INVISIBLE POWER BOOK TWO: ALEX NOZIAK (INVISIBLE RECRUITS) (12 page)

CHAPTER 26

Jeb listened to the rise and fall of voices in the next room as he rested his hands flat on his knees. They looked at ease to the police officer who was sitting across from him with an expressionless face, but Jeb knew better.

What did Pádraig know about Alex? The question ate away at Jeb’s stomach lining as he waited to be interrogated. And he had no doubt it would be an interrogation too, in spite of the formality and low-key approach of the officials so far.

What had Alex done? Did it involve Van? Which was the only reason Jeb could think why she might be in Paris. And why couldn’t he reach out to Van? The last was the most worrisome issue as Jeb had always been able to reach his sons across distances, to see them and make sure they were all right. But not since Van had disappeared. He refused to accept that his son might be dead. If he was, Jeb could have found Van in the spirit realm.

But Jeb had never been able to track Alex in either the spirit world or distance viewing her in the physical realm, though they both carried shamanistic abilities.

That was his fault. Not her abilities but her lack of experience using them. After Aideen had left him, and the way she’d left him, created a hole so large within him it was all he could do to get through each day. For the first year or so he was the walking dead. Then he threw himself into his farm and raising his sons. As shifters he understood them and he knew as a shifter himself, how much training they needed to keep their animal selves and enhanced human abilities hidden from too observant human eyes.

He hadn’t realized till later that he’d left Alex to fend for herself. What did he know about pigtails and dresses, not that she wore either
. As for her magical abilities, what he understood about witchcraft he feared. Better to have her with no understanding of magic than to follow down the path Aideen had travelled.

At least he felt that way until Alex had been twelve or thirteen, coming into her abilities in a willy-nilly fashion that posed a danger to herself and anyone who crossed her temper. Another trait she’d inherited from him.

So he’d found Siobhán MacAuliffe, the closest witch he could track down and she was half a day away in Montana. He hadn’t liked the idea of his daughter being trained by an Irish witch but Alex had needed someone to mentor her. Not that Alex had agreed. By the Spirits she’d put up a row. But he’d made up his mind, so off they’d gone to Missoula.

He almost turned right around when he discovered MacAuliffe wasn’t Irish at all. She was Chinese. He’d understood her need to hide in plain sight but a witch was a witch. Or so he thought.

Alex lasted three months before MacAuliffe discovered Alex’s secret abilities and called for Jeb to come fetch his daughter. It was a long, silent ride home.

He’d failed his daughter then. He wasn’t about to fail her again.

If he could only figure out where she was, what she was up to, and how he could help.

CHAPTER 27

Before I had a chance to do anything the Were cougar threw itself at the mastiff and fur began to fly.

I pressed myself harder against the wall as if to become invisible, but that was only going to last until one or the other of the animals survived. Then I was the next target.

If only I could cast Bran’s freeze spell. But I couldn’t. I also didn’t have candles, or herbs, or markers to create runes. Talk about so sorry out of luck.

Focus. What did I have?

As if called, the white light of the waxing moon leaked through the doorway, spreading its finger of light in a wedge shape along the floor.

It wasn’t a full moon but I had to take what I could get.

So what spells could work via words and intention alone?

The cougar’s screams increased. If I didn’t stop them soon both fighters would be dead.

I didn’t know where the mastiff came from but it had saved me from the Were so far, least I could do was save it back.

As long as I didn’t kill us both.

I had it. A modified bully spell. The kind to repel a bothering bully. Sure it was meant for the playground, and a Were was a lot larger than any bully I had ever met but it was easy, quick and I knew the spell by heart. Thanks again to my brothers who, being on the wild side, made their share of enemies. Enemies that tended to come after me as an easier target. Until they ran into this incantation.

I stepped back from the wall, holding my hands straight away from me like an extended cross, palms facing skyward. Inhaling a deep breath I skipped the closing my eyes part as just too stupid given the situation.

By Moon beam and Star light heed my will.

By three and nine your power I bind.

I angled myself more toward the moonlight inching through the door.

By Air and Night, keep harm from me and mine.

By two and ten, this power thus bend.

A chill breeze brushed from the outdoors and across my arms. I steadied my voice for the last part.

By Rock and Stone, cast you away.

