Roses & Rye (Toil & Trouble Book 3) (7 page)

Sisters.

She has no idea how ironic I find that, though she will. Soon. There are a lot of people I want to see in the ground of late, but Syana isn’t one of them. Pity you can’t pick who lives and dies, but even for me, that kind of power is out of reach.

“Seph’s dead. But you can bet your ass she’d want Luna to pay for what happened to Georg.” My words are hard and merciless, but she needs this. “You’re sugarcoating our world. Sugarcoating Seph. And Luna. Even sugarcoating your bruin lover. You’re one of us now, Syana. Take those goddamn blinders off before they get you killed. We may be fairy-tale creatures to you, but in our world, vengeance is real and bloody and heartless. The bad guys get what they deserve. Nobody cares about the witch that got pushed into the fire, or the evil queen who lost her head…or the wolf that ate Little Red. They just want to save the goddamn princess.”

“Even if she’s already dead, Jack?” she says softly.

“Especially then.” I close my eyes because the truth hurts. I can’t save Seph anymore, but vengeance?
That
I can do.

The door opens and so do my eyes. Dominic stands in the threshold. “Stephen talked to Ana. She agreed. We’re headed to Duluth in five.”

“Not worried about the witches’ delicate feelings now, eh, bruin?”

“Their choice. Besides, maybe she’ll change her mind and kill you as soon as we get there.” He smiles tightly and beckons to Tyr for the fang the assassin still holds. “Stephen said I get to do the honors.”

With a shrug at me, Tyr hands it over. The redheaded bruin twirls it in his fingers, watching it gleam before raising his eyes to mine. “The sooner we get this show on the road, Frost, the sooner I get to watch your head roll. Hold out your arm.”

I do so, watching Syana, who looks somewhere between sick and fascinated.

“If you didn’t kill her, then who did, Jack?” she asks, right before the sharpened tip flashes down. “Who do you want vengeance on badly enough to risk all this?”

“
Everyone
.”

The pain is quick and bright. The last thing I see is the faint twist of white in those hazel eyes, like the fog curling around us in the night.

What
the fuck is he doing?

I have no idea where the man’s head is at or what his plan is. Does he honestly think he can waltz into my sisters’ house and calmly announce that Jett killed me? Never mind that with me dead, he can’t even get through the door.

Almost god or not, that crowd will tear him apart. In my present mood, I might even join in. That bullshit about Georg…!

He knew about that crap and he never breathed a word.

I can’t stand to be around Jack right now, for more reasons than one. He’s passed out in the backseat of Stephen’s SUV, with Dominic’s claws at his throat. They bled him twice. I’ve never seen him look so helpless. It scared the shit out of me.

So I’m floating just behind the front seat of Ajax’s Land Rover, listening to him and Syana argue as the snow-covered hills of Wisconsin tumble past, gleaming coldly in the dark. I want to be close to her while I can.

Jesus, Sy.

I need to cry, but there’s something about crying as a ghost that just makes you feel even worse. Your eyes don’t swell up, your throat doesn’t close, and your tears aren’t wet. And there’s not a fucking thing you can do about any of it anyway.

I didn’t know about the moon madness.

Oh, I knew she’d been floundering since I died. I couldn’t blame her. She got the news her bestie was murdered and less than twenty-four hours later she turned into a fucking werewolf for the first time. I wasn’t there for it—I was still learning the ropes of ghostiness—but I’ve popped over enough to keep tabs on her. Though obviously not nearly often enough. I may miss being alive, but that doesn’t mean I want company.

Not like this.

And this thing between her and Ajax? I knew he was in deep with her, but this is more, way more. Werewolves and bruins don’t mix. Everything from their mind-set to their origins are opposites. Bruins were born of magic to protect the land, back in the days when men still lived in caves. The magic knows a threat when it feels one. It created bruins and the other shifter species to ward against a time when man would become strong and fuck with things. And by the horned one does man like to fuck with things.

