Fireborne, p.13
Fireborne, page 13
part #1 of Raven Cursed Series
“What happens if we don’t answer them all correctly? What if we only get two out of three?” I said it with a hint of levity to lighten the heavy atmosphere, partly since the imp hadn’t made an effort to smile or offer any hint of geniality since his initial smile.
“All three riddles need to be answered correctly. If they aren’t, you will be escorted out.” He lodged a sharp look in Cory’s direction. “With everything confiscated from you returned. The mistress of the house is a woman of her word and I am held to it.”
I suspected he was held to it because obviously the magic he used was hers. Did he have a magical bond that allowed him to share her magic, or had she taught him the spell used to divest Cory of his magic? Did he move that fast on his own, or was it a result of magic? The questions I had were endless. Hopefully, I’d have the opportunity to ask her.
“Go ahead with your questions,” Cory said.
“Riddles,” the imp corrected.
My eye roll mirrored Cory’s. Weren’t riddles just tough questions?
“Riddles,” Cory amended with a heavy sigh.
The imp maintained his haughty look as he took off his spectacles and withdrew a handkerchief from his vest to clean them. When he replaced them on the bridge of his nose, I saw the sharp claws that looked similar to hands when first seen. It could have been his claws that pricked us.
“No conferring with each other and you have only one chance to answer each question, do you understand?”
We nodded.
“First riddle,” he said studiously, his gaze bouncing between me and Cory. “Which creature walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs in the evening?”
Keeping my face neutral, I looked at Cory. I was pretty sure that, like me, he was hoping all the riddles were as easy as this one. How could we not get the infamous riddle of the sphinx?
“Man. He crawls on all fours as a baby, walks on two feet as an adult, and walks with a cane as an old man.” I blurted it too quickly. I should have taken longer moments of pause, to give him the impression that it was difficult so he would give us easier ones.
He nodded, face expressionless. Even his dark abysmal eyes held no decipherable expression of whether he was surprised or expectant at how quickly we answered the question.
“Correct.”
After several moments of silence, he scrutinized us with narrowed eyes, honing in on me. “This is for the embittered man,” he said. Then he gave Cory his full attention. I almost laughed because there had been several variations of the scowl on his face since his magic had been pilfered.
“Ask.” Cory attempted to sound just as aloof as the imp but failed miserably. He was irritated and nervous.
“Second riddle: Turn me on my side and I am everything. Cut me in half and I am nothing. What am I?”
Cory’s eyes narrowed in concentration. He rolled his thumb and forefinger together. He didn’t want to be the reason I didn’t get to see the Woman in Black and that would lead him to overanalyze everything.
After two minutes had passed, the imp said, “Tick. Tick. Tick,” in a low beat.
“I can do without the sound effects,” Cory snapped.
It was the first emotion the imp had shown since our greeting. A self-indulgent smile showed overly bright teeth with extended and sharp canines. Cory’s hesitation ignited his personality. Our discomfort and anxiety fed his enjoyment.
The imp made a display of bringing his blue-black tongue to his teeth to start his effects again, when Cory blurted, “The number eight. On its side, it looks like the infinity symbol, and when you cut it in half, it looks like two zeros.”
“Correct.” The imp’s glow of pleasure faded quickly. He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked in our direction before pacing a few feet. It was apparent that he had a substantial number of riddles memorized and was sifting through them to find one that couldn’t be answered. I’d committed to seeing the Woman in Black by any means, even if it meant punting the imp out of my way. It had seemed like an easier feat when I first considered it, before he’d stabbed us and stolen our magic and weapons in a blink of an eye. But it was still an option.
Becoming increasingly impatient with his rumination, I bit my tongue to keep from telling him exactly how I felt. Although it didn’t seem like we had been there long, the sun had receded behind the trees. The air cooled and the area had a dim, ominous appearance. I wasn’t sure of the extent of his magic. Elemental mages could control the weather and so could some fae.
Finally he stopped, and a whisper of a smile flitted across his lips.
