Boundary Lines (Boundary Magic Book 2) Page 16

  After a few minutes, the . . . pieces . . . of Clara began stirring, seeking to reseal themselves inside her. I had to look away or risk vomiting again.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Maven put one palm on either side of Clara’s rib cage and squeeze the sides together. “There,” she said a moment later. Her voice was satisfied, like she’d just finished installing a closet door. “She’ll need more blood, and at least the rest of the night, to heal. But you can press her now.”

  I stepped forward. Maven’s blood had simply stopped flowing out of her arm, and I wondered if her body had actually healed this quickly, or if she had some way of actually controlling it. “Make sure she does not challenge me again,” Maven warned.

  I crouched down beside Clara, whose head had lolled to the side, her eyes glazed with pain or shock, or maybe something else. I hadn’t really looked at her face before—my eyes had been a little preoccupied—but she had broad Nordic features and pale blonde hair over a broad frame. There was no fat on her, but she was big, rawboned, like she was about to suit up for women’s field hockey—or maybe men’s rugby. Only her mouth was feminine, a delicate pink bow that was turned down in a grimace.

  Her body was in one piece again, but blood and bits of torn cloth were smeared all over her chest, and I had a sudden flash to the moment in The Wizard of Oz when the Scarecrow’s stuffing is spilling out of his chest. Disgusted, I put my hands on either side of her blood-smeared face so my tattoos touched her. “Clara,” I said softly. “Look at me.” Sluggishly, she raised her blue eyes to mine. I visualized a connection between us, pressing my will down the length of it until I felt Clara’s spirit bend beneath mine. I had her.

  “Tell me why you challenged Maven,” I commanded, just in case we were wrong about the situation. She couldn’t lie to me, and I would have felt it if she’d tried.

  But Clara growled, “She killed my people and Benton’s. She cannot hold this land. If someone strong doesn’t take over, we will lose all we have built. Outsiders will come for this state.”

  I risked a quick glance at Maven, but the cardinal vampire was implacable. “Did something else push you? Did you feel anything urging you to attack?”

  Clara’s blank face registered surprise, but she didn’t answer. I realized that I had phrased the command poorly. “Explain how you felt when you decided to challenge Maven,” I tried instead.

  “Righteous,” Clara said at once. “Driven. No doubt.”

  “Tell me whose idea it was to attack Maven.”

  She blinked, confusion on her face. “My plan,” she said slowly. “Attack was my plan.”

  “But not your idea?” I pressed. She just looked blankly at me, and I felt the not-understanding vibe coming off her. She’d personally come up with the plan, but it didn’t feel like her idea.

  “You will not challenge Maven again,” I commanded. “You will be infinitely loyal to her. You will do everything you can to secure her possession of this state.”

  I put everything I had into the press: all my own anger and energy and frustration traveled down my tattoos and out through the ink, worming their way into Clara’s soul. Her face hardened. “Yes,” she whispered. “I will serve.”

  I released her, in both senses. To my surprise, I began to collapse too, but I managed to catch myself on my hands. I sat there for a long moment, panting.

  Maven gave me a moment to collect myself, then said quietly, “Well done.”

  I lifted my head to look at her. She was still sitting on the makeshift throne, but her body language had changed: her arms were crossed under her breasts, and she just looked . . . tired. Had I ever seen Maven look tired? I didn’t think so.

  “There’s something else,” Maven went on, and I paused. “You asked for Clara’s life, and I granted it—to you. She will need the rest of tonight to heal. Starting tomorrow, however, she belongs to you.”

  I just stared at her. “What does that mean?”

  “Exactly as it sounds. You are responsible for her.” Her smile was brittle, showing tiny sharp teeth. “Think of her like . . . a pet.”

  “What? Ew, no. I don’t want that. And I’m sure she doesn’t want that.” I looked down at Clara, but her eyes were fixed worshipfully on Maven. “Whatever my mistress requires,” she whispered.

  “Lex is your mistress now,” Maven told her. “Protect and obey her as you would me.”