Bruins are the ultimate fixers, steady, stubborn and ruthless when need be. Once they’ve committed to a course of action, you might as well try to move a mountain than change a bruin’s mind. It’s how they were created.

Werewolves were essentially born out of desperation and blood. As such, they have a reputation for being devious, wild and entirely self-serving, with no regard for the other races. The plague of moon madness hasn’t helped their popularity in the FTC world. As Cerunnos no doubt intended when he concocted it.

Syana being a reluctant werewolf was enough of a kick in the teeth for these two. Add in the moon madness and I want to punch life right in its brass balls. I’m already watching Jack lose his mind. I can’t bear to see the same thing happen to my best friend.

But I’m helpless. A goddamn ghost who can’t so much as snap her fingers. I float farther into the backseat, trying to remember not to fall through it and onto the highway.

It’s far from a silent ride. Sy is chewing Ajax a new asshole with every mile that passes. But the bruin won’t budge. His only response is to roll those powerful, inked shoulders occasionally until she finally breaks for air.

“So you’re going to help kill Luna, no matter what I say?”

His eyes remain on the road. “She murdered my king.
My friend
. Gods, Sy, what do you want me to say?”

“Maybe I just want the truth.”

He frowns, finally glancing at her. “What are we talking about now?”

“You know what,” Sy whispers, her voice fading from rage to a kind of worn-out despair. “The reason you’ve been so angry with everyone lately. And why your eyes get sad whenever you look at me anymore, which you try not to do, at least when I’m looking. You’re scaring me, Jax.”

Where nothing else moved him, this does. His hand shakes as he reaches for her, but she scooches away, leaning her head on the passenger-side window, a lone tear streaking her cheek.

With a curse, Ajax jerks the SUV over, screeching to a halt at the side of the muddy road. “You’re dealing with enough, Syana. Don’t make me add to your load. It’s not something you need to know. Not yet.” He shakes his head, reaching for her again, but she shrinks away, batting at his hands. “Please, baby.”

She goes still at the plea in his voice, but lifts her chin. “You don’t think I’m strong enough, is that it?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Fuck, Sy! Maybe it’s me who’s not strong enough. Ever think of that?” He yanks her into his arms, his voice more than half a roar. I wince along with Syana. Bruins can only be pushed so far. The windows rattle in sympathy. “I’m not doing this, not now. We’re supposed to be focused on Frost and getting him punished for killing Seph.”

“I’m not even sure about that anymore.” She sounds small and frightened, though she doesn’t fight Ajax’s hold. “There was something in his eyes. I don’t know, Jax, maybe he didn’t do it.”

“You’re naïve, honey.” He strokes her hair.

“Funny. He basically said the same thing, remember?”

“Don’t believe a word that bastard says. He killed her all right, and even if he didn’t, he’s fucking responsible. There’s no excuse for letting the woman you love die right in front of you.” Ajax’s words grind out, harsh and cold. He’s holding Syana with hands that could crush her like a bug, but his grip is gentle even as he shakes her lightly.

Syana stares up at him, her eyes huge. “What are you so worried about? Now that Jack is going to give you Luna, you can just slaughter the wolves, right? Then everything will be hunky-dory because more killing solves everything.”

He growls, tucking her head under his chin so she can’t see his face. “That’s our world.”

“Bullshit!” She smacks his chest with one hand, but he won’t let her up. Sy digs her nails into that wall of muscle. No reaction. Finally she grabs one of his nipple piercings through the fabric of his shirt and yanks. That’s my girl.

With a startled curse, Ajax pulls back, looking down into her face. “What do you want me to say? I’d kill a hundred werewolves if it meant you’d be safe.”

“
I’m
a werewolf.”

“That’s not your fault.” His throat is working, but his jaw is hard. In a show of tenderness that makes me avert my eyes, Syana lifts her hand to cup that tight line, her fingertips circling his temple.

