Part 41 (2/2)
Reggie glanced back, saw that Owen was close, and went in too.
For probably the fiftieth time since I'd bought my Bronco I was so glad that I had. What had once been a s.h.i.+tty, gravel road leading to Revelation Point was now a s.h.i.+tty, rock-strewn, overgrown dirt path leading to the same. Apparently kids no longer came here to smooch. Had to wonder why.
It wasn't until I shot out of the trees and put the vehicle into park that it occurred to me to call someone and tell them where I was. By then it was too late. My phone read no service. Maybe I could borrow Jeremy's. Different carriers covered different areas, and his might work.
As if the thought had conjured him, his Jaguar emerged from the forest and stopped behind mine. He had to have scratched the undercarriage badly on that trail. Weeds clogged the wheel wells and pine needles stuck in pine tar all over the hood. He must have something pretty d.a.m.n important to show me.
I wondered for an instant why he didn't pull his car next to mine instead of behind it, but then he got out, all smiles, and I forgot.
Jeremy wore perfectly pressed charcoal-gray trousers and a red Polo s.h.i.+rt. I had an instant to think that he should have brought a coat-it was chilly enough up here on the ridge above the lake that I was thankful for my own-before he enveloped me in a hug. ”Thanks for coming.”
”No problem.” My hands slid down his arms.
Electricity flared. Sparks flew, reminding me of the last time I'd touched his arm, in the parking lot after someone had tried to smother me.
My gaze fell to his forearms, both scratched badly-one worse than the other, but healing even as I watched. The really strange thing-and that was saying something-was that the sc.r.a.pes matched my fingers. As if I had raked my hands down his arms and- I had raked my hands down his arms. Then I'd touched one arm and it had healed just enough to make it seem like he hadn't tried to kill me. But he had.
Jeremy caught my wrists as I drew back, capturing me, holding on tight.
”It was you,” I said. ”In my apartment, with the pillow. The ring. The ski mask.”
He didn't speak. He didn't have to. Owen had been right.
I yanked free. ”Why?”
”Witches must die.”
”But ... you're a witch.”
”I only pretended to be one to discover their ident.i.ties.”
”Being a witch is that big of a secret?” I asked.
I had to figure out what to do. Behind me lay a cliff, the drop straight to the rocky sh.o.r.es of Lake Superior. Jeremy stood between me and my car. The forest was an option, but I'd have to disable him first. He was fast. Much faster than me.
”The ident.i.ties of the elemental witches, the ones with true power and real magic, like you, are a secret. It's those witches we need to kill. They're dangerous.”
He was dangerous. But I didn't mention it.
”You mean to tell me no witches but elementals have been harmed?” I asked.
He shrugged. ”I'm sure a few pretenders have died along the way.”
His casual dismissal of lives chilled me.
”What makes you hate them”-hate us?-”so much?”
”I don't hate you, Becca.” He shook his head, his expression that of a professor admonis.h.i.+ng a dumba.s.s student. He'd no doubt used it a hundred and one times before. ”But I do need to kill you.”
I could tell he believed it, was, in fact, looking forward to it. How had I missed the crazy before? Or had he become crazy only recently?
”Roland speaks to me. In my dreams, my mind.”
Recently then. He couldn't have hidden that for very long.
I needed to keep him talking, maybe talk him out of this. I had a pretty good idea how.
”If you've been chatting with McHugh, you know he wants to kill me and my sister.”
”Sisters,” he corrected.
He had been talking to McHugh, or reading Venatores Mali propaganda.
”He wants to wipe out our line. He won't be happy if you beat him to it.”
”He doesn't care who kills you, he just wants you dead.”
”Swell.”
”I need a sacrifice to bring him forth. The one who raises him will stand at his side.”
”Whoop-dee-doo,” I muttered.
”A man who can return from the dead is a very powerful man indeed. There'll be no stopping him.”
”If Roland could return, he would have. That he needs help-your help-means you have the power, not him.”
He blinked. Maybe I shouldn't have told him that.
”I still have to raise him,” Jeremy said. ”He insists.”
”You should probably talk to someone about that voice in your head.”
Jeremy reached into his pocket, took out his keys, popped the trunk. Then he reached inside and withdrew a two-sided knife, the blade a distinctive S shape. I'd never seen it before, yet still I knew it.
The athame of Roland McHugh ”I wonder if I can brand you with this.” He frowned at the head of a snarling wolf carved into the handle. ”It'll have to do. You took my ring.”
He backhanded me with no more emotion than swatting a fly. My cheek seemed to explode. I bit my tongue and tasted blood.
I wished for Raye's abilities. Levitation and telekinesis-either one would be handy right now. Toss the knife over the cliff-oh, what the h.e.l.l, let's just toss the knife and its holder too-or lift myself high enough to kick him in the face.
In the distance thunder stirred; the wind picked up, bringing with it the scent of rain. Strange. On the drive here there hadn't been a cloud in the sky.
”Where'd you get that?” I had to keep stalling.
”She gave it to me.” He pointed into the trunk.
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