Chapter 13

13

Thorn gave me the keys to a house in a part of town ladened with blue-collar anonymity, tree-lined streets, and clear getaway shots to any of the four main roadways that bounded the neighborhood. A real estate agent would describe it as “charming” or “quaint.” I called it shabby-chic with an emphasis on shabby.

The outside sported a white clapboard frame house with an aquamarine door and shutters on the windows resting on either side of the entrance. Iron-work railings and elaborate columns enclosed a pure concrete painted the same blue-green chipped and flaking paint that looked, no, felt, older than the house.

I have, in fact, slept in worse, so I’m not complaining. But it’s strange that a rich man like Thorn would stash an outdated piece of property like this in his real-estate portfolio.

One of Thorn’s minions had dropped me here with several bags of groceries without the benefit of pulling into the driveway. This forced me to hoof it from the curb to the front door up the concrete walkway and then another flight to the front door hauling the groceries. With my new abilities, hefting the bags wasn’t a problem, but wrangling the number of them proved unwieldy.

I let the bags slide to the concrete porch and stuck the key into the lock when I encountered resistance.

Cautiously, I lay my hand on the doorjamb and felt the steady thrum of a repelling spell.

What the hell? Thorn warded the house? Lay a ton of protective spells on it to prevent the unwanted to enter? It was an awesome security system. But how the hell do I get in?

Perhaps the warding would yield to a password? But what could it be? It could be any word or series of words. I could be here all night, sussing this out.

I don’t have all night. Shot in the dark time.

“Abracadabra,” I said hopefully.

Nothing. The diamond-shaped window in the door, backlit only by morning sunlight, stared at me in silent recrimination.

Hmph.

“Open sesame!”

The wards and the door stubbornly refused to comply.

I tried once more. “Alohomora!”

Snake eyes. I sighed. Why should I expect Thorn to have read classic children’s magic literature. This was working my last nerve. I’ve had a hell of a day, and don’t want to deal with a house that didn’t want me inside. I raised my foot and kicked it forward hoping my enhanced strength would let me bash the door in. Instead, the wards pushed back, throwing me on my ass.

I narrowed my eyes as I glared at the front door with a mind of its own.

“Damn it, Thorn sent me!” I yelled.

The house sighed as if releasing a great burden, and the lock clicked open.

Well, I’ll be damned.

To be fair, unless I get this dweomer out of my chest, I probably will be.

Feeling inordinately pleased with myself, I grabbed my groceries and pushed the door open.

An explosion of shabby-chic pieces assaulted my eyes. A settee and two armchairs covered in a faded pink and white floral pattern sat in the center of the room in front of a fireplace with an ornately carved white mantel. Two white oval end tables and a coffee table with curlicue edging clustered with the seating while a painted pale aquamarine sideboard hugged the extreme right-hand wall. Every living room wall sported the same hideous floral pattern of the furniture.

The whole place had the feel of something long abandoned, and but for the lack of dust, I would have believed no one had been here in years.

An arch at the back of the room led to a dining room, filled with out-of-date painted furniture as if someone attempted to burnish curbside discards with a coat of whitewash. I dragged my groceries through the next arch to a more modern kitchen. At least the appliances were current and the cupboards freshly painted. The window over the sink looked onto a massive backyard, that now at dawn, was touched by a gorgeous pink and orange sunrise. The backyard was a testament to the maxim that strong fences make good neighbors. An eight-foot-high fence bounded it on all sides.

Off either side of the kitchen shot off short hallways leading to the bath and three small bedrooms filled with the same painted discards of a bygone era. Yep, whoever decorated this place went artless shabby-chic to the max.

I don’t get it. Thorn owned this? As a safe house? I can’t imagine him using this as anything but a torture chamber. The floral seating alone stabbed anyone’s eyeballs.

Filled with questions, I stashed the groceries, stuffing even the dry goods in the fridge because I don’t want to deal with sorting them into something resembling order in the cupboards.

Someone’s mother didn’t teach my personal shopper good eating habits, because a lot of this food was junk. Among the dry goods, I discovered bread, peanut butter, and jelly. But they also contained boxes of toaster pastries, mac and cheese, and several bags of different flavors of pork rinds, corn, and potato chips. The crowning glory was a half-dozen extra-large frozen dinners. The only thing this grocery order missed from this man-cave feast was beer.

Where was the beer?

I ransacked the bags and found nothing to drink, damn it.

After contemplating my breakfast choices—bland toaster pastries, a bag of jalape?o pork rinds, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, or frozen barbecued ribs and mashed potatoes, I decided on the PB&J.

Chastity would love that,I thought. My roommate had an unholy love of PB&J. And then I remembered she would return from her trip soon. I checked my phone. Yep. She was due today.

And the pack was watching the apartment.

She was a witch, no stranger to magic, the pack, and frankly, had more preternatural experience than I did. But she’s human. Without time to prepare protective spells, a single wolf could down her easily.

If it occurred to Kye that it would hurt me to kidnap her to force me to hand over the talismans I possessed, he’d send one of his henchmen to do it.