“She was my best friend, Jax, but…she wouldn’t want this.” I hear her swallow hard and get that feeling in my chest again, the one that is almost but not quite pain. She’s right—and wrong. I don’t want Luna to die. But after what she did to Georg, there’s no choice. No matter what drove her to it, she’s gone too far. That’s where Jack and Ajax are right. This is our world and it demands blood.

The bruin’s face softens. One big hand covers her thigh and squeezes gently. “It’s not up to her. Or you. It’s up to Stephen.”

“I’ve put him in an impossible situation.” She sounds forlorn, straightening Ajax’s shirt unconsciously with one hand. Patting and smoothing, over and over again. He puts his hand over hers, his big paw completely hiding hers from sight.

“No. I’ve put him in an impossible situation. You were
my
choice.”

She meets his eyes, hers glistening. “I never should have fallen for your stupid ass.”

He smiles. “Please. You couldn’t help falling for my gorgeous ass. But you think I wanted to find out my mate was a mean-ass stubborn werewolf-to-be with commitment issues? You can’t choose who you fall for, honey.”

I’m with you there, Ajax
. I want to have hope for Sy and the bruin, but considering how Jack and I turned out…

Hope is a deceitful cocktease and I don’t trust that bitch.

“That’s the truth. Look at poor Georg.”

I lean my head against the leather of the seat, wishing I could feel its slick coolness, wishing something could soothe this growing emptiness inside me.

Ajax’s teeth grind together. I can feel the frustration pulsing from him. Lifting my head, I watch as he sniffs Sy’s neck and closes his eyes. Pain flashes across his face. “There are some things you can’t fight, sweetheart.”

“You want to fight?” She punches his arm out of the blue. “Let’s fight.” She punches him again. To my surprise, he laughs as he catches her fist in his fingers.
Maybe this is how you handle a broody bruin?

Shifting in his lap, she leans up and catches Ajax’s earring in her teeth. He shudders visibly and yanks her closer, his hand moving higher on her thigh. She yanks it higher yet and rubs against his palm.

Well, that there’s definitely how you handle a broody
man
.              

Less than a minute later, Sy is fully straddling him, the windows are starting to fog up, and I exit
tout de suite.

I miss sex something awful but not enough to play voyeur to my best friend.

I’m not sure how much longer I can watch all this and hold onto my own fragmenting mind. I’m beginning to think that’s eventually what happens to most spirits. They slowly lose themselves to the memories and fade away or go completely batshit crazy and become poltergeists or whatever because it’s too painful. I gotta say, the first idea is really tempting at the moment. To just give up and let the living and all their problems go and sink into the past.

I tried that once, though. And I found out that sacrifice may take you out of the equation, but it doesn’t always change the final outcome. I’m definitely sticking around for Jack’s ‘trial.’

I leave Sy and Ajax to it and find my own way back over the bridge to Minnesota and up the hill to home, floating on the wind. Not unlike Jack, though I’m a whole lot slower at it.

With dread, I eye the familiar red stone exterior with all its angles and curves and the one imposing turret. I’ve avoided visiting my house like the plague. If my office at T&T is a minefield of memories, the only home I have ever known is a fucking death trap.

I float through my second-story bedroom window anyway, ignoring Mrs. Rudd, who is frantically scrubbing the air below me with a broom, looking up at the sky and calling out something I can’t quite hear. Nutty old bat hasn’t changed a bit.

My room is dark and cold. I wrinkle my nose at the dust on my dresser. I was hardly what you’d call a neat freak, but these layers have layers. Ana could at least air it out in here once in awhile.

Speaking of my oldest sister, her voice suddenly rises stridently, startling me away from all the memories that lurk in this room.

“You were really expecting me to let him in this house and
not
try to kill the bastard?”

At the word ‘bastard,’ it’s pretty safe to say Jack has arrived.

