Roses & Rye (Toil & Trouble Book 3) (12 page)

His
bride
? I’m still getting used to the idea that Jack has loved me all these years, that he wasn’t just a backstabbing, power-hungry elemental prick. Now I find out he was supposed to be my destiny all along? Talk about fucked up.

His betrayal shaped my whole life. That independence everyone goes on about, that reluctance to accept a helping hand, that eagerness to play with men—but only up to a point—hell, even the way I skittered away from ever examining my powers too closely, all of that pretty much stems straight from Jack.

First loves and all.
Only
loves and all. Sure, I cared about Georg. Very much so. I even loved him, but there is love, and then there’s
love
. Jack consumed me, inside and out.

I look at him and everything falls away. Everything.

I sniffle, wiping away tears as the credits roll.

“If it makes you cry, why do you watch the stupid thing so much?” Jack flicks the TV off, then throws the remote at the coffee table. It skids off and bounces across the carpet. I know he’s frustrated as fuck, but he’s gentle when he tilts my chin up from where it’s buried on his chest.

There’s a frown on that gorgeous face. He hates when I watch
The Iron Giant
. I know because he’s hidden the disc twice. Once I found it in the bathroom cupboard, behind the towels, and once under the kitchen sink. He won’t actually throw it away, though, because I like it. I give him a watery smile.

“Because it’s a good kind of cry.”

He’s a quick study, Jack Frost. But even after six months or so of being back in the human world, there’s a lot that still confuses him. A lot he may never understand. I’m learning that elementals are a breed apart.

“Explain,” he demands in that growly voice that never fails to make my insides go warm and gooey.

“It’s like …sad and happy, all mixed up.”

“He died. What the hell is happy about that?”

“He wanted to be the hero, not the villain. And he got his wish.
Superman
.” I sigh again and let my arms wrap around Jack.

“Sacrifice is noble and all that hogwash?”

“It’s not hogwash.”

“Death is death, sweetheart. It doesn’t endear you to those you leave behind.” His words are harsh.

I swallow, something cold seeming to brush the back of my neck. Jack’s hands smooth the chill away, rubbing down my spine over and over. He hates to see me cry. Even at movies.

His touch starts to make me squirm, reminding me that I have plans for tonight.  “Whatever, Jack. The end is supposed to give you hope. Like maybe everything will all turn out okay in the end.”

“Nothing ever turns out okay in the end.”

I lift my head, looking into those cool, hooded eyes.

“Nothing, eh? What about us?” I throw it out like a challenge and in a way, it is—to myself. I’ve been working up my courage for a while now, so maybe that’s how I ignore the sudden, almost painful tightening of his arms. “We’re doing okay.”

“Just ‘okay’? I’ll show you
okay
.” There’s something wrong with his voice as he leans in for my mouth, but I ignore it as I put a hand on his chest, halting him an inch from my lips. I need to say this before I lose my nerve.

“I love you.”

His eyes widen, locking on mine. Then a shadow flits through them before he lifts a hand to my cheek, his fingers rough, but incredibly tender.

“I know, princess. I love you, too.”

My stomach drops in relief and happiness.

Then his mouth is on mine, hot, demanding, yet somehow so much sweeter than usual. Like he’s trying to drive all thought from my brain. It fucking works.

Before I know it, I’m on the floor in front of the couch, Jack having shoved the coffee table aside with one foot. Thick and warm, the rug pushes at my back while Jack, hard and hot, pushes at my front. I wrap my legs around him and arch up. He’s looking down like he’s never seen me before, like he’s trying to memorize my face or something. It’s a little scary. I tighten my thighs and he groans.

“Fucking
hell
, Seph. Quit it.”

“I want you, Jack. Properly this time. I’m ready.”

“What if I’m not?”

I’d laugh at the words if it weren’t for the expression on his face. He’s perfectly serious. This man has seen every inch of me naked in the last few weeks and I’ve seen all of him. But he won’t take that last step. I was hoping admitting how I felt would reassure him that I was ready, but now I’m not so sure.

“Is something wrong with me?” I narrow my eyes, trying to lighten the mood. To get him to crack a smile. “Maybe you’re just not an ass man?”

“Gods, Seph. I am definitely an ass man.” He lifts mine in both his hands, squeezing in unmistakable appreciation. “That’s not it.”

“Then what is?”

“I…don’t want to hurt you.”

All my worry instantly goes poof. “Aww. You’re not going to hurt me. Our bodies are meant for this, remember?” I grin up at him. “And I trust you.”

“I know, baby. I know you do.” His voice sounds thick, even rougher than usual, but he turns his head so that I can’t see his eyes.

I cup his jaw and turn it back to me, trying to put everything I’m feeling into mine. “Tonight, then?”