I unfolded the handkerchief and examined the stone eye again. The hypnotic glow that emanates from deep inner pulses begged me to touch the glassy surface.

I turned it over, carefully keeping the cloth between my skin and the stone, looking for additional markings.

Chastity could tell me what this was. For some things, she was better than a library of supernatural tomes.

Hesitantly, I hid the eye in the silk cloth square and shoved it behind a fireplace stone that had lost some of its mortar. This reduced the temptation to touch it and kept it off my physical person. What better place than Thorn’s warded safe house to keep this damned talisman?

I dialed Chastity, expecting to leave a message, but she answered on the second ring. “Hey, I just walked in the door and saw your note. Is Kye acting the ass again?”

Surprised into silence, I didn’t answer.

“Oh. Shit, sorry, love. Of course, Kye is,” she said.

“Well, it’s worse than that. I don’t think you should stay in the apartment.”

“Why? Where are you?”

“It’s a weird story.”

“Are you going to tell me ‘It’s complicated,’ when in fact you’re shacking up with one of the University’s football players?”

I laughed. Chastity could always make a serious situation lighthearted. It was one of the reasons I loved her.

“Well, it is complicated. Have you unpacked yet?”

“Well, no.”

“Sit tight. I’m sending someone to pick you up.”

“Wait. What?”

But I clicked off the call and dialed Thorn. I didn’t give him a chance to say hello. Through our connection, he knows who is calling.

“My roommate is home from her trip, and she’s not safe there alone.”

“Well, hello to you, too, Miss Barlow,” Thorn said with a touch of amusement in his voice.

“I’m serious as a crutch, Thorn. I want my roommate safe. Because of me, and that dweomer of yours in my chest, she’s in danger from the pack.”

There was a long silence where I imagined Thorn mulling the different ways to tell me to fuck myself. I’m sure none of his other associates talked to him as I just did.

Sarcasm laced his voice.

“Is it just your roommate, or do we need to find safe houses for half of Baton Rouge?”

This last statement cut deep. The only family I had was the pack, and they ain’t mine anymore. No, Chastity was all I had for a family now.

“Only her.”

“Tell her someone is coming for her.”

“I did.”

From the phone came long, deep hiss and Thorn’s displeasure rippled through my body.

“Fine,” he said.

“Wait. Can she come here?”

“Where the hell did you think I’d deposit her?” he blurted. “It’s not like I possess a hotel filled with safe houses.”

I yanked the phone away from my ear at this explosion. This is the second time I touched a nerve with old Dagon, and I wondered why. He’s a Syndicate demon crime lord. Why would a low-level shifter who couldn’t upset him? And he’s not the one that has a magical object burrowed in his chest.

“Whoa, a problem with the wifey?” I asked.

“Excuse me?” he snapped.

“Your succubus?”

“Oh, for—” he said with exasperation. And as quickly as his temper flared, his voice turned ice cold, and the suave, haughty Thorn returned.

“Your roommate will be deposited forthwith.” And he clicked off the call.

I stared at the phone. Forthwith? What the fuck? And I guess I should be concerned he treated Chastity like a sack of groceries, but my former pack raised her danger profile more than the demon who apparently wanted to keep me safe and happy.

For now.

Then I slapped my forehead. I forgot to ask for beer.

While waiting for Chastity, I dug around for plates and silverware and made two PB&Js. Thus I was prepared when Chastity pounded on the entrance. With a plate in hand, I opened the front door.

A flustered Chastity stood there, all of her five-four, voluptuous self, her dark skin already gleaming with a sweat sheen courtesy of Baton Rouge’s morning humidity. She clutched a brown paper bag in one hand, a wheeled suitcase in the other, her purse slung over her shoulder and sported fire in her normally placid brown eyes.

She stuck out the bag. “The driver told me to hand you this.”

I set the plate down on a table by the door and peered into the bag. Well, I’ll be damned. Inside, I spotted a cacophony of different-shaped bottles—probably filched from one of Thorn’s casino bars. This looked to be fun.

Way to go, supernatural connection.

There were perks to this deal with the devil after all.

“Are you going to invite me in?”

I was too intent on the beer and didn’t pay attention to the question.

“Excuse me?”

“These are industrial strength wards,” she said. “I can’t enter without your express invitation. And would you mind explaining to me how you ended up in a house like this, anyway?”

She planted one hand on her hip as she interrogated me.

“Come in, please,” I said.

Chastity dragged in the wheeled bag, and she looked around, inspecting every nook of my new domicile with human eyes trained to spot the supernatural.

“Ouch,” she said.

“Yeah. The decorating is atrocious.”

“No. That’s not what I mean. Don’t you feel it? Pain pours from the walls.”

I shrugged. “Nope.”

She whirled and faced me.

“This is bad, bad wanga.”

“You know I don’t speak voodoo.” I said.

Chastity spat a bunch of creole colorful phrases I barely follow, but it’s clear she’s upset. Finally, her eyes bore into mine.

“This place is filthy with black magic. What the hell did you get into, Len?”