I
float as quickly as I can through the walls and the floor, the ghost equivalent of power walking, and land in the midst of the parlor and several tense bodies. Styx and Carly are on the loveseat, neither moving, her hand tightly clasped in his. Ana stands at the entryway of the elegant blue and white room, commanding my immediate attention, the hardwood floors gleaming under her feet as she glares down the hallway. Jack is standing on the step, unable to proceed any farther, a pace behind Stephen, who raises an eyebrow.

“Why can’t he come in? We used the fang on him again just a few minutes ago.”

Ana is itching to blast Jack. Her magic is already slipping around him like a fine wire mesh, glowing red. Being dead hasn’t deprived me of my ability to see magic, only to use it.

“She made the spell a little more personal than that. Didn’t she, Frost?”

His face is pale, but that arrogant smirk twists his lips, twisting my heart. “You’d know better than I, Ana.”

She steps forward, but just then Tyr moves past Jack and the bruin and into the house as if he belongs here. I frown and swipe at the back of his head as he passes.

“Let’s all just sit down and have a bit of a chat, shall we, love?” To my surprise, instead of pissing her off more, the assassin’s words seem to have a calming effect on Ana. Her eyes flicker to his, then away. She lifts a hand. Instantly, the wards against Jack loosen and fall, splashing to the ground in a torrent of silver sparks only visible to witches’ eyes.

What?
Since when is Ana a good enough witch to undo Mom’s magic? I mean, don’t get me wrong, my oldest sister has depths of power that’d make even Jett think twice, but there’s a difference between that and being on par with
Mom
. Unless Mom gave her the key to the spell.

By the time I can focus again, Ana is in her favorite chair, gathering her skirts with all the haughty grace of a queen, as the men enter the parlor. Tyr sits across from her, apparently at his ease, but Jack and Stephen remain standing. Dominic comes in with Thomas in tow. Ana frowns before looking back at the bruin.

“You expect me to comply with this trial farce? Why not just kill him now? He’s helpless.”

Stephen folds his arms, frowning. “He entrusted himself to me, Ana. You breech that and you and I are going to have a problem.” His voice softens slightly. “Besides, you know as well as I do the outcome is likely to be the same.”

“Likely to be? What other choice is there?” Ana snorts as a knock comes at the door. Carly gets up to answer it, though Styx looks reluctant to let her go. His eerie eyes trail from my sister to lock on Jack’s face as if he’s trying to work something out. Jack shakes his head minutely and Styx leans back in the chair, frowning.

“I don’t know,” Stephen says slowly. “But I
am
curious why he took this chance. Putting both him and Thomas in danger.” My sister’s gaze flicks to my old teacher, the man she has been caring for the past three months. Thomas raises his chin to meet her scrutiny, his scars pulled taut as Stephen continues, “It seems suicidal.”

Ana’s smile is so cold I blink. “Oh, it is. All I have to do is raise Mother’s wards again and he’s trapped here. Forever.”

Stephen looks startled but Jack only smiles. “Possibly, Anastasia. But I knew the risk. So ask yourself, like Stephen did, why would I deliver myself into your hands…unless I’m telling the truth?”

They have a staring contest until Carly enters the room, Ajax and Syana right behind her. Their quickie must have been pretty darn quick. My sister retakes her place next to Styx, who slides an arm around her and squeezes. He’s worried. He buries his nose in Carly’s red-gold curls and I frown, but then Jack looks around, looking agitated for the first time since he crossed the threshold.

“Where’s Jett?”

Ah, yes.
I look up, almost expecting to catch the flash of my sister’s ragged blue-black hair, but she’s nowhere in sight. The stabby bitch is apparently going to miss this shindig.

Ana confirms. “She’s out. I don’t know where and I wasn’t going to wait for her. Jett  doesn’t respond to half my messages these days and the other half she ignores just for spite.”

“Why?”

