Spell Hath No Fury Page 10

  “What is he doing here?” Was all I managed. Serena knew, more than anyone, how treacherous my half-brother could be. I’d forgiven her for colluding with him to hurt me once we’d finally dragged our grievances out into the open. And, even if Diana Diamond was the one behind the current kerfuffle, I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw a unicorn. She should know better than to trust him, too.

  “We’re having a conversation about a possible reconciliation.” She stated matter-of-factly, fixing me with a stare indicating the subject wasn’t up for debate. “Jett wants to help me raise the baby. This little guy or girl deserves to have two loving parents.”

  “Yeah, Sis, you’ve got me all wrong. My priorities have changed.” In a day? Doubtful.

  I’ve lived with faeries my entire life, and parsing validity from carefully concealed untruth has become somewhat of a specialty of mine. The Fae can’t lie outright, but Jett sure could. If he called me Sis one more time, I might punch him in the nards. Shared blood notwithstanding, we couldn’t have been cut from more different cloth. I didn’t believe he had Serena’s or the baby’s best interests at heart.

  And yet, there was an urgency in his tone that spoke of real desire; a yearning I wouldn’t have expected. A thread of truth, maybe, to his words.

  Is it fair to assume someone can’t change, knowing that I, myself, had been reincarnated several times over? Judging a person’s entire being based on a few negative actions smacked of cynicism and hypocrisy, but something in my gut said Jett shouldn’t—couldn’t—be trusted.

  “Serena,” I ignored Jett completely and spoke directly to her as if he wasn’t standing an inch from her side, “You can’t possibly believe he cares about you. If he had, he would have come and found you when he escaped from the Faelands. Instead, he’s been off doing...” I thought about it for a second, “...I don’t know exactly. Do you really want your child being raised by someone who has only ever cared about himself?”

  I could tell my words were lost on Serena; saw the way her eyes slid to Jett’s face, the raw hope that lived there and let her believe she might not be alone in the seemingly insurmountable task of raising a baby on her own. A magical baby, no less.

  Like the misogynistic jerk he truly was, Jett interjected before Serena could even open her mouth. “I’m not going to explain myself. Where I’ve been is none of your business.”

  “Actually, it is my business, considering you showed up here with my mother’s words on your lips. Wanna tell me how that came about?”

  “Not that you’ll believe me, but I spent some time searching my soul and trying to make up for things I’ve done in the past. You must have noticed I’ve been helping with matches, trying to take some of the burden off you. Geez, I’d think you’d be grateful. Maybe toss me a thank you or something.”

  His voice had turned to a petulant whine. I half expected him to say something along the lines of “it’s not fair!” and stomp his feet like a two-year-old.

  “As if I believe anything that comes out of your lying mouth.”

  Helping me with my matches?

  “Lexi, I’m the only one who needs to let go of what he’s done. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same for Kin if he were to waltz in here and tell you he had made a terrible mistake.”

  “That’s different,” I sputtered, “Kin is my soul mate, and he’s under a spell.”

  Serena gave me the sympathetic head shake that translates as, “Aw, honey, whatever you need to believe.” At that moment, I needed to believe I could get through the next ten minutes without committing a crime worthy of being stoned—the punishment exacted upon a witch who murders one of her own. Irrevocable and immediate.

  “Forget about Kin. Since when has Jett done anything for anyone’s benefit but his own?” My eyes slid over to my half-brother, searching for even a morsel of remorse.

  “You said you forgave me, Lexi. Why can’t you forgive Jett too? You didn’t see what he was going through; the pain your father caused when he walked away from his son. I know for a fact you’ve done things you’re not proud of, and I know you’ve tried to make up for them. Doesn’t he deserve the same chance?”

  What was I supposed to say to that?

  “Jett has explained everything to me,” Serena sighed, “He’s sorry for what he almost did to Kin at Shadowhold, and he has information that might be useful to you if you’re willing to hear him out. It’s about your parents.”