  My breath caught. Oh, shit. Had I poured too much energy into pressing her? Was that why Maven wanted Clara to follow me around, as some sort of penance for insisting that her life be spared? I needed to think about that some more, and figure out how to undo what I’d just done, but in the meantime . . . I had an idea.

  “As soon as you’re well,” I said to Clara, “I want you to keep watch over my niece, Charlotte Wheaton. Protect her at all costs.”

  Clara nodded, her eyes still vacant, and I winced. I had just destroyed another creature’s free will, and I’d done it without a second thought. I paused, assessing my conscience, and decided I could live with it if it kept Charlie safe until this crisis was over.

  I glanced back at Maven, but her expression was unreadable. “The thaumaturge witch will be here tomorrow morning,” I said. “I’ll go visit Nellie Evans as quickly as I can, and will hopefully have something to report by nightfall.”

  Maven shook her head slightly. “Ghosts are only out after twilight,” she said dully, “so you won’t be able to see Nellie until then. But please call me right after.”

  I nodded and got up to go. I was all the way to the doorway before I realized I wasn’t sure where to go. Turning back to Maven, I asked, “Um, one other thing . . . can I borrow your phone?”

  Chapter 25

  I called Quinn’s cell, but it was Simon who answered. I identified myself. “Hey, Lex,” he said in a very heavy voice, like he was simultaneously drunk and asleep. “Is your niece okay?”

  “She’s fine. Maven’s fine. We’ve . . . got it sorted. For now. How’s Quinn?”

  “He’ll pull through. He’s asking for you.”

  I swallowed hard. “Tell me where.”

  I stopped at home just long enough to take care of the herd, change clothes, and scrub the bloodstains off my skin. I put all of the clothes I’d been wearing over the last few days straight into the washing machine, because in some dim part of my hindbrain, I could just imagine Keller getting a search warrant for my house and finding bloody clothes. I threw on clean jeans and the next shirt in my dresser drawer, a scoop-necked deep red tee. I grabbed the leather jacket that Lily had insisted I keep, and tore off for Quinn’s place.

  I hadn’t been to Quinn’s apartment building before, but I knew Boulder well enough to find it without the aid of cell phone navigation. He lived in an upscale but rather generic apartment building off Walnut Street, next to a number of swanky single-family homes. Right away it reminded me of a vampire’s apartment that we’d visited in Denver, and I suspected that more-established vampires looked for that particular “upscale but generic” vibe.

  I started toward the little row of buzzers, but someone was waiting for me at the exterior door: Lily. “Hey,” she said, sounding a little breathless. “The buzzer isn’t working. I tried to call and warn you.”

  “Oh—I dropped my phone at Chautauqua,” I explained. “What are you doing here?”

  “Simon called me to come help.” She held up her wrist, showing off a neon-pink Band-Aid with little skull-and-crossbones designs all over it. “Give blood, save a life,” she said solemnly as she ushered me inside, leading the way to a carpeted stairway. “Quinn has a basement unit, obviously.”

  We started down the steps. “Kind of surprised to see you,” I said lightly. “I thought you and Quinn hated each other.”

  She paused. “Did Quinn say that?”

  I glanced around, but there was no one else in the hallway. “Um, no. That time you came over to take out my stitches, and Quinn showed up . . . lot of hostility there. I got the impression
that maybe he did something to you, or maybe it was just a witch-vampire thing.”

  Lily stood there chewing her lip, not making any attempt to continue toward the apartment. “You guys are into each other, right?”

  I should have expected something like that from Lily, but of course I was caught completely off guard. “What—I mean, we sort of, like . . .”

  She waved it aside. “It’s okay. You should probably know the truth, then. It’s not a witch thing, and Quinn didn’t do anything. It was me.”

  I just stood there, blinking stupidly, until she continued in a low voice, “A few years ago, shortly after we met, I made a pass at him.”

  “Okay . . .”