Ana scowls. “Maybe because none of us are doing too well since you murdered our baby sister, Jack. Though I’m quite sure she’ll be disappointed to have missed this.” Low and slow, she whispers the opening lines of her favorite rhyme aloud. “
Au clair de la lune…
”

Under the moonlight,

my friend Pierrot,

lend me your pen

to write a word.

My candle is dead

I don't have a light anymore

open your door for me

for God's sake.

Yes, it’s not a traditional Mother Goose rhyme—one of my mother’s more whimsical moods—and yes, she uses the French version, but that’s Ana.

“…
ouvre-moi ta porte, pour l'amour de Dieu
.”

Jack makes no attempt to stop her, not that he could. He only takes a deep breath when the wards lock down again, this time with him on the inside, just as Ana promised.

Stephen tenses. “What did you do?”

Jack lifts a hand. “No open doors for me. Satisfied now, Ana?”

“Fine, get on with it, then. My patience is waning.”

Stephen nods. “Okay, Frost. You seem familiar enough with our laws. I already know what happened that night—as well as anyone does, since there were no witnesses save you and Persephone. Tell us your version.”

Jack nods, looking unfazed, though I can hear his heartbeat from here. It isn’t fear of my sisters that has his pulse racing. It’s that Jack knows he’s about to rip what’s left of my family apart. Probably forever.

He takes a deep breath. “Telling you what happened is pointless. We all know there isn’t a damn thing I can say that you will believe, not without proof. And I don’t have proof.”

Ana raises an eyebrow. She’s striving for icy calm, but I know my sister. She’s a seething mass of hate and fury, looking for any excuse to tear Jack apart. “Well, if that’s the best you can do, Frost, what would you like first? Acid in your guts or lava in your veins?” Her hands twitch, but Jack lifts a hand.

“I said I don’t have proof, but I know where it is. Seph told you both about the truth stone, right?”

Everyone seems to tense. Ana frowns. “Yes she did. So what? The damn thing is gone, back into its owner’s hands. And I, for one, am not going to ask
him
to borrow it.” Her hands clench in her lap, knuckles white.

Jack smiles thinly. “But I believe there is something very similar. In this house.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because I gave it to you before I realized what it could do.”

“What in the hell are you on about? I’ve never accepted a gift from you.”

“Yes, you did, Ana.” Jack says gently. “The necklace your mother gave Persephone. I took it off her before I…” He clears his throat. “I left it on the ice for you to find after I finished laying Seph to rest. I meant it to be a token, but I need it back.”

My sister’s face is livid. “A token of what? That you were able to beat our mother’s magic, to get through it to my baby sister? You son of—”

“I didn’t beat your mother’s magic,” he says shortly. “At least not in time to save your sister. Oriane’s stone prevented me from that. It slowed me down just enough that—” He swallows and shakes his head.

Ana narrows her gaze. “Since when are you on a first-name basis with our mother?”

“Since we’ve been working together to save Persephone from that damn prophecy.”

Ana goes still. Like marble statue still. Only her eyes flicker, giving away how fast her mind is working. I know she is making the same connection I did. She’s read my mother’s diary, too. In fact, Ana had been snooping in Mom’s stuff long before she showed me that snippet. Jack has to be Beau, the man she mentioned several times in connection with me.

Beau generally has one meaning in English—boyfriend or lover, but it’s a rather more fluid word in French. It’s just the sort of dichotomy Mom would find amusing. Unless she was using it ironically. Hard to say with our mother.

“She would never trust you, not after what you did to Seph.”

“Yes, she did. And I trusted her.” Jack’s voice roughens. “I’ve been wondering for a while now if that was a mistake. Give me the stone, Ana.”

“I’m not inclined to give you what you want, even if I believed this bullshit, and I don’t.” But Ana looks shaken, her eyes wide. “Mom wanted Seph to have that stone to save her.”