  “Funny he’s been in my face, what? Three times now and this is the first I've heard about him being sorry. And about my parents, he’s already told me everything he’s going to—and if he hadn’t made a blood vow, he would have kept the information to himself just out of spite.”

  Jett hated Sylvana even more than I distrusted her—and without the family ties to soften the blows of her selfish nature. He’d made the vow, so he must have had a good reason to need her help. Obviously, he’d managed to survive his forced vacation to the Faelands with few problems, considering he was still in one piece. Maybe the Unseelie race mistook his dark heart for one of their own.

  As soon as that thought crossed my mind, something inside me screamed that I didn't see the bigger picture. Obviously, Jett cared about something, or he wouldn’t have traded information with someone he loathed even more than me. From his skewed perspective, it had been my mother who took his father away and Jett wanted nothing more than to get his daddy's approval.

  And back around to where I began; I couldn’t get within a mile of Jett without drawing the same conclusions I always did. I saw a slimy snake with enough acting chops to dupe Serena, but not me. “He’s not your soul mate, and you deserve better.”

  “That’s for me to decide. I’m not saying I’ve forgiven him completely, but he is the father of my baby, and I owe it to all three of us to consider what he has to say. If you can’t accept that, please leave.” Serena’s eyes pleaded for understanding, but it was more than I could give.

  I shook my head sadly, set the cauldron of tonic on a low table near the door, and exited quietly. It would take more than words to convince Serena of Jett’s true character. His intentions would make themselves known eventually. I just hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

  For now, Serena was on her own. I suddenly hoped Calypso would return and put a stop to this ridiculous charade, though I doubted her opinion would matter any more to her daughter than mine did.

  HALFWAY home I spun in a semi-circle and headed back toward Serena’s house. Almost to her front steps, I had third thoughts and turned once more in the opposite direction. Back and forth I debated, weighing the pros and cons of what I was considering doing. Eventually, curiosity got the better of me, and I decided it was time to flip the situation in my favor. I skulked between a pair of rhododendrons flanking Serena’s front door and decided that since my stalking skills had been honed to perfection, I might as well use them to my advantage.

  Fortunately, Jett only stayed inside for another half hour, so I didn’t have to wonder too long about what they might be doing in there. When he skipped down the front walk with a self-satisfied grin on his face, I trailed him to wherever it is scumbag demigods go at night.

  It’s a lot more difficult to follow someone under cover of darkness than in the light of day when other people are milling around, and Jett was too smart to be fooled by a glamour spell, so I had no choice but to keep a safe distance.

  When he turned into a familiar alley between French Street and Hinge Avenue, I knew exactly where Jett was headed. The place where worlds meet is accessible from similar points in cities and towns around the world; there are probably entrances carved out of innocuous boulders on countless hillsides, for all I know. They all lead to a place where we beings entrusted with the knowledge that magic is just as real as the known laws of physics can let down the burdensome shields we’re required to carry in the mortal world.

  Of course, there are rules; you don’t come to the Fringe and start peppering people with prying questi
ons. It’s kind of like Las Vegas. Harm none, do what ye will is more than a motto, and many have been ejected and banned either temporarily or permanently depending on the magnitude of the transgression. It was a double-edged sword; I could spy on Jett to my heart’s content but knew better than to try and insert myself into his affairs.

  I do find a certain amount of humor in the fact that the world between worlds is a giant carnival, though I have no desire to delve into the reason why it was created that way. Calliope music provided a backdrop to the hydraulic hiss of a four-story Ferris wheel’s engine and the sing-song voices of carnies offering fantastic prizes in exchange for the opportunity to guess your age, weight, or shoe size or for you to guess theirs. I wouldn’t have let the vast majority of them get close enough to smell my dirty socks, but if I closed my eyes, it sounded like any other fair or circus I’d ever been to.

  The gods were smiling on me because I managed to avoid getting entangled in any verbal tugs of war with the persistent vaudevillians. Apparently, my brother wasn’t as repulsive to everyone else as I found him to be. He stopped to drop a few dollar bills into a Dwarven bard’s guitar case, waved a jovial hello to an old Orcish couple hawking charmed battle axes, and chatted with a foul-mouthed chickadee before ducking inside a black canvas tent with no sign or flag to broadcast its contents.

