Part 12 (1/2)
”Rafe sent the car over. Are you ready?”
Damian poked his head into her bedroom. She snapped the suitcase lid shut as he came forward. Tension knotted her stomach.
”I feel just like I did when we evacuated for Katrina. Like I'm never coming back.”
”You'll be back. This is just until my brothers can sweep the house with magick and clean out the dirt.” Damian gave her a rea.s.suring smile.
”By using magick.” At his nod, she sighed. ”Magick I lack. Because inside me, there's nothing but blackness. That's why you put the binding spell on me back in New Mexico.”
”No.” He came forward, cupped her face. ”I put the binding spell on you to guard you from harm. If you couldn't use magick, the Morphs wouldn't want you. I didn't know Kane had already infected you with a spell to drain your life.”
”I feel like I'm still linked to them,” she said in a low voice. ”But it's weird because there's something else there, as well.”
He went preternaturally still. ”Like what?”
”Something struggling against darkness, wanting out. I feel like a loaded gun waiting for the right trigger. Like there's good magick inside me, waiting to be used. But I can't tap it.”
An intent look came over him, as if he struggled with a weighty decision. Damian stepped away from her. He lifted his hands and began chanting in a strange tongue. Iridescent sparks swirled around her, dancing in the stray sunbeams.
She felt a curious lifting inside her spirit, then it faded. He dropped his hands.
”You're free. I released the spell binding you from doing magick.”
Power hummed inside her. The magick instilled in her through Damian's blood sang like a crackling electrical line. Awe filled her at the trust he'd placed in her. If there was darkness inside her, she could direct it at him with a killing thought.
”Aren't you afraid I'll use it against you?”
”You can't hurt me. My magick is very powerful.”
”I could try.” She stared at him. ”I did before. I nearly killed you.”
”With a kiss. Remember? You kissed me. Do you want to try again? Kissing me?”
A knowing smile touched his mouth. He was all control, in power and knew it.
His smile s.h.i.+fted, became speculative. ”Why did you try to kill me, Jamie? Someday you'll tell me the truth.” Damian reached out, fingered a lock of her hair as if he couldn't bear not to touch her. ”I know how much you hurt inside. I've seen your pain, your anguish. You hide something from me, something important. But I still can't read you.”
His hand fell. He looked away. ”If there is good magick inside you, it's time to release it. But be careful. The more you exercise power, the less the magick I've given you can hold the stone spell at bay.”
A haunted look flashed over him. ”And if something should happen to me, you can protect yourself. Just in case. I will never again lose anyone like...”
Her heart gave a crazy lurch. ”Like what?”
”Nothing. Let's go. This place is too dangerous to linger.”
Minutes later, Damian parked the Lexus on the street in front of a mansion on Esplanade. Home, for now. Until it was safe to return to her house.
She wondered if it ever would be safe. If a cat could turn into a Morph and attack a helpless little girl, what else? If Damian hadn't caught and dispatched the Morph, it might have been her that lay in a pool of blood. Just like Renee.
Damian a.s.sured her Raphael's home was safe. The mansion welcomed her with quiet warmth. Fragrant honeysuckle and rose bushes scented the property. Painted a soothing ivory, the two-story house boasted Ionic columns and a wide front porch with comfortable white wicker chairs. A wrought-iron fence with lacework grilling guarded the property from the street. Spanish oak trees bearded with moss lined the avenue. The Creole mansions lining the street reflected a more relaxed era.
A time where you could sit on the porch sipping a cool iced tea, never worrying about the friendly cat winding about your legs turning into a demon.
The iron gate had a complicated latch. Damian reached for it, hesitated. He raised his eyes to the majestic house as if in benediction, his expression forlorn and yearning.
Jamie studied the gate. ”What's wrong? Is something broken?”
”Mon coeur,” he whispered. ”Toujours.”
High school French flashed back. My heart, always.
A lump clogged her throat. She touched his arm. Damian looked down at her hand. He flicked up the bolt, opened the gate and ushered her inside the house.
Her sneakers made soft squeaks against the polished hardwood floor as she examined the entrance hall with its antique oak coat stand, gilt mirror and delicate vases and imposing grandfather clock. In her ragged jeans, faded Nirvana T-s.h.i.+rt and scuffed sneakers, she felt like a hillbilly. Yee-haw.
Yet for all its charm, the house's hushed elegance felt like someone preserved it to seal in the past. The word floated into her mind. Ghosts.
Damian watched her. She glanced at him, knowing he expected a reaction.
”It's very beautiful,” she managed.
”I hate it.”
”Then why bring me here? A hotel is good.”
”It's safer here for you. Rafe set up enough safeguards to fry Morphs small as a gnat,” he muttered.
She ran a hand over the silk wallpaper. A s.h.i.+ver raced down her spine. Jamie shook her head. ”I don't think I should stay. Something happened here. Something bad. Really bad. It's faint, but I still feel it.”
Damian's face tightened. ”Nothing here will hurt you. The energy you feel is from the past. But it can't-won't-hurt you.”
Jamie waited. He set her suitcase down as if it were gla.s.s. Then he dragged a worn boot back and forth over the glossy floor. Making scratches, as if raking claws over it. Damian arched his neck, staring at the high ceiling, the carved crown moldings, the artwork hung tastefully on the forest-green wallpaper.
A minute dragged by, rasping like his heel against the fine-grained wood. Finally he jammed his hands into his jeans pockets.
”My parents' house was once here. When they died, I inherited. Remy, my stepfather, insisted on my rebuilding to honor my heritage.”
Damian's home. Not Raphael's. ”Why does Raphael live here?”
”I gave it to him as a gift. He sees himself as a caretaker.” His eyes took on that haunted, tormented look. ”I didn't want anything to do with it.”
”What happened to your original home?”
”I torched it after my family died.”
Jamie blinked. ”You destroyed your own house?”
He shut down like a machine powering off. She knew why. Some things were just too d.a.m.n painful, like slicing open a healed wound with a knife. But if he wanted her to sleep tonight, she had to know.
”Let's give you a tour.” He nodded toward the closest room.