Wilder (20 page)

Chapter 37

“T
hat’s weird.” Charisma stared at the place where Taurean had stood. “I wonder who told her to fetch me?”

“I don’t know.” McKenna shut the door. “But in the case of Taurean, she’s been watching the house. I tried to get her inside to have a meal, but she would have none of that. So I left food out for her. Somebody ate it.”

“It was probably her. She was very intent on reaching the kitchen.” No wonder. The kitchen was cool and quiet, redolent with the aromas of bacon, rosemary, and garlic, and in here, with the hum of the refrigerator and sound of water boiling on the stove, Charisma was free of the earth’s call.

Almost.

“My point exactly. She may have seen everyone arrive.” McKenna lifted the lid of a pan to stir the contents.

Charisma peered inside. Stew. She loved McKenna’s stew. “She said the Chosen Ones were
expected
, not that they were all here.”

McKenna lifted a hand. “I do not understand the efficiency of the underground network, but we can’t argue with its success.”

“I suppose.” But Charisma felt still uneasy, as if she’d somehow missed something she should at once see.

“Come, Miss Charisma; the Chosen are all up in Mr. Shea’s room. They will be so glad to see you.”

He walked her up the stairs to the grand entry hall, then up the long, curving stairway that led to the second floor. As they entered the imposing upstairs corridor, lined with dark oil paintings in gilded frames, she could hear her friends’ voices as they babbled and laughed.

Charisma smiled at the racket. “Sounds like they’re celebrating.”

“They are.” McKenna wore smugness very well.

“Did they get it? Did they get the feather?” A spark of hope lit in her soul.

“They did. Or at least a case that looks as if it could contain the feather.”

Charisma’s smile faded. “Why not open the case and find out?”

McKenna hesitated, grimaced. “It’s not that easy.”

She already knew the answer, but she asked anyway. “It’s bewitched?”

“Yes.”

“They’re in Irving’s room because he’s the man who owns all the best research books on how to open the box?”

“Yes.”

Charisma seethed with frustration. “Why does everything have to be so difficult?”

McKenna chuckled. “You sound exactly like Mr. Samuel.”

“With my luck, we’re probably long-lost siblings.” Dreadful thought.

“You do not look at all alike, but at the base your personalities are so similar, I have wondered about some hidden bloodline myself.”

“Don’t flatter Samuel so,” she snapped.

“Exactly right.” McKenna bowed and gestured toward Irving’s room. “Would you like me to announce you?”

“No. Please. Let me announce myself.”

They exchanged smiles.

She slipped into the room.

Irving’s private library was unlike any Charisma had ever seen. Bookshelves lined the giant room. Books of every kind lined the bookshelves. Ancient books. New books. Loose manuscripts. Egyptian scrolls made of papyrus and filled with hieroglyphics. Stone tablets. And scattered here and there, two dozen e-book readers of every variety. If the books weren’t enough to keep the casual peruser busy, mixed in among the books were relics and oddities: African witch doctor masks, shrunken heads, glass jars with questionable contents that looked very much like petrified male body parts, dried flowers, glass beads, wigs made of human pubic hair. . . . Charisma had never cataloged the contents. Usually after a few minutes she was so grossed out she preferred to ignore the whole disgusting display.

Through the double connecting doors, Charisma could see Irving’s bed. She didn’t know how he slept with those gargoyles staring at him from the posts.

But it warmed her to see her friends all gathered together.

In the center of the room, Irving sat at the end of the long library table, in his wheelchair, a dark metal box stretched before him.

By the bar, Martha stood with a tray, collecting dirty glasses and putting out clean ones.

Across the table from Irving, Rosamund sat in a leather desk chair, a tall stack of books at her elbow, a book open before her, looking at another book that Genny held in front of her nose. John stood behind Rosamund, pointing at the open page. Aaron stood off to the side, arms crossed.

They were all frowning intently.

In the far corner, Jacqueline stood twirling the illuminated globe of the world, an orb so large it required its own maple stand. As it circled, she ran her fingers along the smooth surface as if seeking a moment of revelation.