  Wry smile. “All right, it was more like I threw myself at him. I was lonely, I’d been drinking, a casual hookup seemed like a good idea. Actually, most of us in the Old World don’t get attracted to anyone outside our species, but there’s something about Quinn that’s just . . . yummy.”

  I blushed, mostly because I completely agreed. I didn’t remember being attracted to any other vampires, but I hadn’t met many male ones, and none of them . . . anyway. “Lily, you don’t have to tell me—”

  She blew out a breath. “I know. Anyway, he turned me down, nicely, and I’ve held it against him ever since. I just thought you should know it’s not his fault. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And the way you look at him.” Her face softened. “There’s real attraction there.”

  I drew a slightly shaky breath. “I’m not convinced that we’re not just”—I gestured helplessly—“broken magnets.”

  “Oh—” She stepped in for an impulsive hug. “Don’t overthink it,” she advised.

  We reached the door, which Lily had propped open with the deadbolt. It opened into a small entryway, which led to a kitchen with light blue walls and wood accents. I would have bet money the decor came with the apartment. The room was comfortable enough, but there was almost nothing in it: just a card table and a folding chair. Beyond it I could see a sparsely decorated living room with only a TV and a cheap IKEA couch.

  Lily closed the door behind me. “The patients are in the bedroom in the back,” she said, her voice surprisingly grave. “When you see them, try not to laugh. I think it’s too soon.”

  Puzzled, I followed the hallway back to the single bedroom and peeked through the open door. Quinn and Simon were lying side by side in one queen-sized bed, on top of the covers. Simon still wore the clothes he’d had on at the park, dirty and splotched with blood. He looked worse than ever, but he was at least propped up with pillows, flipping channels with a remote control. A plastic bottle of orange juice rested on his stomach.

  Next to him, Quinn was bare-chested, a bandage taped loosely over his chest wound, wearing clean athletic pants. He was still pale, and while his eyes were sunken, at least they were open. They crinkled happily when they saw me, but then he glanced at Simon, next to him on the bed, and shot me an alarmed, it’s not what it looks like face.

  I burst out laughing.

  I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t just a quick snicker, either: I had to put one hand on the door frame and lean against it, supporting myself as I broke down into helpless giggles.

  “Lily!” Simon cried out. “I told you to put his shirt back on!”

  That just made me laugh harder. “I don’t think . . . it would’ve . . . helped . . .” I choked out.

  Lily came up behind me, hands on her hips. “I told you, his wound hasn’t healed yet,” she said severely. “It needs to get air.”

  “Dammit, Lily,” Simon pouted.

  I had to bend over with my butt pressed against the door frame. “Simon, stop talking,” I said, shaking my head. “Everything you say makes it funnier.” When the spasm of laughter finally worked its way out, I straightened up and wiped tears from my eyes. “Thanks, guys. I really needed that.”

  “I don’t have to take this from you,” Simon said with great dignity. “Especially when I went to so much trouble to bring you back a souvenir.”

  I raised my eyebrows, the laughter dying in my throat. “Oh?”

  Slowly, he set the orange juice on the lone nightstand and picked up something that had been lying next to it, something flat and roughly the size of a dinner plate. It was thinner than that, though: when Simon lifted it up I could almost see through it.

  “What is that?” I said, stepping closer.

  “It’s a scale,” Simon explained. He offered it to me, but I shook my head. I felt no need to touch that thing. “When you shot the whatchamacallit, the Unk-teh-hi-la, you must have knocked it loose,” he said, looking smug. “Now I can run all kinds of tests on the fucker.”

  “Nice.” And it was. Hopefully the scale would give us some insight into the sandworm, because I was out of ideas.

  “I’ll let you know when I have more data.” He began to swing his legs off the side of the bed. It was slow going, but I knew enough about men not to go over there and help him. “Lilith, take me home. I need a shower, and if I do it here, people will talk.”

  I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep more giggles from coming out. Now he was trying to be funny.

  Lily rolled her eyes. “Yes, my liege.” But she went to help him up. Even after he picked up his cane, he had to lean on her shoulders to move across the room. I couldn’t help but feel worry cinch around me like a hunter’s net. I shouldn’t have let him donate blood when he was already so weak.

