Faerie Blood (26 page)

His eyes squeezing shut, his head bowing forward, Christopher began to whisper words in a language I didn’t know. He pronounced them uncertainly, as if trying to remember what to say, but that didn’t seem to matter. The surge of power latched on to every syllable he uttered and carried it straight into my chest, where they echoed back and forth. With each word the energy built, and with each word Christopher shivered; when he paused and looked back at me, his eyes had gone gold.

When he let go of his knife and lifted his right hand to me, I grabbed his fingers without a moment’s thought—and the energy rolled over from him into me. Christopher repeated the same words, more confidently this time, and I thought in wonder of reverse lightning rods that pulled lightning up from the ground rather than down from the sky.

One more time he spoke, in English now, staring unwaveringly at me above our joined hands. The words came out as conversational and ordinary of tone as if he’d commented on the time of night or the wetness in the air. But a certain reverence came into his expression and a glow sprang into life behind his eyes, lifting what he uttered up to a solemn, formal vow.

“I am Christopher MacSimidh, son of Damhnait, son of Malcolm, and I will Ward this place with my breath, bone, and blood.”

Either light actually flashed, or else I dropped the flashlight; I wasn’t sure which. Still, everything around me went white for an instant, turning nighttime into noon. When the brilliance dwindled back down to the flashlight’s earthly illumination, Christopher’s hands were on my shoulders and his gaze drank in my face and frame. “Are you all right, then?” he demanded.

His hands. With a little squeak, I plucked his left one off my shoulder and cradled it in both of mine, palm up. I felt remarkably no surprise to find that the only sign of the gash he’d made was a white scar, thin and fine as a strand of hair, one I could barely make out in what little light we had. Awestruck, I said, “I take it this is a good sign!”

“That’s how it works,” he told me, sounding giddy as I felt. “I wasn’t sure I’d remember the words Mom used when she pledged to St. John’s. We all do it differently, the Warders do. Mom had a thing for threes.”

“But are
you
all right?”

“I asked you first!”

Giggling, I clasped both his hands in mine. Here he’d just committed an act of magic he’d been avoiding for the past sixteen years, and he was asking after my welfare. But then, he was a Newfoundlander and they were like that—or at least the one before me certainly was. “I’m fine,” I assured him. And I was, so far as I could tell, even though my ears were burning again and every square inch of my skin seemed hypersensitive. I could feel the pressure of Christopher’s fingers, the brush of the wind against my cheeks, the occasional droplet of water hitting my hair from the branches overhead, and even the texture of the ground through the soles of my shoes, all together, all at once.

It should have been scary, and it was. But it was exhilarating too. “What about you?” I prodded. “You are all right, aren’t you?”

He paused—and then that shining smile he’d given me before ignited across his face. The sight of it went straight to my head, like a long draught of wine, firing off an impulse to which I willingly succumbed. I hugged him. And he hugged me back. His arms about me, humming with an energy that no longer felt unfocused, were like being embraced by sunlight.

“I’m goin’ to be, Kendis lass,” Christopher murmured warmly into my hair. “I’m goin’ to be.”

The inhospitable night turned strangely inviting
in the wake of what Christopher had done. Never mind the wind and rain picking up again, sending damp gusts of air eddying under the willow’s branches. Never mind the cold, uncomfortable ground. With my hand locked around Christopher’s, the energy he’d created coursed up from the ground, through him, and into me before it swept right back again. It suffused my system with a profound sense of connection and belonging, as if the city I’d known all my life had become awake and aware and welcomed me into its arms.

What the magic did to me, though, seemed nothing compared to how it transformed Christopher. Exhaustion and pain fell away from his bearing; his face, incandescent with joy, was the face of a man coming home. He surged to his feet and pulled me with him, spun me around in a circle, and then crushed me to his chest in a fervent embrace. Wet willow fronds slapped against us, but he paid them no heed. “Lord Jesus Christ,” he exulted, “if I’d known it’d be like this, I’d never have run so long!”

Lifted bodily off my feet, I gasped and laughed out loud, clinging to Christopher for balance—and to keep the fronds out of my face. I liked hugging him. A lot. It felt like hugging an oak tree made of light, all strong and vibrant life, sinking intangible but powerful roots far into the earth beneath our feet. “But then you wouldn’t be here,” I said in an unthinking rush, lifting my head to smile up at him.