He finally gives me the smile I’ve been hoping for. So I ignore that muscle in his jaw ticking wildly in and out, and the darkness gathering in his eyes.

“Tonight. But not on the floor.” He gets to his feet with me wrapped around him, not staggering even a little. There is a lot to be said for having an elemental as a boyfriend. One is the fact that your weight is never going to be an issue. Jack could lift me with one hand and not even break a sweat. It makes a girl feel positively delicate and protected.

I wrap myself around him happily and squeeze. “The bedroom? How traditional.”

“If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it properly. You deserve perfect.”

“Don’t worry,” I giggle, feeling just a touch of nerves as we reach the bedroom door. My fingers tighten on the back of his neck. “How else would I remember this night?”

I blink and shiver. I’m in Mrs. Rudd’s hallway, having walked right through the door without realizing it. Rochie and Mrs. Rudd are sitting on the couch. Dimly, I recognize the episode flashing on the screen. Dean’s going to hell.

I’m right there with you, man.

“What’s wrong with you? You’re as pale as a ghost.” Rochie giggles and nudges Mrs. Rudd’s cheek with a tiny elbow. Drunken fairies. I’m so not in the mood.

“Why are you back so soon? Did it already happen?”

“If you mean did my sister just rise several notches on my shit list, yes.” But since she was already in first place, what does it really matter? Poor Jack. I should’ve stayed with him, but I couldn’t.

We’ve lost so much already. Losing the promise of the future he wanted for us…it’s too fucking much.

For once I want the fairy tale to end the way humans think they do.

A happily ever after? For us?

“It’s not too late, Persephone.”

I blink. Mrs. Rudd is right in front of me, her face kinder than I’ve ever seen it. It makes her look different somehow, younger and almost…pretty. I shake my head to get the cobwebs out.

“You keep saying that.” I shake my head again. “But I’m still dead. Jack’s still set on murdering my sister, and whatever Cerunnos is planning for Jack, it can’t be good.”

“Have a little faith that things will work out, dearie.”

I see Jack’s face again, the shock when Jett told him who I really was. Deep down inside, he knew, though.
You’re mine, princess. You’ve always been mine
.

“I want to. So much.”

“Then do it. Get back to your sister. She’s the key.”

“I can’t! You don’t understand the things she’s doing, where she’s going. It’s too fucking much. Even if this works, what the hell am I coming back to?”

“I thought you had decided to fight, Persephone.” She shakes her head, disappointment clear in her eyes. “Sounds to me like you’re giving up all over again.”

She’s right. For fuck’s sake, what is wrong with me? Haven’t four months of being helpless taught me
anything
?

Maybe it is all going to shit, but I’d still rather be in it, helping to shovel, than watching from the sidelines a second longer. “Fine, goddammit.
Fine
. But at least tell me what I’m following her for.”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

Great. “At least let me read the spellwork Mom gave you.”

“No. But the next step is releasing you from your grave. Normally that would mean digging you up, but since Jack took a rather unconventional route—“

“We need to break his spell on my body.”

She nods.

“How the hell is following
Jett
going to solve that problem?”

“I don’t know, but it’s what your mother said to do.”

“You know, it’d be nice if just once my mom could tell me these things herself.”

“I’m sure she would if she could.” Mrs. Rudd holds out the plate, her voice soft. “Brownie?”

“I think not. I need a better way to track her, then. This guesswork shit is for the birds.”

"I can help with that." Rochie stirs again, yawning, her little mouth smudged with chocolate, her eyes a little dazed. Belatedly, I remember my mother’s warning about Mrs. Rudd’s brownies. What the hell does she put in them that could make a fairy look like she’s that righteously high?

“Get me something of hers. I can make it so you can track her. You’ll always be a step behind her teleportation deal, but at least she won’t be able to ditch you entirely.”

“You couldn’t have mentioned this earlier?”

“I wasn’t feeling as charitable earlier.”

I start to drift for the door, grumbling. Rochie’s high-pitched voice follows me cheerily. “It has to be something she’s really attached to.”

Attached? Jett? Has she met my sister? With a snort, I fade from the room.

Jett’s
bedroom. It’s almost as cold and still as mine. Only there’s less dust.

I have no idea what I’m looking for. My feet drift over the thick bearskin rug on the floor. It’s so huge it reaches from the foot of the high, narrow window nearly to the door. It’s not black, like Stephen’s fur when he shifts or the deep honey gold that was Georg’s grizzly. This fur is pure white. I loved sinking my feet into it when I was little. I used to sneak in here just to do that. Jett would get so pissed. She zapped my ass more than once. I rub my tailbone and push away the memories as I wander deeper into the room.