  I circled around to the rear and hunkered down in a spot between the backs of three other tents where I wouldn’t be seen, vehemently wished I had a pair of extendable ears and found a tiny hole to press my own regular one against.

  The low-voiced conversation between Jett and a creaky, feminine voice sounded a lot like the teacher from the Peanuts. Wah, blaw, wah, blah, wah. Out of the entire conversation, I caught only two words clearly. Talisman and blood. Enough to prove his intentions were as ignoble as I’d imagined.

  Jett opened the flap and exited the tent with a whoosh, his legs carrying him across the midway at a faster pace than before. He made a beeline for yet another tent emblazoned with the name “Athena’s Attic.”

  I counted my blessings, having visited the establishment during my last trip to the Fringe, because I happened to know there was a rear flap where I could enter unseen. A powerful Elven seer, Athena would undoubtedly sense my presence, but in accordance with the previously stated rule about interference, was unlikely to reveal my hiding place. I’d probably have to answer a half dozen questions about my intentions later, but for the time being, I was safe as houses.

  “Good to see you, Athena.” Jett’s voice elevated to the pitch used by certain men when speaking to a woman, not exactly condescending, but infuriating nonetheless. “I need an Ardruvian tuning crystal and a packet each of dandelion root, nettles, and blue cohosh.”

  “Three days on the crystal. Herbs are over in the homeopathic section.”

  In a minute or two, the transaction complete, Jett took his leave, and I trailed him back to Serena’s.

  Whatever Jett was up to, it didn’t seem as though Serena was in any real danger—at least not at the moment, with the baby still months from full term—but I vowed to keep watch over her whether she wanted me to or not.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “GET DOWN!” I HISSED to Flix, shoving myself behind a rack of Hawaiian shirts marked red for clearance.

  “And boogie?” Flix fired back, not yet registering the urgency of the situation.

  “Not funny. I thought you were an empath. Way to read the room.” I jerked my head to the side to indicate he needed to move quickly or else he’d be spotted. But he moved to my side and made a disgusted face as his bare arm brushed low thread count cotton. What. A. Diva.

  “Why would anyone buy their clothes at the same place they buy their dog food and toothpaste?”

  I sighed, “Because most people’s yearly clothing budget is closer to what you spend on toothpaste. Don’t be a snob.”

  Big box stores are hated by lots of people. They’re crowded, everything is made in a foreign country, and they love to hide those price scanner machines in dimly lit corners and then get annoyed when you ask for help. Unfortunately, they’re also convenient, open late, and the one near me happened to stock the particular brand of blood orange sorbet that had been getting me through the last few painful days. I could just ask one of the godmothers to stock the freezer for me, but then I wouldn’t get to enjoy the look on Flix’s face as we cruised through the Men’s section.

  “What are we hiding from, anyway?” He spoke in an exaggerated whisper reeking of sarcasm and condescension.

  “Kin and my acrylic-spandex-blend replacement. I can’t deal right now.” I shushed Flix and headed straight for the offending couple because well, that’s what you do when you unexpectedly encounter your ex and his new girlfriend—stalk them—whether you want to know what’s happening or not. It’s a compulsion, and I’m sure I’m not the only former girlfriend who can attest to that.

  Fear and pain trailed their gnarled fingertips around the edges of my heart, slowly creeping deeper as I stood my ground with difficulty. In college, I’d taken a management course on how to deal with tough situations in the workplace. From somewhere in the recesses of my mind, the concept of pulling back swam to the surface.

  Calm, cool, and collected is always more disconcerting to an angry person than matching their emotion and allowing it to control the situation. Some people in the class would count backward from ten to calm their nerves; others would mentally sing a soothing song. My own personal method was to erect a metaphorical plexiglass shield to block out the noise. I imagined it rising up from someplace deep inside, complete with a Star Wars-esque hydraulic sound effect.

