Part 12 (1/2)
Mackenzie felt color come to her cheeks as she looked at the table. ”It's hard to imagine it. A few days ago, I thought my parents had died in a car crash when I was four. I didn't remember much of anything from before my adopted parents brought me home. Sometimes I'd have dreams...” A fire, a woman with dark hair and terrified eyes dragging her by the hand, screaming that they had to run faster. The nightmares had plagued her until her parents had taken her to a therapist in the fourth grade.
The dreams hadn't gone away, not completely. She'd had trouble sleeping most of her life, between the dreams of running through fields and the dreams of running from fire. When she'd gotten older she'd gone through all the usual remedies-special teas, pills, relaxation tapes. Nothing had ever worked. Not until she'd started dreaming about Jackson every time she closed her eyes.
Mahalia finished her cigarette and extinguished it in a weak stream of water from the kitchen tap. ”It was a rough time for all three of you.”
”I guess it was.” Determined to change the subject, she rose to her feet again. ”I think I'd like some of that juice. Where can I get a gla.s.s?”
Mahalia didn't answer, just stared at the water trickling into the sink. The cigarette b.u.t.t fell from her hand, and she started to shake.
”Mahalia?” Mackenzie reached out a hand to her shoulder. ”What's-”
She jerked as if burned, scrambled to shut off the stove's burners and grabbed her keys from the counter. ”Get into the garage. Jack!”
Mackenzie didn't argue. She hurried to the door on the other side of the kitchen, so panicked she twisted the k.n.o.b without bothering to unlock the door first. She swore and reached for the latch, but a soft gasp behind her made her turn.
Mahalia's dark skin had taken on an alarming pallor, and her eyes rolled back in her head. Mackenzie stared in horror as Mahalia fell, her head impacting the counter with a sickening thud.
Time slowed to a crawl as Mahalia crumpled. Mackenzie lunged toward her, hitting the floor on her knees and sliding a few inches. She screamed Jackson's name as she pushed Mahalia's hair back from her face. There seemed to be blood everywhere, so much that, at first, Mackenzie couldn't tell where the wound was.
”Mahalia!” She swore fiercely under her breath as she tore her s.h.i.+rt over her head, balled it up and pressed it against the wound. s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t-it was all she could think as panic made her heart race and she screamed again. ”Jackson!”
Somewhere down the hall, Jackson's strangled voice called out her name.
His voice cut off abruptly as a s.h.i.+ver claimed her, the same feeling she'd had in Memphis that had prompted her to abandon her car. Something bad was coming. Something dangerous. Her instincts screamed it, and now she knew them for what they were. Some bit of supernatural heritage, telling her the only way to save herself. Run, run, run.
But she couldn't run, not with Mahalia on the floor, bleeding. Not with Jackson somewhere in the house, hurt or injured or under some kind of magical attack.
Steven. She needed Steven-someone who knew what was going on, who might still be close enough to help. She held her s.h.i.+rt to Mahalia's head with one hand while she groped on the counter with the other, finally finding Mahalia's cell phone. She fumbled and flipped open the phone, her hand shaking so badly she could barely read the display.
Fear for Jackson intruded again, and something feral inside screamed for her to abandon Mahalia and find Jackson, to curl around him and protect him. But, whatever had happened, Jackson would never forgive her for letting his mentor bleed to death on the floor.
And there was probably nothing she could do anyway.
Nothing but get help. Mackenzie took a deep breath and let it out before focusing on the phone again. ”Steven,” she whispered as she found the address book. ”Steven.”
The phone flew from her hand, skittering across the floor until it b.u.mped into a polished black shoe. Her gaze jerked upward, and she found herself staring into a pair of ice blue eyes surrounded by wrinkles. She took in the man's snowy white hair and neat suit.
Charles.
It had to be. The knowledge must have shown on her face, because he smiled and nodded. ”h.e.l.lo, Jessica. I see they've told you about me. That's a shame, since I'm sure it was nothing flattering.”
She said the only thing she could think of, the only thing she could manage. ”My name isn't Jessica.”
Charles nodded. ”Mackenzie, then. Marcus, please check on Ms. Tate and make sure she isn't badly injured.”
”Sure, Dad.” Marcus moved around him and knelt next to Mackenzie. ”Can I see?” He indicated the s.h.i.+rt she held to Mahalia's head.