“Third riddle. Feed me and I live, yet give me a drink and I die.”
“Fire.”
His eyes widened and he opened and closed his mouth several times, like a fish out of water, revealing his disturbingly colored tongue.
“Incorrect,” he stated with the unearned arrogance of someone who was right. He wasn’t. I knew that was the answer.
“Then what is the answer?”
“I do not owe you that.”
“You do!” I shouted, unable to contain my anger. Blistering at his cheating, handling this amicably wasn’t even an option anymore. “You owe me that because there isn’t possibly another answer and you know it.”
“I owed you an audience and a means to get to the mistress of the house. You failed.”
“So much for honor. Do you have any plans to return our weapons and magic?” My gaze drifted to the bridge just a few feet away. It was so close. I had every intention of kicking the red cheater clear across the forest and heading for the bridge. Cory beat me to it. He reached into his pocket and returned with a closed hand. Then he lobbed whatever was in his fist at the imp’s face. White and tan particles dusted the air and got into his eyes. It distracted him. Cory punched the imp hard enough for him to retreat. A right hook made the imp airborne for a few seconds, and he crashed back to the ground. Cory hovered over the imp, his hand pressed into his chest, fastening him to the ground.
“What are you waiting for? Go.”
I ran toward the bridge, hearing the imp’s words carried by the light breeze of wind. My face smashed into a barrier and waves of magic pulsed through me like a little electrical shock. It traveled from my nose, which hit the border first, to my toes. Numbness came after. I ignored it, directing my attention to the painful grunt coming from Cory’s direction. He’d moved away from the imp and was shaking his hand the way one did when they touch something sharp. The imp whipped to his feet, heaving breaths, lips moving feverishly as he spat out more words.
Cory and I both backed away as the imp’s small body began to expand and stretch. His breaths mutated to something between a bark and a growl. Maybe even a strangled hiss. Sharp sounds of clothes ripping tore through the air. His skin tore and stretched to accommodate the growing body, the bones breaking and reassembling. His small horns extended and curved like a ram’s. The body stretched to ten times its original size, including the claws on his hand, which now looked like they could rip through flesh. His movements had slowed, though, and that was our only advantage as he came at us. His footsteps pounded into the earth, making it reverberate with each step. He advanced, slashing his claws back and forth like machetes cutting through a forest.
We turned and raced for the exit. The pounding steps came faster and harder. He might not have been fast with his massive new form, but he was fast enough that we could feel him behind us, his frame casting an ominous shadow, dimming the fading light. Refusing to risk slowing down by looking back, we just kept running. Saving ourselves to fight another day. Or that’s what I tried to convince myself. Clawed hands grabbed me by the leg, roughly hauling me up and dangling me upside down. I could see Cory had received the same treatment. Pitching forward into a V, I made a futile attempt to claw at the leathery skin to get the imp to release me. The grip tightened and he continued in the direction we had been running.
He tossed us out into the middle of the forest. My weapons crashed on the ground around me. The imp on roids took obvious pleasure in piercing Cory’s skin and whispering a spell as he turned around—returning his magic. Cory worked his fingers, conjuring up a lively ball of energy.
“Do you want him to come back?” I asked softly, feeling a little lightheaded from being dangled upside down.
Collapsing on the grass, I took a cleansing breath, inhaling the floral scent that lingered and the oaky smells, hoping it would relax me.
“So,” Cory started slowly, “what’s plan B?”
CHAPTER 15
I wish I had a plan B. It would have lifted my spirits as I limped around my apartment the next day. Cory used magic to heal the cuts, but witch magic wasn’t really as effective on soft tissue damage. My body ached. I’d have to deal with it for a few days and just ice it until it was better. It didn’t help that Cory tried to use his magic so soon after it was taken. After being laced with iridium, it took a few moments for the magic to return to full strength. There had to be a similar effect when someone took it. It seemed to be the case when I borrowed magic. Some recovered faster. It could be a minute or as long as an hour. The longer I kept the magic, the longer the recovery. Cory remained an anomaly when it came to the effects, as he recovered faster and I was able to use it for longer.