There is a poster of Sting on the wall. It always seemed incongruous to me, my sister loving his music, but she does. I know the album
Ten Summoner’s Tales
backward and forward because of her. Damn thing would filter down the hall day and night for most of my formative years. I catch myself humming “Love Is Stronger Than Justice” as I move toward the bed and make myself stop. Maybe love can be thicker than blood, but I don’t think it was love that made Jett kill me.

I slide my hand under the mattress, but there’s nothing there. Fifteen minutes later, though, I find what I need.

It’s behind the painting on the wall. Very blue and very tall mountains form an immense gorge, with this teeny caravan of soldiers or cowboys at the bottom looking like ants. I don’t recall the title, but it’s by some obscure Russian painter. What falls out when I lift the frame an inch from the wall is a picture. A series of them in a long strip. One of those photo booth deals. I didn’t even know they had them anymore. It’s Jett and Stephen. He’s kissing the back of her neck and she’s laughing.

Fucking laughing.

I’ve never seen her look so happy.

Jett.

Happy.

With a sigh, I pocket the picture and give the bedroom a last once-over, wondering if my sister will ever shoo me out of here again. Doesn’t seem very likely. Whatever happens now, my family is in tatters.

I take the pic to Rochie. She’s a little less The Dude and a little more herself but still plenty mellow. She smiles at Stephen’s image in the photo (I swear the fairy has a real thing for bruins) and flips it over to trace a teeny finger over the back in an odd, swirling shape I’ve never seen before. Then she blows a pinch of fairy dust at it and the glittery substance sticks to the shape she traced, like her fingertip was coated with glue. She hands it back to me and yawns again.

“There. Just hold it, think of your sis, and it’ll tug you right to wherever she is.”

“Like Jack’s spell on me?”

“Just so.” She nods. “Though his is far more powerful and won’t ever fade. This one will only work well for a day or so.”

“So get cracking.” Mrs. Rudd waves me out of the house. “Only a few hours ‘til Beltane.”

The fairy charm pulls me to the Den. I frown, wondering if Rochie is pulling something. Why the hell would Jett be back here? I ignore the insistent pull of the spell for the moment, hungry for a glimpse of Syana.

I can hear Ajax’s voice as I float toward the stairs. “Well?”

Syana is on the couch, her hand over her eyes, looking tired and somehow…grey. Stephen has his hand on the phone, as if he’s just hung up with someone. His face is dark.

“The others will be here in a few hours. I’m going to call Frost when they arrive. You two better be out of sight until it’s over.” The men clasp forearms, then Stephen yanks Ajax in for a fierce hug. I catch the whisper meant for Ajax’s ear alone and it sends a wave of fear down my spine. “I’m sorry, Brother.”

Ajax nods, his throat working. When the men separate, Ajax strides to the couch and swings Syana into his arms. She doesn’t resist. Then I catch a glimpse of her eyes. That familiar hazel is marbled with a pearlescent white.

I stagger, putting out a hand, but of course it sinks right through the doorframe, leaving me floating in midair. It wasn’t supposed to happen this fast. They’re already through the door before I gather myself enough to follow, but Ajax hasn’t made it very far. He’s on the steps, looking across the muddy yard. There are no security lights here, the bears preferring natural dark, but the windows on the cabin give enough of a glow that I can see Dominic is on the other side. He’s looking at his brother, lips pressed tightly together.

The twins’ eyes lock and hold for a beat, then Dom disappears into the forest. Seconds later, Ajax fires the Range Rover up, but the engine can’t drown out the roar that follows them down the drive.

When the taillights fade into nothing, I stand there for a while before I let Rochie’s spell pull me to my sister. She’s upstairs, rifling quietly through Stephen’s desk. The fire is dead and it’s cold inside. She finally comes up with a pen and paper and scribbles swiftly before setting something on top of the paper and vanishing.

Confused, I move to the desk. There’s a tiny dark bottle with what looks like a sickle moon carved in the side. Frowning, I glance down at the note.

There are a lot of things I’m trying to put right tonight. I don’t know if any of it is going to change your mind about me, but I didn’t dodge shit, you stupid bruin.

Jett

The bottle is for Syana. It’ll cure the moon madness. 

What the hell? Putting things right? What things? And a cure for moon madness—a
real
one? My head is spinning as I allow Rochie’s charm to tug me away once again.

When I catch up to my sister this time, the wind is howling along with the murmur of frightened and angry voices.

I’m at the foot of Enger Tower, looking out over the city. It sparkles down below until it meets the lakeshore, like gems scattered to the edge of a jeweler’s black velvet cloth. Jett is in front of me, her sword unsheathed. There is a rustling all around us. I recognize the sound, having heard it myself, just a few months back in this same spot.

Gnomes running for cover. Unlike when I was here, these gnomes don’t look merely annoyed and amused, they look terrified. Apparently, Jett is way scarier than me.