Caleb stood beside her, his hand outstretched, ready to catch her if a prophecy struck.

Isabelle sat beside Irving, stroking the long, slender metal box with a loving hand and talking animatedly to Irving.

Samuel stood beside her right shoulder, and, like Aurora in the fairy tale who touched the spindle on an enchanted spinning wheel, he deliberately reached out with one finger and touched a corner of the box.

A spark arced.

Samuel was slammed back against the bookcase.

A mason jar fell on his head and broke, sending glass and human teeth in an explosion across the room.

Conversation died.

Everyone stared at Samuel in disgust.

“Why do you keep doing that, man?” John snapped.

“I keep thinking the charge will run out.” Samuel touched his face. “Geez, I’m bleeding!”

“Serves you right. Magic taps into the energy of the universe.” John sounded as if he’d completely lost patience. “Unless the eternal generator dies, which would make our current crisis look like a cakewalk, this box will not open without the right spell.”

“All right, fine. It was a stupid idea.” Samuel used his handkerchief to blot his head. “This time I really knocked my hip out of joint. Somebody help me up.” He held up his hand.

Charisma judged that her moment had come. “Samuel, I hope none of those teeth were enchanted. You could end up at the dentist getting a tooth extracted from your brain.”

A moment of silence, of wide-eyed stares.

A gratifying shriek of joy.

Jacqueline and Genny, Rosamund and Isabelle rushed toward her. They surrounded her, hugged her, and exclaimed over her.

When the female joy had subsided to a manageable level, the guys moved in.

They hugged. They thumped on the back and said hearty, encouraging stuff.

When they were finished, she went to Irving and knelt beside his wheelchair. “How are you, dear friend?” she asked.

“I’m not senile. I’m not sick. I’m not in pain unless I try to walk. So I’m good.” He patted her cheek.

“Let’s keep it that way.”

“I’m scarily close to a hundred years old, darling.” He patted her cheek again. “I can’t keep that way much longer.”

“We’re almost to the end of the seven years. Don’t you want to see us finally triumph over the forces of evil?”

“Wherever I am, I’ll know. And I know you’ll succeed.” He looked around at the gathered friends and comrades. “I have every faith in you.”

“Good to hear.” John ran his hand through his hair, and a little of the weariness lifted from his face. “Faith is exactly what we need right now.”

Charisma stood and walked to Samuel, who still sat on the floor against the bookshelves, looking disgusted. She offered her hand. “Imagine my enjoyment to see you knocked on your ass.”

“By something supernatural. Not by you.” Samuel grasped her hand and let her pull him up. Sweeping his arm around her, he pulled her close. Gruffly he said, “Good to see you, peewee.”

“Good to see you.” She turned to the Chosen Ones. “You wouldn’t believe where I’ve been.”

Chapter 38

H
ours later, Charisma sagged in exhaustion.

She had told the Chosen Ones how she was lured underground, how she got lost, how she had almost become a demon snack.

She had told them about the demon bite, and about Guardian and how he had saved her.

She told them about her eleven days of oblivion and her slow recovery.

She
did
not tell them about the intimacies she had shared with Guardian.

This wasn’t like the last time she had kept an affair from them.

With Ronnie, she had been seduced.

This time she had been the seducer.

This time she knew she had found her one true love. And this time she understood all too well that they could never be together.

God help her to find the strength to endure the upcoming challenges without Guardian’s tenderness and care.

Finally, she had explained to the Chosen Ones the possibility that Guardian might be Aleksandr Wilder.

They had been horrified at the details of his imprisonment. They had dismissed her worries that they would be shocked at his appearance. They had been excited and ready to go down and visit him at once.

Then Rosamund discovered a description in one of the ancient texts about a metal box that matched the one on the table, and John decreed that freeing the feather took priority over Aleksandr. So Rosamund worked out the translation from Akkadian to English, Aaron and John had gone out to collect the necessary supplies for a potion, Jacqueline had read the spell—and Samuel had been knocked on his ass again.

