Boundary Born (Boundary Magic Book 3) (11 page)

C
hapter 18

As usual, Lily got straight to the point. “Do you trust him?” she asked me.

“I . . . don’t know if I trust him. I can’t figure out what he wants. Why would he contact me?”

“What do you mean?” Lily looked confused. “You’re his daughter. He wants to get to know you.”

I shrugged, uncomfortable. “Honestly, I haven’t really had time to process the whole thing. I just found out yesterday morning. And then Maven was shot, and everything went to hell.”

“And we all got distracted.” Lily concluded. She looked at me abruptly, like something had just occurred to her. “But why didn’t you call me right after he showed up?”

Her tone was so indignant that I had to smile. “I didn’t feel like dumping my family problems on you right now, give everything that’s been happening with . . . um . . .”

“Morgan,” Simon supplied. “You can say her name.”

“And yes, it’s complicated, but this is huge news, Lex,” Lily said. “You shouldn’t have worried about my feelings.”

I held up my hands. “Okay. I promise, the next time my biological parent shows up out of the blue, I will call.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Simon raised a hand. “Can we get back to the issue? You told me that Emil has boundary blood.”

“But it’s not active,” I pointed out. Like most males with witchblood, Emil had never had the chance to activate his magic. “Will it even work, with dormant witchblood?”

Both Pellars fell silent. “I honestly have no idea,” Simon said finally. “But I don’t see how it could hurt to try. Even if he’s human, the blood would at least help sustain her.”

“But assuming he agrees to this,” I said, “he would know where we’re keeping Maven. Unless we get him to donate somewhere else, bring it to Maven in bags?”

A smile spread across Simon’s face. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said. “One thing we know for sure about dormant witches—they can be pressed.”

We did a little more planning, and by midafternoon, I was ready to call Emil. I asked him to coffee, and I picked a location off the beaten path: Naked Lunch, a little café that was buried in a big apartment and retail complex off Arapahoe. It was cute, utilitarian, and the kind of place where people mostly tracked in and out with to-go cups rather than sat and chatted. We would have relative privacy while still being in a public space.

I had to make a quick trip to the cabin to change my clothes and take care of the herd, so Emil got to the café before me. When I walked in, he stood to greet me with a broad, nervous smile. He was wearing nearly the same outfit as the day before: chinos that hung awkwardly near the pockets and a slightly lumpy polo shirt with a tiny reptile over one breast. Maybe he had a heart condition and needed to wear an external pacemaker or something.

I really didn’t want to hug him yet, so I was relieved when he held out his hand for me to shake, taking it in both of his warm ones. “Good to see you again, Lex,” he said, beaming. He gestured toward the counter. “What can I get you? Coffee? Pastry?”

“Coffee and a cookie-dough ball, please,” I said. Ordinarily I would have fought one of my own family members—er, one of the Luthers—for the check, but it was obvious how badly he wanted to please me. I felt a little guilty that I was going to try to use that against him, but I could always make it up to him later.

When we were settled at a table, Emil and I chatted for a while about inconsequential things. I told him about my job at the Depot and my second job doing some “security consulting for a local business,” which was how I’d explained my nighttime hours to my family. He smiled when I asked how he liked Boulder. “It’s a fascinating city,” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting with amusement. “A smoke shop on each block, dreadlocks on all the white college students, and everywhere I go, it takes me five minutes to throw away my trash in the appropriate containers.”

I laughed. We talked a little bit about Emil’s life, which I hadn’t really bothered to ask about the day before. He lived just outside Halifax in Nova Scotia, where he owned a small New Age bookstore. He gave a little dismissive shrug when he talked about it. “Most of what I sell is garbage, but I know enough about witchcraft and magic to help the customers a little bit here and there: a candle, a symbol, sage to cleanse a new house. That sort of thing.” He had come to Boulder to meet with a potential new supplier, an appointment he’d made mostly to have an excuse to meet me.

“Do you . . . um, did you ever remarry? Have other kids?” I felt awkward asking such a personal question, but there was a part of me that longed to hear that I had a sibling out there. As soon as I had the thought, though, I felt disloyal to Sam.

It’s okay. I want you to have someone, too.

At any rate, Emil shook his head. “I’ve dated here and there, and right now I have a nice friendship with a lady who lives about an hour away.” He smiled ruefully. “I don’t think we’ll get married, though. We’re both too independent. Solitary.”

That sounded familiar. “And what about you?” he asked, brightening. He leaned forward. “Do you have someone special? Any kids? I would love to be a grandfather.”

I shook my head. “No kids. I spend a lot of time with my cousins’ children, though. And I’m seeing someone, but we’re both sort of”—I borrowed his word—“independent.”

He studied me. “A vampire?”

I blinked, not bothering to hide my surprise. “How did you know?”

