whole, ‘I’m depressed, life is horrible and meaningless’ shtick. It’s played out.”

  “That’s not . . . I wasn’t . . .” I didn’t want to explain why I was so horribly distracted, so I just blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “When I came to America. The first time.”

  Cyrus nodded. “Go on.”

  “I’d lived in Europe for so long and had way too many memories attached. There was so much history there, had been so many lifetimes lived, it just got to be too much.”

  Cyrus was studying me. “There was a guy, wasn’t there?”

  I flinched. This was definitely a piece of my past I didn’t like to revisit. Why had I brought this up to begin with? Probably because when I was with Andrew, I’d kidded myself into thinking that I could be life-changingly happy. “Yeah, there was a guy. A guy who got sick, who I couldn’t save.” I ducked my head so he wouldn’t see the tears that threatened over this little trip down memory lane. “No one could save him.” I took a deep breath and plunged ahead to get through it. “Story of my life: everyone but me dies eventually. He just went quicker. After he was gone, I couldn’t take it anymore, I had to leave. So I hopped the first ship headed here and . . .” I allowed myself a small smile as the memory came back: “I was standing out there, on the deck, and I got my first look as the land came into view. I felt like that weight from the past just lifted off of me. I had the first fresh start ever. It was that promise of a new beginning. That potential made me life-changingly happy.”