“I could watch that over and over.” Charisma helped him up again, and handed him his cane. “It never ceases to be entertaining.”

“You should have been with us in Europe,” Caleb said darkly. “You would have been entertained all the time.”

Out of the corner of his mouth, Samuel said, “He’s such an old lady.”

Caleb huffed.

Charisma grinned at Samuel. “
Someone
has to act responsibly around here.”

“What can I say?” Samuel spread his hands wide. “When Rosamund said she had the spell to open the box, I believed her.”

“I said I
thought
I had it, Samuel.” Rosamund glared. “Don’t try to blame me because you’re impetuous and can’t wait to try out new things.”

“Makes for a great sex life.” Samuel hugged his wife. “Doesn’t it, honey?”

Isabelle ignored him.

Of course she did. Isabelle was the most ladylike creature Charisma had ever met. She could drop a hammer on her own foot and never even say
shit
.

How they were such good friends, Charisma would never understand.

“Samuel, I wish you would let me fix your hip,” Isabelle said.

“I let you fix my face. That’s enough for today.” Samuel touched the now-healed place on his forehead. “Really, honey, the hip is just uncomfortable.”

“It’s
cracked
.” Isabelle looked worried and fretful. “Promise you’ll let me help you before the big showdown.”

“Hey, if this Guardian guy Charisma found is actually Aleksandr Wilder, we won’t have to bother with a big showdown. Everything will get fixed, zip-zap, and all we have to do is pick the next seven Chosen Ones for the next seven years.” Reflectively, Samuel said, “Poor bastards, whoever they are.”

“Yes, Samuel.” Aaron’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Because everything we’ve done so far to stop Osgood has been so easy and so effective.”

“Actually, darling, it doesn’t seem that way to me,” Rosamund said.

Jacqueline patted her on the head.

Rosamund looked around. “Oh. That was a jest. I get it.”

“Actually, your reaction was right for how funny it was.” Samuel glared at Aaron.

Aaron glared back.

John started to stand up.

“Time for dinner!” Martha called from the doorway.

“Thank heavens,” Genny muttered to Charisma. “The frustration is getting to everybody.”

Martha pushed a laden cart into the room, and smiled tightly at the Chosen Ones’ exclamations of pleasure and anticipation.

So the tension wasn’t merely getting to the Chosen Ones. Irving’s housekeeper had been with him and the Chosen Ones’ organization apparently forever—and heaven only knew how long that had been, because depending on her mood, Martha looked as if she was somewhere between sixty and ninety. When she was angry, her brown eyes snapped, her skin flushed a dusky rose, and she was the epitome of a malevolent queen of the Gypsies.

For more than one reason, the Chosen Ones stepped carefully around Martha. She had been part of their initiation, she had faithfully served them for almost seven years, she was privy to a lot of cool information—and at any time, she could poison them all.

“As always, Martha, everything smells fabulous, and you read my mind.” Charisma took a plate. “The whole time I was gone, I kept thinking about your green chili enchiladas.”

“Even I have my uses,” Martha snapped.

Charisma lifted her eyebrows at Irving, who shrugged.

Martha did have her quirks. She was not gifted, which rubbed her wrong, because her younger sister was not only gifted—Dina was a talented mind-speaker—but had been a rebel and joined the Others. Yet when Charisma and the women in the group discussed Martha, they agreed her big issue was that no matter how wicked and undeserving Dina might be, Irving loved her. And Martha loved Irving. Probably in an underappreciated lifetime of service and dedication, that fried her more than anything.

Even so, she insisted that she personally fix Irving’s plate, take it to him, and help him with the chicken tortilla soup, which he loved but, since he’d developed a tremor, found difficult to eat.

“Still can’t get the box open?” Martha’s tone made it clear she took their failure personally.

“We will,” Charisma said. “If we have to sauté Samuel’s ass to do it.”

That brought a chortle from Irving and a lot of laughter from around the room. Which proved Genny was right—eating and the camaraderie that came with it restored their good tempers.

Afterward, Martha piled the dishes onto the cart and took them away.