The entire situation was so surreal that she obeyed, pulling the s.h.i.+rt away before she remembered it was Marcus next to her, the man who had chased her across the country and destroyed her life. The man who thought they were destined to be lovers and have magical children.
The worst part was that the same voice that had told her to run was quiet now. Peaceful, as if maybe Marcus wasn't wrong about their destiny and belonging together. The feeling made no sense, felt more animal than human, and she fought it with the memory of Jackson smiling at her, of the way her body thrilled when he touched her. That's real, Mackenzie.
Marcus took the bloodied s.h.i.+rt from her and blotted at the cut just above Mahalia's brow. ”It looks bad. She needs help.”
Charles stepped close and bent down, brus.h.i.+ng his fingers lightly along the top of Mahalia's head. Mackenzie felt the p.r.i.c.kling feeling again, like pins and needles from sitting still too long. A warm, tangible pressure grew slowly until Charles murmured a few words under his breath.
When he stood again, the cut on Mahalia's forehead was gone. Mackenzie stared blankly before taking the s.h.i.+rt from Marcus and wiping the blood away. Underneath was smooth, unblemished skin, without even a faint scar to show the injury had ever been there.
”We don't mean anyone harm, Mackenzie,” Charles told her quietly. ”We will do violence if we must, to keep our kind from dying, but we don't want to. Now if you'll just-”
”What about Jackson? What did you do to him?”
Charles glanced at Marcus. ”Jackson?”
”The spell caster who was helping her.”
”Ah.” Charles focused on Mackenzie again. ”If he's in the house, he was probably rendered unconscious by the backlash of Ms. Tate's wards falling. I'm sure it will cause him no permanent damage. If you come with us now, we'll explain everything.”
”No,” she whispered, her shaking fingers feeling at Mahalia's neck for a pulse. It was there, weak but steady. ”No. I'm not leaving them.”
Charles smiled gently at her, and it was more terrifying than if he'd been angry or cold. ”Mackenzie, I'm afraid I can't give you a choice. If you don't come with us now, Marcus will bring you.”
She considered fighting. Swinging out, hitting them with something, trying to escape. But she could remember the implied threat under Charles's words. He didn't want to hurt anyone...but he would. If she tried to escape, she would be leaving Mahalia and Jackson at his mercy. Two perfect hostages.
She shook her head again and wrapped her hand around Mahalia's. ”I can't leave her like this. I'm not going to come with you and leave her on the floor, and I'm not going anywhere until I check on Jackson.”
”He's fine, Mackenzie. I can sense his magic. But you do have a point about leaving them here... Marcus, retrieve her cellular phone, please. We'll call my nephew once we're on our way so Mackenzie won't need to worry herself with Ms. Tate and Mr. Holt's well-being.”
”Holt is an investigator,” Marcus reminded him, though already moving to obey. ”They'll be able to track the GPS chip in the phone.”
”Ah, yes. Sometimes I fall behind the times, though it hardly matters. Steven knows how to find us, for all the good it will do him.” Charles held out a hand, his steady gaze still on Mackenzie. ”Now, my dear. Are you going to walk with us, or must Marcus carry you?”
Mackenzie wasn't sure she could have stood even if she'd wanted to. She was frozen to the spot, so terrified she could barely think. She could only shake her head again.
Charles sighed. ”Marcus? Be gentle with her.”
He lifted her as if she weighed nothing, s.h.i.+fting her just enough to tuck her face into his neck. It was a surprisingly trusting gesture, since she could have easily sank her teeth into the tender flesh there. ”It'll be all right, Mackenzie,” he whispered. ”You'll feel better once we get home.”
”No-” It was too much. Frantic, she began to struggle, forgetting all about Mahalia and Jackson and the reasons she was trapped. The instinctive urge to curl against Marcus made it worse, turning her panic to mindless terror as she shoved at his chest and kicked at him, managing to knock her heel into his hip. ”No!” The word came out as a snarl this time, and she did dig her teeth into his neck as she kicked again.
He barely reacted to the bite, just hissed softly and tightened his arms around her. ”He can make you sleep. Even make you catatonic.” He pulled her head back and looked at her, his expression soft and pleading. ”He won't like it, but he will.”
Mackenzie spat in his face and redoubled her struggles.
”Enough.” Charles stepped over Mahalia as if she weren't even there. Mackenzie felt his hand on her forehead and tried to jerk away, but Marcus held her steady.