Emil shrugged. “Just a guess. My father died when I was young, but my mother, Sophia, is a black witch—sorry, I always forget the preferred term. A boundary witch. She has been with a vampire for decades now. I’ve seen the”—he waved a hand, looking for a word—“the
allure
between boundary witches and vampires.” There was a note of disapproval in his tone, and I suspected some serious family drama there. “That attraction is, unfortunately, part of why boundary witches are so scarce now. There just isn’t enough breeding with other witches.”

I wrinkled my nose at the word “breeding,” but Emil didn’t see it. Despite Sam—and by extension, Valerya—saying this guy was okay, I didn’t like the way he talked about boundary magic. There was a reverence in his voice that was nearly worshipful.

At the same time, though, it was nice to meet someone who didn’t either cower or snarl at the very mention of death magic. Besides, didn’t every family have these prejudicial disagreements? I had an uncle who still thought homosexuals shouldn’t marry, despite living in liberal Boulder. And as much as I loved my parents, I was pretty sure my mother privately thought all my rescue animals should be put down before they ruined my house any further. Were Emil’s opinions about boundary witches needing to have babies really any different?

I was also really interested in Emil’s mother, Sophia. I didn’t know a single other boundary witch—with the exception of Nellie, who was dead. The idea of having someone I could actually call up on the phone for advice really appealed to me. And I could use some help with training, since Simon and Lily had pretty much maxed out their knowledge.

“Is your mother, um . . .”

“Still alive? Yes, although these days she’s often mistaken for my little sister.” He smiled and added, “You remind me of her, actually. She’s also very . . . contained.”

“What does she do?”

“She’s mostly retired, although she works part-time at the shop for me. She’s actually running it this week while I’m gone.” He put down his coffee cup very gingerly, as if trying not to spook me. “You should come and visit us sometime. I’m sure Mother would love to meet you.”

I spun my own cup in quarter turns, not sure how to answer. “Listen, Emil,” I began. “I need to ask you for a favor.”

His eyebrows lifted, genuinely surprised. “Of course, anything.”

“Well, wait until you hear the favor.” I took a deep breath and gave him the story Simon and I had worked out. One of the Denver vampires had been poisoned by belladonna. I had fed her some of my blood the night before, but she needed more death-magic-infused blood to help her wake up. I watched Emil’s face carefully as I spoke, alert for any sign that he knew about the belladonna attacks, but his expression remained puzzled and interested, never guilty.

“So you’d like me to donate some of my blood to this vampire,” he said slowly.

“Mmm, it’s a little more than that. We’d also like to press you to make sure you forget what she looks like and where she’s located.”

I held my breath, certain he’d be offended, but he just looked sort of perplexed. “I’m not sure I understand. Why is this person so important to you?”

I had been expecting that question. “She’s my friend,” I said, and was surprised when it didn’t even sound like a lie. “I’m not even sure your blood will work, but if you’re up for it, I’d truly appreciate if you could try.”

“I don’t know either,” he admitted. He paused for a moment, then plunged on, “Lex, I know you don’t know me well, but is it really necessary to press me? I have no interest in telling anyone about the Old World here in Colorado.”

“I understand,” I assured him. “But remember when I said I’m a security consultant? It would look really bad for me if I let just anyone—no offense—know where we’re hiding an injured vampire.”

He tilted his head for a long moment, thinking that over. I took a few bites of my dessert, giving him a little space to consider.

“I realize that you didn’t have to tell me you were planning to press me,” he said at last. “You could have just done it, and I never would have known the difference. I appreciate the honesty.”

I nodded. Quinn had argued against warning Emil we were going to press him, but I’d insisted. I had no idea what my relationship with this man would end up looking like, but starting it with a betrayal, even a small one, wouldn’t help.

“I will do this for you,” he pronounced. “But in exchange, I’d like for you to seriously consider coming to visit Sophia and me in Halifax.”

It seemed like a small price to pay, and I wasn’t actually promising anything, so I nodded. “It’s a deal.”

We made plans to meet at nine o’clock—he could feed Maven anytime, but we would need Quinn there to press him afterward.

Then I went home, resolved to do some research online about belladonna, even the regular variety. When I walked through the door, though, I suddenly felt exhausted . . . and oddly satisfied. We had a plan, we had the help we needed, and maybe things would be okay. I could probably afford to take a little nap. I collapsed on top of my covers and immediately drifted off to sleep.

There were no dreams at all.

I woke up to a slight, scraping pain on my hip: the familiar sensation of a dog gently clawing for my attention. I cracked open an eye and saw Cody and Chip panting happily at the side of the bed, their humid breath on my face. There was a much-abused tennis ball rolling slowly toward me. Dopey, the mentally deficient Yorkshire terrier, was on the bed next to me, her tongue hanging out as she scratched at me again. “You’re working for them now?” I complained, looking around. The clock on my bedside table said six p.m., which meant I still had a few hours before I had to be anywhere. Next to my knee, Pongo lifted his head and gave me a particularly mournful look, as if saying, “I
told
them not to wake you.”