He halted the spin then, breathing in deep, his expression intensifying as he looked back down at me. “That’s true, lass,” he said, softer now, huskier. Something flickered across his face—something that I identified, with a thrill of restless eagerness, as attraction. In the flashlight’s wan light it turned his eyes a vivid green, and suddenly the electric current of magic had to compete with his stare and the pressure of his arms around me for my attention. “That’s very true.”

I could easily have stood there in his embrace for another few years, but more and more raindrops slid down through the willow fronds to strike us. “We should go in,” I murmured. “We shouldn’t leave Jude alone.”

Christopher seemed as reluctant as I was to break his new-forged connection with the earth that had tasted his blood. He nodded but did not move, and only with an effort tore his gaze away from me to look toward my back door. “We should Ward the house,” he said, his own thought kindling a surge of wonder in him. “I
can
Ward the house.”

“Can I help?” The excitement shining in his face was so infectious that I couldn’t resist making the offer.

He grinned broadly, seizing my hands in his. Power hummed through our joined palms, warm and rich, while faint glimmers of green-golden light played along our fingers. “I think you can,” he breathed. Then he tugged me out from beneath the tree. I balked long enough to snatch the flashlight off the ground, but then willingly followed him. “Come on!”

The lateness of the hour and the unpleasant weather were good things. They meant that most, if not all, of the neighbors would be asleep, so no one would see us making a circuit of the house in the drizzling rain, peering at all the doors and windows—I hoped. I avoided thinking of how the people at Mama’s had failed to notice me standing among them on the sidewalk, and resolved to tell anybody who asked later that Christopher and I were looking for termites.

“Carson and Jake’s half, too,” I insisted, pointing out their half of the house. “Does it work if it’s a house split in half?”

“They’re your friends that took me to the hospital?”

“My housemates.” Pleased that he remembered, I nodded towards their front door and confided, “I’m worried about them. They’re off dealing with Jake’s family stuff right now—but this is their house as much as it is mine. We’ve got to make sure they’ll be safe when they get back!” My cheer ebbed as that thought sent a ripple of nervousness through me, and I hoped the boys were indeed safe, handling whatever challenges they faced with Jake’s family. The alternative was unthinkable.

Christopher squeezed my hands and promised, “We’ll take care of it, lass, don’t fret. You’re close to ’em; that’ll help with the Wardin’.” He shook himself a little, like a runner limbering up for a fifty-yard sprint, and said then, “I felt what you did back at the restaurant and in the truck. What was it?”

How to describe what I’d pulled off? “At Mama’s I wanted Elessir off your case after he threw you into the table,” I said, the memory making me fidget from foot to foot. “And then it was all about keeping him out of my face, and wanting to smack him too. I guess I did both. I kind of pushed at him without using my hands. Hard.”

“What happened?”

I couldn’t hide a smug little grin. “I threw him into a table.”

Come to think of it, that did make me feel rather butch.

“Oh, but it’s a dangerous woman you are, Kendis,” Christopher said, letting out a bright peal of laughter. “But I won’t be needin’ you to throw me into tables. Just do what you did in the truck—reachin’ for me with what you’ve got in you.”

His laughter was every bit as captivating as Malandor’s thrall, but far purer, far cleaner. I wanted to do anything to get him to smile and laugh again, even as I remained gloriously aware of myself out in a rainy Seattle summer night, about to commit an act of honest-to-God magic. This magic thing, it seemed, was growing on me.

So I bobbed my head and took a stab at it. My magic perked up as I sought it out, like a friend waving excitedly to catch my eye across a crowded room. I focused on it, felt it almost purr, and wondered if it could be as easy as thinking about that internal energy just flowing right down to Christopher’s hand.

Apparently it could. Heat like a tiny sun ignited between our palms, throwing out a burst of small white sparkles that faded as quickly as they appeared. I squeaked and almost let go of Christopher’s fingers, but he held on. “Jesus!” he cried. “No, no—don’t stop! I think this is a good thing—”

“Are you sure?” I gulped. The sparkles winked out as my concentration faltered, but I felt them lurking just under my skin, waiting to jump out. “That didn’t happen before!”