“Great meal!” Charisma called again.

Martha royally ignored her.

Irving dozed in his chair until McKenna arrived to put him to bed. He went with a weary wave and the assurance they could stay and work on the box, because all he had to do was remove his hearing aids and he would never hear them.

So, since the good research material was in here, they stayed, concentrating on the still-closed metal box to the steady, comforting sound of Irving’s snoring.

Rosamund still had enough energy to enthusiastically say, “Since we’re not having luck with this spell, should we head down to meet Aleksandr?”

“I can’t. I can’t walk that far. I’m still recovering, and this has been a long and difficult day.” Admitting it almost made Charisma cry, for she wanted Guardian with a fierce and desperate ache.

“That’s a task best left for tomorrow,” John agreed. “We need to send Aleksandr word through Davidov, or he won’t be there to meet us.”

Charisma lifted her aching head off the back of her chair. “Should we send Martha tonight? Give her something to do, and him plenty of warning?”

“I don’t send anyone out at night anymore,” John said soberly. “Not onto the streets. Not into the tunnels.”

Charisma dropped her head back again.

Samuel hadn’t removed his gaze from the box. “What would happen if someone flipped the latch and just opened it? Would it be any worse than a blast that knocked him against the wall?”

“You’re not flipping the latch and opening the box,” Isabelle told him.

He tried to look innocent—an impossible task. “I didn’t say
me
.”

“Then who?” Isabelle looked around the room. “Who among the Chosen Ones can we afford to lose?”

Charisma closed her eyes and wondered whether they could afford to lose her. After all, they’d managed to retrieve the box without her. Her gift was past its expiration date. Her mark was fading. She had lost hope and strength. . . .

“Charisma.” Isabelle’s voice was right above her.

Charisma opened her eyes wide, trying to look alert.

“It’s way too late for that.” Samuel was grinning obnoxiously. “You were giving Irving a run for his money in the snoring department.”

“I’m good.” Charisma staggered to her feet. “I just need a good night’s sleep. Everything’s good.”

“I’m the expert here. Let me check you out.” Isabelle smiled at her, cajoling her, teasing her.

“Sure.” Charisma collapsed back into her chair. “I’ve got this lingering fatigue. If you could swap that out for a little kick-ass energy, I’ll be the old Charisma.”

Isabelle stroked Charisma’s hair off her forehead. “I like any Charisma at all, as long as she’s here with us.”

Charisma smiled sleepily and relaxed as Isabelle’s hands skimmed her head, her throat, her chest, her legs. With each gentle touch, warmth and strength poured into her body, and support and optimism filled her. . . .

“I feel so much better,” Charisma told her. “If you knew how sick I was, you’d understand. If not for Guardian and Dr. King, I would never have lived long enough for you to heal me.”

“I wish I had been there for you.” Isabelle’s lips trembled. “I can feel it in your bones. You suffered so horribly.”

“I’m good now. Just tired.” Charisma smiled beneficently at the whole group. “I missed you guys. I’m glad to be back.”

That was true . . . in its way.

At the same time, she longed for Guardian with a sharp, sweet nostalgia that made her wonder how so many life mates survived the separation of war and duty.

“Now I must go to bed and rest up for tomorrow.” She stood. “Thanks, Isabelle, for sending my injuries off with a final good-bye. Tomorrow I’ll fight at your sides. It’s so good to be back.”

With a weary wave, Charisma exited Irving’s room.

Isabelle stood. Just stood. And stared after her friend.

No one spoke.

Finally Samuel moved to Isabelle’s side. He put his arms around her. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. She tried to speak. Once. Twice.

“Charisma looked . . . transparent, as if her spirit is in transition. That never happens unless . . . unless the body fails.” Genny extended a hand to Isabelle. “Is that what’s happening?”

Isabelle nodded. “The demon’s venom has been driven back. But not defeated. I could still sense it, biding its time. It dines on her strength. It’s a land mine that waits to explode and destroy her.” She wept broken, helpless tears. “I can’t save her. There’s nothing more I can do. Charisma will die.”