By one and seven, so mote it be!

Bully be gone. Cast from me and mine.

Now and then, then and now.

So mote it be!

I shouted the last line, shutting my eyes in spite of best intentions. Behind my closed eyes I waited, my breath held, hearing no sounds. No cat, no dog, not even the scuffle in the kitchen.

Spirits be did I kill them all? Again?

Afraid to find out the truth I hesitated then snapped my eyes open.

In front of me only the mastiff remained, rolling its massive shoulders and scanning the room as if to find where his opponent was hiding.

But the Were was gone. Where to?

Did I care?

Suddenly I had to blink against a blinding light that came on overhead.

“What did you do?” Bran said from across the room, looking disheveled and sweaty and very put out as he stood silhouetted in the door jam leading into what I assumed was the kitchen area.

I took a deep breath but didn’t move. Not with the Fido from hell still way too close for my comfort. “Why do you always assume I’m the one at fault?”

“Because you usually are.”

“Tosh.”

His brows raised so high they were hidden in locks of his dark hair. “Where did you send them?”

“Don’t know.” Didn’t care. Just damn glad I was alive. For now. I shrugged, twisting my neck to ease the tightness there, wondering how one coaxed a mastiff outside. “Shoo,” I said, waving my hands. “Go, fetch.”

“Fetch what?” Bran asked, stepping further into the room and closer to the dog.

“I don’t care what, I just want him gone.”

“Why?”

I pointed at the dog, half expecting Bran to act like the massive beast wasn’t there. The dog at least had enough good manners to flop down on the floor and lay its head in its man-sized paws.

Bran started laughing as he walked around the dog to reach and close the still open door. “Are you talking about
François
?” 

“That’s not
François
. He’s a poodle.”

“He
was
a poodle.” the arrogant warlock used a tone no doubt meant to calm children. “Now he’s a mastiff.”

No way.

“Shifters can’t do that.” Now that I wasn’t afraid for my life I was starting to get pissed and my tone said so.

“He’s not exactly a shifter.” Bran lifted one shoulder as he returned to the dog and leaned over to scratch
François
between the ears.

François
just growled, which I understood perfectly. When he shifted or morphed back to his human form he’d have a lot of explaining to do but right now I had other questions for Bran.

“What were you fighting in the kitchen?” I asked, moving to a fifties-style couch set dead center in the cavernous room and sinking down on it. My legs no longer felt steady.

“Another Were. No idea what kind.” he said, crossing over to sit beside me. He shot me one of his classic focused looks. The kind you want to squirm under. “You hurt?”

“Mostly my pride.” No way was I going to admit I felt bruised from one end to the other. Noziaks took their lumps and kept on going. “You?”

“A few scratches.”

It was my turn to glance at him, too many questions pushing against me. “Why do you think they didn’t immediately attack as Weres? They’d have been a lot deadlier.”

“Don’t think they wanted corpses.”

“What did they want?”

“Hostages? Something other than to kill us that’s for sure.”

“Did you recognize them?” I asked, bracing for the answer.

He gave me a WTH look then he must have decided not fighting with me was a better idea as he sighed and shook his head. “Never saw them before.”

“Did they follow us?”

“Only thing that makes sense. No one knew where we’d be otherwise.”

“Were they after all of us?”

“Not likely.” He sounded tired, or maybe it was just thoughtful. “If they followed us they would have had to have known we’d been at the museum, which indicates forethought and planning.”

“Vaverek?” The name popped out.

“That would be my guess.”

“But why?”

“Tell me what happened back at the museum, with Cheverill.”

I summarized as succinctly as I could, aware that even with the door closed, I was shaking. Muscle burn? Possibly. Fear was more likely
. Fear of the unknown. Someone was pulling strings, playing a game I didn’t understand. One with high stakes.

I finished telling Bran everything I knew, except for the dying man’s words about the Seekers and the name Jebediah. The first was strictly agency business and the latter was nobody’s business but my own.

He remained quiet, which usually worried me because his silences were not the peaceful kind. They were more the all-hell-is-going-to-break-loose once the thought process was finished. But here in this open, strange place I found I liked just sitting next to him.
François
, if that was indeed who the mastiff was, acted more like a family pet instead of a killer Fido at our feet.