The copious amount of cream and peppermint syrup in my coffee didn’t improve its bitterness. It was probably the taste of defeat that tasted bad. I dumped the coffee, made another cup, and mixed it with Kahlua. It wasn’t as bitter and gave me a nice buzz. Something I didn’t need at ten o’clock in the morning but still welcomed.
Not one story I’d heard about dealing with the WIB ended with the person being unceremoniously thrown out. Why were we so special? Why didn’t she want to see us? It wasn’t the most strategically executed plan, granted, but I’d had no idea what to expect since the stories of meeting her varied greatly. The only thing that seemed to be the same was there was always a cost. Nothing was free when it came to her. But I couldn’t even see her to find out if the cost was too high.
Frustrated, I didn’t immediately answer the door when I heard the knock. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and I wasn’t in the mood for unexpected guests. My frown was automatic when I looked through the peephole. I definitely wasn’t in the mood for this guest. Asher. I ground my teeth together. After that imp, the last thing I wanted to deal with was another asshat who didn’t know the meaning of rules and propriety.
When I didn’t answer, he knocked again. The hard, arrhythmic rap seemed to hold a hint of arrogant amusement. A silver-gray eye glinted through the peephole and the shifter eyes, a light glow, seemed more pronounced. I was committed to letting him stay right there smirking at the peephole, while I thought of ways to wipe it off his face.
“I know you’re home. I can hear you breathing. And your heartbeat,” his deep smooth voice pointed out.
I held my breath. A robust laugh roared behind the door. A vibrant lively sound of pure amusement. “Surely you don’t believe holding your breath will stop your heartbeat. Erin,” he entreated. “I come bearing gifts. I want to make amends.”
It took a few moments for me to get ready for his entry.
“It’s open.”
Throwing open the door, he was met with the barrel of a tranq gun pointing directly at him.
He looked at the weapon, his eyes gleaming. “It seems like you are just as anxious to end our little tussle. It has to be quite exhausting directing so much energy into hating me.”
“It’s pretty easy. I see you, and the feelings just spark like fireworks on the fourth of July. I don’t have to do anything. Your smug face and voice are enough to ignite it.”
“Most women enjoy seeing my face,” he said, a small smile playing at his lips.
“Probably not nearly as much as you enjoy seeing your face,” I snarked back.
Was modesty a lost attribute? He was strangely relaxed for a person with a weapon pointed in his direction, which only irritated me more. Why couldn’t he display the wide-eyed fear of a predator realizing he was the prey? Perhaps I should have had a gun, but unless the gun had silver in it, the tranq was more harmful to him. The bullets would hurt, but a tranq would knock him out. Shapeshifters freaked out at the very thought of losing volition. I suppose when you are forced to change once a month, losing any control is discomforting.
Making a show of it, he placed the bag he was holding on the coffee table. He backed away from it and raised his hands to show they were empty. Shrugging off his suit jacket, he laid it across the arm of the chair. Bringing his arms up, so I could see them, he slowly did a three-hundred-sixty spin. I was sure it wasn’t to show he didn’t have a weapon but to showcase his nicely proportioned body. He grinned at the sharp glare I shot at him.
“I am weaponless and at your mercy. Totally harmless,” he said, his tongue sliding over his teeth. Then he gripped his lips with his teeth, a less than subtle reminder how that could change at any moment. I’d witnessed him change into a huge chocolate-colored wolf in under thirty seconds. If the size of the wolf didn’t scare you, the menace in his movements would have.
He appraised me as I relaxed the gun to my side, my finger still close to the trigger. I’m sure I wasn’t a sight to look at. I wished I’d spent the day meditating, to calm the emotions that were running rampant. At the idea of visiting the WIB, I’d allowed myself to dream, to consider that I’d be able to borrow magic without consequence. To indulge in the various aspects of it without penalty. That dream now seemed so far away.