His breathing went shaky, but Christopher didn’t look alarmed. He nodded swiftly at me and said, “Just never felt the like o’ that, is all! Keep it comin’, and don’t worry! I can take it, I’m a Warder.” With that, he paused and repeated, awestruck, “Dear God, I’m a
Warder
.”

Tightening my grip on his hand, focusing once more on sending my magic toward our twined fingers, I urged, “Show me!”

His eyes shifting to gold, Christopher inhaled; then I felt his new power roll right down to his feet and dig deep into the earth.

We stood within arm’s reach of the nearest window of the house. Christopher snapped his head around to it, and his hand slapped against the windowsill as if magnetically pulled. More and more sparkles spilled off our hands, growing more distinct by the second in the flashlight’s glow, and not just white ones either; others of a warm shade of greenish gold that had to be Christopher’s joined them. The two colors swirled into one another, streaming up along his arm and out over his spread fingers to dissipate over the breadth of the window. Fierce delight blazed across his face, and surprise and joy through me; he looked like a man doing what he was meant to do, and I was helping him do it.

“It’s working. Oh God, Christopher, it’s working!”

He fired me a scintillating grin and pulled me along the house to the next window in line. “C’mon, girl, let’s keep it comin’!”

We did. It was a good thing the house had only one floor, since that let us reach all of the windows without a ladder, though I wondered how long that would have remained an obstacle when the surge of our combined power seemed enough to make us fly. It was ludicrously simple, moving with Christopher around the house and channeling him energy while he coated each window and door in light. By the time we’d visited all the sides of the building, I felt lightheaded enough that I might as well have been airborne. It was exhilarating. It was exhausting. And it was the most incredible thing I had ever experienced.

When we returned to the back door, we had to lean on one another for support even as we giggled at the sheer dizzying excitement of what we’d done. We held it together long enough to Ward the door and then get inside so I could lock it; then the caffeine rush of power began to fade, giving way to simple physical exhaustion. But our hands stayed joined as we collapsed together on the couch, right in the middle of my scattering of small fat African-print pillows. The touch of Christopher’s fingers was the last thing I remembered as I plummeted headlong into contented sleep.

Nearby voices eventually coaxed me back towards awareness, though not all the way. I was warm and comfortable, and part of me sensed my second-favorite blanket, the red polar fleece one, draped across me. Loath to abandon the first real sleep I’d enjoyed in the last few nights, I drowsed and listened to Christopher and Jude murmuring to one another. The faintly Hispanic flavor of Jude’s alto and the broad, rolling lilt of Christopher’s baritone were as comforting as the blanket; if I could hear them, they were nearby and safe.

“Aggie said she hasn’t heard from Millie yet.” That was Jude. “Do you think we should wake Kendis up and go check her place again? You guys both looked pretty bushed when I got up.”

Christopher gave a sheepish little giggle, oddly boyish and incongruous with his deep voice. “We were, after all the magic we laid on the house last night.”

“You seem okay with it.”

“I am.” He paused and then added, “I’ve taken up the Wardin’ in truth. It’s helped.”

“Oh! Congrats on that—but is Ken okay with it? I’ve never seen anything shake her up as badly as all this.”

“She’s strong. With all she’s discovered, I’m amazed she’s held together as well as she has.” Another pause. “And you, Jude Lawrence? You’re holdin’ up?”

Jude chuckled. “Who, me? Hey, pal, I’m not the one going all elfy. I’m fine.” Now she took a turn to hesitate before she went on, “Look, Christopher. Ken said you saved her life, and this whole Warder gig seems to be a good thing, so I’m cool with that. But I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at Kendis.”

One beat. Two. Three. Then Christopher said gruffly, “Are you approachin’ a point?”

“Yeah. Your intentions look honorable, but since Kendis isn’t the only one blown away these days, I’m electing myself her watchdog. Don’t make me kick your ass, okay?”

Christopher let out a startled, choked little bark of laughter. But his voice was firm as he said, “It’s a fine watchdog you are, Jude. Don’t worry. I’ll do nothin’ that’ll make you need to bite.”