That’s when I remember who else my mom talked to that night. When she dropped off my necklace with Carly. Mom talked to Ana…and Jett.

“Did she?” Jack’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you want to know for sure? Because if I didn’t kill Seph—and I didn’t—then you need to know who did.”

Ana goes to get the stone.

I don’t know where she’s keeping it, but the room is silent as the grave,
har har
, while she’s gone. Styx is rubbing circles on Carly’s hand. She’s leaning into him slightly, probably unconsciously, like a person who’s too tired to hold themselves up anymore.

I take a better look at her and don’t like what I’m seeing. No wonder Styx looks worried. We’re the closest in age, if you can call a seventy-some-year age difference ‘close,’ but Carly’s childlike enthusiasm and innocence have made her seem younger than me in a lot of ways. Not so now. She looks drawn, as if gathering herself for a blow. I don’t think of my sister as a seer, but in a way, she is. Her paintings have always contained more than a hint of foreshadowing. I wince, wondering how she’s going to take Jack’s revelation. My eyes drift to Styx. His eyes are locked on her face, his expression a mixture of tension and tenderness. I remember when he warned me about risking myself. How it hurt Carly and how angry he was about that.

He was so right.

I lean in closer and touch one of my sister’s red-gold curls with a finger. “I’m sorry, sissie.”

She straightens abruptly, startling me, but it’s only because Ana has walked back into the room.

“Before you give it to him, I need to know”—Stephen looks at Ana, his shoulders tense—“if it’s a trick, can you handle him if his magic somehow comes back?”

“Don’t trust me an inch, do you, bruin?” Jack says.

“You’d lose what little respect you have for me if I did.” With a growl, the bruin turns back to my sister. “Well?”

“It’s just an absorption stone my mother gave Seph for protection. Against Jack. There’s nothing here to
help
him.”

“But if it did?”

Ana stares at the glistening chain in her fingers, avoiding the bruin’s intense gaze. “I can’t beat Jack Frost one-on-one. But even if it does come back, his magic will be contained within the sphere of my mother’s wards. She wove them so tightly—”

“You’re telling me,” Jack mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “This must be what a witch feels like when bound by salt.

“—his magic can’t escape. Neither will he.”

“Yes. But can he harm us?”

Ana hesitates, then looks at Carly, who shrugs dully. “Between Carly and I, we should be able to keep him from doing any real damage, but—”

“You’re forgetting me.” Styx’s voice is quiet. “Jack Frost will do no harm to those within this house while I am here.”

“And I do have a sword. One that has a liking for all things frosty,” Tyr points out, with a killer smile meant just for Jack, who just shakes his head. He has eyes only for the stone in Ana’s hand.

There is a fine trickle of sweat at his temple and another at his nape.
What the fuck are you up to, lover of mine?
I have no idea what he wants with Mom’s necklace.

“Wonderful. Now that we’ve established you all can kill me faster than I can kill you, could we please get on with it? Give me that damn thing.”

After hesitating one last time, Ana drops the onyx pendant into Jack’s waiting palm. His fingers curl around it, the silver chain dangling to trail over his thighs.

“Magic is never a one-way street,” Jack says. “What goes in must come out. It occurred to me a couple months ago that Oriane’s absorption stone might contain a record. A recording of the magic that took place in that room right before Seph died.”

I blink, knowing we’re getting to the really important part of these proceedings and trying to keep my mind on the business at hand. But being in this house isn’t helping my ghost ADHD; memories are everywhere, like dust bunnies, but not sweet cute ones. More like the rabbit of Caerbannog dashing out at me with bloody teeth as I look through the archway into the dining room.

Carly, painting a mural of the lake in there, laughing when Ana threatened to turn her hair green if she got splashed one more time while setting the table. Jett cleaning her sword, watching them, a half smile on her face, crystal-cast rainbows flickering on the walls.

Jett pulling that same sword from my back as I float from my body, confused and trying to understand what just happened.