I leaned against the couch back, aware how tired I was
. What happened to Jaylene and Mandy? Had they told Ling Mai what had transpired at the museum? Why I’d bombed out of the place? Or was I on my own?

And what was happening with Van? Another day had passed and still no word on my brother.

“When was the last time you ate?” Bran asked, his shoulder brushing mine.

Good question. “I had some pastry while at the café waiting for Fido here to show up.”

The dog cocked one ear toward me but otherwise didn’t stir.

“You hungry?”

“Nah.” I wasn’t. I was too tired to be hungry. Was it only this morning that we’d had the rumble outside of Vaverek’s apartment? I glanced at Bran, seeing the way the single room light cast shadows across his face, slashing lines that made him more dangerous warlock. It was a good look and I could feel the kick start of my libido responding.

I never did have the sense not to get involved with the bad boys. And Bran was as bad-ass a bad boy as I’d ever crossed paths with, even when dressed like the international businessman he was.

“Why are you being nice to me?” I asked, so wiped out the words escaped before I could corral them.

He turned his head, a lazy smile playing about his lips. I remembered the taste of those lips. Man, did I remember
. His words sounded like slow, warm molasses. “Maybe because you look like you were on the losing end of a fight with a Were.”

“You charmer you.” But there was no heat behind my words. To have sparks you needed energy.

As if he heard my exhaustion, or wondered who was sitting next to him without taking his head off, he straightened, facing me. “Turn around,” he said.

“Why?” Okay, maybe there were a few sparks left.

“I want to give your shoulders a rub. Looks like it might help.”

Damn, way to sneak under a woman’s defenses. I was so stiff though that it took a while to turn enough to give him access to my back.

By all the Spirits his hands felt good. Strong and sure and perfect. He kneaded muscles like he did everything else, very thorough and intense.

I may have released a small moan as his fingers started loosening knots I didn’t know I possessed.

“The only thing holding you together is tension,” he murmured in that low, sexy way he had. Sort of a cross between a rumble and a caress.

“Hmmmmmm.”

“You keep this up and you won’t be any good to anybody.”

I had to smile as his words implied I mattered, at least a little. Something he’d never dare to tell me face-to-face. Guess it’d be hard to threaten and compliment in the same sentence.

“You should give up dress designing and become a masseuse,” I sighed as the silence stretched between us. Not the usual tautness since Dominique’s death, but a calm hush that let my shoulders relax, the misgivings of the day slide away. I leaned forward, wallowing in the warmth of his hands along my neck, down my spine, heating my lower back.

If he kept it up I’d weep. Or turn around and crawl all over him.

“Your tensing up again,” he said, stroking my back with long, sure touches. “What are you thinking about?”

“Us.”

I didn’t realize I’d said the word aloud until I heard his chuckle. I twisted to glance over my shoulder but found I couldn’t speak. Not with the way he looked, heat in his eyes, the flare of his nostrils, the tightening of his jaw. I swear I could smell his arousal. Or was it my own.

“Bran . . .”

I didn’t know what I wanted other than him. And that was pure stupid.

He said nothing, as if waiting for me to dig both our graves.

I shook my head as if one or both of us had spoken. “Not a good idea.”

His lips quirked upwards but no smile reached his eyes.

It took everything I had to move, to pull myself away, and stand up, locking my legs because they quivered. Not exhaustion this time but with a need I wasn’t willing to admit. “It’s late.”

Stupid comment but better than asking where the nearest bedroom was, though that was my implication. Even I knew not to throw kerosene onto a fire.

He nodded toward a door I hadn’t noticed yet. The space felt more like it had originally been, a warehouse rather than a home, so it threw me for a few seconds as to what he meant by his gesture.

“Your room,” he said at last, his voice raspy and raw, as if he was struggling as much as I was.

Thank the Spirits. I hated being the only puddle of need.

Fido
François
yawned at my feet, which helped give me enough umph to move. I’d forgotten all about his presence, which only went to show how far gone I was.

I waited until I was across the room, as far from Bran as possible before I turned and trusted my tone enough to say, “Thank you. For the back rub.”

It was meant to be light and casual. But all I could see was Bran’s look that promised we were not done yet. What smoldered between us was not over. Not by a long shot.