I laughed and sat up, the willing victim of yet another dog conspiracy. “All right, mongrels,” I said. “We’ll go play.”

I put on my oldest hiking boots and we all tromped out to the yard, where Chip and Cody terrorized the tennis ball while Dopey scampered back and forth twenty feet behind them, pleased as hell to be involved. Pongo ignored all of us and flopped over in the shade next to the house. We played for a long time, until Chip began to flag, letting Cody get ahead of him to the ball. “One more throw and we’re going in, you guys!” I called out to them.

I reared back and threw the ball as hard as I could, sending it all the way to the back fence at the edge of my property. Chip and Cody gamely trotted after it, but both of them stopped twenty feet short of the fence. I squinted, trying to figure out what they were doing. They were just standing there, apparently staring at the ball. Maybe a squirrel was distracting them?

I rolled my eyes and started toward Chip and Cody, with Dopey prancing next to me. When I reached the other dogs, I saw that they weren’t just standing there—both of them had their limbs locked in tense body language. They were whining, and the hair on Cody’s neck was standing up a little. “Guys?” I said, and whistled. Both dogs glanced back at me, and then trotted toward me with sudden gratitude, pressing against me. “Was it a bear?” I asked, puzzled by their reaction. In the years I’d been living there, we’d seen a bear near the yard exactly once, but when it happened I couldn’t get them to stop barking. I took a few cautious steps toward the fence. The dogs whined a little, but none of them followed me. I rested my hands on the back fence and looked left and right, scanning for any movement low to the ground. What would unnerve Chip and Cody? I shrugged to myself and turned to walk back to the house.

On the first step, my foot landed on something hard and round. I jumped back, a little spooked, but relaxed when I realized it was just a rock. I bent and picked it up. A purple stone, the size of my palm, in a perfect cylindrical shape. The sides were smooth and shiny, like they’d been polished. Okay, that was weird, but for all I knew it could have been there for ages—I didn’t mow this far back, in the scrubby plants.

The dogs abruptly rushed me, crowding around me with waving tails like I’d just escaped a grizzly attack. “Hey, goofballs,” I said, laughing to myself. We were a long way from the house, and I suddenly remembered Jake’s warning to keep an eye on the dogs. “What am I doing?” I said out loud, feeling like an idiot. There were sick animals in the area; we shouldn’t be playing outside. I took off for the back door at a jog, absently shoving the rock in my pocket on the way.

C
hapter 19

I got cleaned up and made dinner for everyone, including live bugs for my three-legged iguana Mushu. While everyone was munching, I picked up the phone and called Jake to check up on the mysterious animal illness.

“Oh, yeah,” he said after I explained why I was calling. “I haven’t heard back from the DNR.” “Have there been any more attacks?”

“Not that I’ve seen, and I’ve been keeping my ear to the ground in the veterinary community. Of course, it’s always possible that someone would go straight to the DNR or not report it at all.”

He didn’t sound too worried. I hesitated, but I had nothing to lose. Jake wouldn’t be annoyed by stupid questions. “Listen, Elise told me about a few recent cases where people went nuts and started foaming at the mouth . . .”

He chuckled, but not unkindly. “Yeah, she called me. I gave her the number for my contact at the DNR, though I honestly doubt the two things are related. There
are
illnesses that can jump from mammals to humans, but they’re almost all parasitic,” he explained. “Tapeworm, ringworms, that kind of thing. Foaming at the mouth, on the other hand, happens when all the muscles near the mouth contract at once. It can happen to any species that’s prone to seizures. I’m sure it’s just a weird coincidence.”

“Oh, okay.” Jake didn’t sound worried, which made me feel better. And I couldn’t see how seizures could be related to anything Old World. Just to be safe, I texted Lily, who confirmed that she’d never heard of any spells that directly led to foaming at the mouth. I shrugged to myself and went to get ready.

The St. Julien Hotel is probably Boulder’s swankiest lodging. Although it doesn’t have the charm or history of our other grand hotel, the Boulderado, the St. Julien makes up for it in attractiveness and modern amenities. The entire exterior is made up of sand-colored ledgestone, so the building looks like a palace made from stacked rocks. Although I was twenty minutes early, Emil was waiting out front when I pulled up, sitting patiently on the bench encircling the courtyard fountain. I pulled up and put on the hazard lights, studying him for a moment before I got out. He was wearing the same ill-fitting clothes from earlier that day, but his face seemed guarded—and a little flushed. He kept touching one pocket, as if to reassure himself something was in there.