“Why are you here?” I asked, exasperated and sure he could smell the Kahlua. I wasn’t drunk, but I probably shouldn’t have been handling firearms.
“Like I said, I want to make amends. How can we be friends again?”
“Friends,” I scoffed. “You can contact Webster or Oxford and ask them to consider changing the definition.”
“I’d like to try something a little more plausible.” His confidence that his betrayal could be forgiven with a little gift annoyed me. The arrogance of a shifter was only exceeded by that of a vampire, or maybe Mephisto. “Come on, Erin, you want to end this war between us or you wouldn’t have let me in.”
“I didn’t want you to disturb my neighbor. She gets irritated if Judge Judy gets interrupted.”
In hindsight, I should have left him out there with his loud obnoxious laugh and let her give him a tongue lashing he’d never forget. Maybe she’d poke him with that cane she didn’t seem to need. I thought it was a prop she used for her helpless, hard-of-hearing act to get out of standing too long chatting with the neighbors.
“Ms. Harp? You said she has no fucks to give. Those were your exact words about her. You think she would care about me loitering in the hall?”
He wasn’t wrong. All the primetime comedies hadn’t prepared me for my elderly neighbor. Teaching me that my black-haired seventy-something-year-old neighbor would be overly friendly, nosy, and want my company all the time. She couldn’t care less about me. She acted like I was bothering her when I introduced myself when I first moved in, and was polite because it was the Midwestern thing to do. Helping her with her groceries earned me a thank-you, nothing more or less. I wasn’t going to see her peeking out her door to see who my gentleman caller was, and her hearing aid, which must’ve been a special invisible one that couldn’t be detected by the naked eye because I had never seen it, was always too low or missing. Conversations were quickly dismissed by a shake of her head and a finger pointing to her empty ear.
Plus, her cane moved in double time when trying to get away from the neighbors upstairs, whom she referred to as the “chatty ones.” If they managed to get close enough, she abandoned the cane and did a geriatric jog.
“Unless the Salem Stone is in that big bag, we won’t be mending anything.”
His jaw clenched. “I think you’ll like your gift better. You couldn’t do anything with the stone anyway. It’s only of use to witches, fae, and mages.”
“Then why do you want it?” I countered roughly. There was no way he was getting out of explaining it that easily.
He ignored the question, pulled out the expensive-looking wooden box from the bag, and presented the contents to me. I placed the tranq on the chair behind me, close enough to retrieve quickly if needed, and picked up the dagger. It was an exquisite weapon. My fingers traced the intricate and beautiful patterns of interlocking shapes that decorated the black mother of pearl handle. Pulling a dagger like that out would definitely let someone know I meant business. The blade was the work of true talent and craftsmanship. It was too beautiful to consider using for work and could never replace my weapon of choice—the double-edged karambit, which was battle worn.
Each breath I took was measured in an effort to suppress any show of appreciation. He would have to work harder than that for my forgiveness. I took a few steps away and tested the dagger with several jabs and slices through the air. Again, I examined the razor-sharp blade and closed the distance between me and Asher. I turned, extending it in front of me. Asher was just a few inches from the tip.
“Nice blade. Why did you take the Salem Stone?” I asked, my tone arctic cold and punctuating each word for emphasis.
His eyes fixed on mine as he inched closer until the tip of the blade was pressed against his chest. His lips spread into a challenging smirk. I wanted to apply just a little pressure. Not to injure him but to meet his challenge. Who was I kidding? Injuring him would have been a bonus. His close distance goaded me, daring me to do something. His confidence that I wouldn’t hurt him frustrated me. Just a little nick into the skin of the Alpha of the Northwest Wolf Pack would surely wipe that smile off his face. Just a small prick with the blade would allow me to watch with satisfaction as his shirt turned crimson. Who was I kidding? “Nick” and “poke” were just niceties for stabbing. I was considering stabbing him. Logic reared its dream-killing head and reminded me that he was an Alpha. What the hell is wrong with me? Yet thirst for retribution seemed to override logic—he deserved it.