  I picked up Quinn’s keys and walked the two of them out. Simon was obviously feeling worse than he was letting on, because he allowed me to help him with his seat belt. “Thanks,” I told him as I straightened up. “For saving me from the sandworm. And for what you did for Quinn.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up, pleased. “I told you I wasn’t entirely useless.” Then the smile faded. “Lex . . . see if he needs more blood. I’m not sure that what we gave him was enough.”

  I nodded. “I will.” Then I remembered Keller and the police, and sighed. “We gotta get our stories straight, about tonight.”

  When I went back inside a few minutes later, I dropped my jacket on the folding chair in the kitchen and returned to the bedroom doorway, leaning against it again.

  “Hi,” Quinn said softly.

  “Hi.” I suddenly felt awkward. Quinn and I had barely kissed—hell, we hadn’t even had a real date yet. I’d never even seen his place before tonight. And suddenly I was standing in his bedroom while he was half-naked and vulnerable. I smiled at him and crossed my arms over my chest, although I wasn’t really cold. “I’m glad you’re okay. For a second there . . .”

  “I’m glad Charlie’s okay,” he broke in. “But what about you?”

  I nodded, still feeling awkward. Grimacing, Quinn shifted on the bed, making more room on the side formerly known as Simon’s. “Lex,” he said, firm and certain, “come here.”

  Something long dormant stirred to life low in my stomach, but I still hesitated. Quinn tried to suppress a smile. “I’m not going to seduce you, I promise,” he told me. I took a step forward, and then he added softly, “When I seduce you, I won’t be injured, and you won’t be afraid of hurting me.”

  I couldn’t think of a thing to say to that, but I went over to the empty side of the bed and climbed on, leaving a foot of space between us. “The bed’s still warm from your last visitor,” I commented toward the ceiling.

  “Please visualize me hitting you with a pillow,” Quinn grumbled, “as I currently lack the strength.”

  I smiled and rolled over sideways to face him. “Quinn . . . do you need more blood?”

  He shook his head, firm. “No. Not from you. Never from you.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll be well enough to go out later, if I need to. Simon told me things were okay with Maven. What happened?”

  So I told him about the scene I’d found at the coffee shop, how Maven had killed Benton and Nels and turned Clara into a pile of viscera. “I know I haven’t kn
own you guys that long, but I’ve never seen her like that, Quinn. She was . . . uncontrolled.”

  Worry flashed across his face, and he shifted his arm, inviting me closer. Forcing aside any hesitation, I scooted over and curled my body against his side, being careful not to interfere with the bandage on his chest. He smelled of antiseptic, and his skin was cool, his body more focused on healing than blood circulation. I didn’t care.

  Quinn did, though: he picked up a blanket from the floor next to the bed, grunting a little with the pain, and tossed it over me with one arm. “What about you?” I said.

  “The cold never bothered me anyway,” he said airily.

  That startled me into laughing out loud. I really hadn’t been expecting a “Let It Go” joke from a vampire. He kissed the top of my head. “Tell me the rest.”

  So I did, finishing with the fact that Clara was now my personal property, according to Maven, and I’d positioned her as Charlie’s bodyguard. “I still didn’t know if Maven was trying to reward me for helping her, or punish me for opposing her will. Maybe a little of both.”

  He sensed my discomfort. “It bothers you,” he observed. “That Maven gave her to you.”

  “She’s a person,” I said, painfully aware that I’d already put her to work despite my reservations.

  “Who would be dead if you hadn’t intervened,” he pointed out.

  “Yeah, I guess.” That didn’t mean I was comfortable with the situation. “What do you know about her?” I asked him.

  “Clara? Not a whole lot. Remember back when we were tracking Nolan, and I told you that Boulder is where Maven and Itachi stuck the problem vampires?” I nodded. “Well, my impression of Clara is that she’s kind of . . . um . . . violent.”