One dashes in front of her. Newb move. Obviously this gnome has never met my sister. She kicks his feet out from under him. He scrambles back up but only gets to his knees before the tip of her blade is nudging the soft spot right under his beardless chin. He’s very young. For a gnome, that might be fifty years, but still… Really, Jett?

“Merry!” She yells, her voice carrying, even over the wind. “Get your ass up here, or I’m going to start playing whack-a-gnome. With my sword.” Crystal glints in the moonlight. There are several squeals and the gnome in front of Jett swallows visibly, his beardless chin trembling.

Finally Merry’s voice emerges from the nearest hole. “All right, all right. Keep your shirt on.”

He regards her with barely restrained fury, his face hard and pinched over his beard.

“Let him go.”

“Sure, just as soon as you vow to remain long enough for us to have a chat.”

Jett seems to be big on chats today.

Merry’s jaw works, rippling his beard over his chest. “Fine. I swear that I’ll listen to whatever bullshit you’re shoveling. Now release him.”

With a flick of her wrist, Jett pulls her blade back from the gnome’s throat, then sheathes it behind her shoulder. I’m not sure if that signals general cockiness or a desire to reassure Merry that she’s not out to kill him.

Either way, it doesn’t seem to gentle his mood any. He looks positively cantankerous.

“I can’t believe you’d come here after the last stunt you pulled.”

“Which stunt would that be?”

“You told me it was your mom that wanted Seph at Brighton that day. And I believed you.”

“So you heard the news? Who told you?”

“Does it fucking matter? News travels fast, especially when it concerns sisters killing sisters. Why, Jett?” I swear the gnome has tears in his eyes, though they might be ones of fury. Gnomes hate being played.

She smiles, the sight of it turning even insubstantial little me cold. “Your bad believing me, then, wasn’t it?”

“You wanted the werewolves to finish her off so you didn’t have to.”

There is an edge to her smile now, one I can’t place. “Well, she was my sister. But in the end, there are some things you have to take care of yourself, right, gnome?”

Merry nods slowly. “A sentiment Cerunnos shares. He hates witches, Jett. If you think working with him will keep you safe, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“Safe? You think this is about keeping safe?” Jett flashes her teeth. The note of disappointment in her voice is almost undetectable, but I can hear it even though I’m sure Merry can’t.

He shrugs, looking weary. “I don’t care what it’s about, just tell me why you’re here.”

“That’s easy. I need you to crack Frost’s spell on my sister’s body.”

I gasp as Merry pales. “You’re kidding.”

“Are you telling me you can’t do it…or that you won’t?” She reaches for her sword again, but the gnome lifts a hand, his expression grim.

“I can do it. But I want your vow, Jett Gosse. Never to go after my people again.”

“You have it. Not a hair on their chinny chin chins. How long will it take you to get there using your tunnels?”

“A half hour, maybe less. Got to get over the water, too. Then break the spell.” He shrugs. “Say an hour, tops.”

“Then get cracking.”

“You want me to go now?”

“No time like the present. Seph’s not getting any deader. I’d give you a ride but I’ve got an appointment to keep.” She mutters something under her breath that I don’t catch before turning on her heel and disappearing into the night.

Jett is gone and a minute later, so is Merry, who vanishes with a grimace into a particularly dark hole.

I’m left staring at Enger Tower with a crowd of worried-looking gnomes that emerge from the tunnels, pale faces bathed in a wash of purple lights. All of us with the same basic expression: what the hell is going on?

Mrs. Rudd claps delightedly when I tell her the news, but I’m not nearly as cheery. Drifting through the city gave me time to think. Too much time. There is something awfully
Ghost in the Machine
about all this. Pun not intended. I’m starting to get suspicions, and I don’t like any of them.

“We need Jack’s spell broken,” I say, looking at her. “Jett just happens to go to Merry to break it. That doesn’t seem odd to you? Like someone’s orchestrating things behind the scenes?” There’s a bite in my tone, but Mrs. Rudd ignores it, shoving things right and left into a huge, brightly patterned carpetbag.

“No time for conspiracy theories, girlie. Time’s a-wastin’. Let’s go to Wisconsin and get your body back.”

I’d argue more, but she’s right. If I want to do this, I can’t afford too many questions at this point. It’s nearly midnight already.

“Don’t forget the fairy,” I hiss. Rochie is snoring away on the couch arm, sounding like the world’s tiniest foghorn. Mrs. Rudd scoops her up with one hand and throws the carpetbag over her shoulder with the other before opening her door.

I look next door as we walk to the garage. My house looks eerie and unfamiliar in the dark. Things have changed so much since I last walked through those doors in the flesh. In a few hours I may be back. I turn away, rubbing my shoulders uneasily.

I wonder what Jack is doing right now.