  Then cool and calm would turn to cold, emotionless observation and my role-playing partner would have no choice but to mimic my reaction. It’s difficult to maintain a hissy fit when the other person refuses to engage. The technique worked just as well on my feelings, and they retreated a bit further into my subconscious to grant me a stay of execution, at least for now.

  “Stand still,” Flix commanded, waving a hand to cast a glamour over both of us. Why didn't I think of that? “Now let’s ditch this cart.”

  Under normal circumstances, I’d have cracked a rib laughing at Flix’s choice of disguise. He must have been going for complete opposite because gone were the rippling biceps and chiseled facial features; instead, he sported a beer gut and a mullet. I took a quick look at my reflection in one of the chrome fixtures and smiled when I realized he’d made me a tall redhead with legs for days.

  “People are going to think you’re either ridiculously rich or my drunk uncle. Thanks for knowing...” Flix, never one for warm and fuzzy feelings, waved away the words before I could finish expressing my gratitude for the attempt at humor.

  “I’ll be your sugar daddy for the next half hour as long as you swear never to tell Carl you saw me looking like this.”

  “Deal. Now let’s go.” We picked up the pace and headed toward where the love of my life had sauntered with his hand on another woman’s backside. My heart thumped so hard I thought it might burst, and I resisted the urge to circle back to the sporting goods department for a shotgun. Not that I’d resort to violence. Maybe. I could wreak plenty of havoc all on my own, thank-you-very-much.

  Rachel rested a garishly manicured hand on Kin’s arm while they picked out a couple of porterhouse steaks at the meat counter, and it rankled on my last nerve. When he ran a finger down her spine, and she shivered with—dare I say it, desire—it felt like someone had punched me in the face. By the time they’d chosen a head of romaine and a loaf of crusty bread, I knew Kin was pulling out all the stops.

  Steak and Caesar salad was his go-to seduction meal. He made it the first night I spent at his house, and the thought of him sharing it with someone else cut deep. Not that I’d seriously believed I was the first woman he’d wowed with his grilling skills, but I had definitely expected to be the last.

  The hex slipped out of me in a cathartic rush. I would pay for it late
r, and I did not care. Not even a little. Those steaks were not going to get Kin into bed with his new sweetie. More likely she’d run screaming from the room when she got a look at their gooey, pus-filled centers.

  Just for good measure, I gave the romaine a case of worms. Call me petty. Give me the t-shirt. I’ll own it.

  “Are you okay?” Flix asked, already knowing the answer.

  I shook my head and continued following the pair to the wine section. When Kin reached for a bottle of my favorite Cabernet, I bristled. It was more than I could stand.

  Flix grabbed me by the elbow and hauled me down the aisle, “I can’t deal with all the angst, let’s get out of here.”

  As I brushed past Kin, our skin touched for a fraction of a second. Images rose unbidden to fill my mind, but this was no Fate Weaver vision. Just memories from the past; our life together flashing by in the kind of movie-style montage they play when someone is seconds away from dying.

  The day I met Kin on the sidewalk outside my house. Our first kiss; the way he’d cupped my face in his hands and pressed his full, perfect lips to mine. Kin chasing me through his kitchen, my hair tickling his back as he hoisted me over his shoulder and carried me to his bedroom.

  All tender moments I feared I’d never again think of fondly. So what if I did break Diana Diamond’s spell? Would that erase the image of Kin with Malibu Barbie? I’d probably never get her stripper perfume smell out of his sheets. We’d have to burn the house down. And even then, I wasn’t sure.

  “Kin?” Rachel’s grating voice brought me back to the present, and when my eyes readjusted to the bright fluorescent lighting I was standing face to face with Kin, and he was staring at me with soulful eyes, almost as if he could see past the glamour of the tall, gorgeous redhead to the devastated woman underneath.

  Rachel’s insistent arm patting pulled Kin’s focus back to her, and he shook his head as if to dislodge a confusing image, allowing her to drag him away while she cast dark, narrow-eyed looks in my direction.