On a whim, I picked up my phone and Googled his name, along with “new age store” and “Halifax.” The top result was a website for Crystal Spirit Books. I clicked on it, and a picture of Emil came up right away, posed behind the counter with a cautious smile. On a whim, I touched the number for the store and raised the phone to my ear.

I was expecting some sort of answering machine, but to my surprise, a female voice answered in a whisper. “Hello, Crystal Spirit Books.”

“Uh . . . hi. You’re open.”

“Yes, we are,” the voice said pleasantly. “Madam Sophia is doing her monthly midnight reading tonight. It’s too late to sign up for a slot this month, but if you’re interested, I could put you on the schedule for June?”

“Sophia is a . . . um . . . a psychic?”

“She prefers the term ‘medium,’” said the voice, a tiny bit severe now. “She communicates with the dead.”

“Thanks, I’ll . . . think about it.”

I hung up. Sophia supplemented her income by doing spiritualist readings. Not a bad gig for a boundary witch, I supposed. Emil hadn’t mentioned that specifically, but everything about what he’d told me did seem to check out. I took another look at him, sitting alone on that bench. He wasn’t twirling a moustache or anything, so why did I suddenly feel unsettled?

You’re being stupid, Lex
, I told myself. I got out of the car and waved to him.

The drive to Simon’s lab was quiet—not tense, exactly, but there was a certain anticipation in the car that seemed to have struck both of us dumb. We mumbled polite “excuse me’s” and “thank you’s” as I led him down the steps to the basement apartment, but that was the extent of our conversation.

When Simon opened the door, I saw right away that Quinn had already arrived, doing his quiet looming thing in the background. Lily wasn’t there when we arrived—her yoga studio had contracted her out to teach a free class at the Twenty-Ninth Street mall. She’d offered to skip it, but I knew she could get fired for that. Besides, it didn’t seem like Simon and I would need her for a simple blood transfusion.

I introduced Emil to Simon and Quinn. Simon immediately stepped forward and extended his arm. “It’s very nice to meet you, sir,” he enthused, pumping Emil’s hand. Quinn was at his shoulder, with a polite not-quite-smile for my biological father. He gave a nod of acknowledgment.

“Could I trouble you for a glass of water?” Emil asked, and Simon left to get it. Emil still looked a little flushed, and I wondered if he was nervous. It would be kind of funny if he turned out to be afraid of needles.

“Are you all right?” I asked, and he nodded, managing a smile.

“Just a bit tired. I’m afraid as I get older, it gets harder and harder to fall asleep away from my own bed.”

“This way, please,” Quinn said, ushering him into the back bedroom. He had gotten Maven out of her earlier spot, curled up at the bottom of the closet, and laid her out on the bed. I saw with a bit of relief that either he or Simon had scrubbed the blood off her skin, making her look less like . . . well, a terrifyingly powerful vampire. Instead, she seemed small and vulnerable, barely more than a child. It made
me
want to open a vein to help, and I was still feeling the effects of the previous night.

“We already removed some of the tainted blood,” Simon said in a low voice. “All you need to do, Mr. Jasper, is donate about two pints, and you’re on your way.”

“After you press me, of course,” Emil added, glancing at Quinn with just a little bit of hostility in his tone.

Quinn met his gaze impassively, leaning in the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. “That’s right. Just as Lex explained.”

Emil began to say something, but then shook his head and turned toward Simon. “Ready when you are.”

Simon sat him down in the chair next to the bed and pulled in a folding chair for himself. The room was getting crowded, so I went around and stood on the other side of the bed to watch. Simon, who wasn’t nearly as skilled at IVs as Lily, couldn’t find a suitable vein on the back of Emil’s hand, so he asked him to roll up his sleeve so Simon could check the inside of Emil’s elbow. Emil leaned forward, his shirt gaping at the collar, and I saw something under the neckline swing forward on a cord. Something big and shiny.

“Is that a pocket watch?” I asked, gesturing toward his shirt. Emil flinched and put his hand flat against the shirt.

Simon inserted the needle, and Emil shot me an embarrassed look. “Just a good-luck charm, I’m afraid,” he said. “Something my mother gave me.”

“May I see it?” I said lightly.

Emil glanced at Simon, who was attaching tape to the needle. “I’m a bit embarrassed,” he murmured.

“Please? I’m really interested.”

Reluctantly, Emil reached into the neck of his shirt and tugged out the leather cord. The necklace spilled across his chest, but it was a lot more than one charm. There were at least eight different stone bars on the cord, and each one of them gleamed with perfection. The smallest was green and the size of my thumb. The largest was nearly as big as a three-pound hand weight. No wonder the guy’s clothes were hanging weird.

Simon sat back, staring with frank admiration. “Holy shit,” he said. “I don’t know much about crystals, but those look like museum-quality pieces.”

With his free hand, Emil hurried to tuck the necklace back into his shirt. “Yes, well. Mother wanted me to be protected, even if I don’t have magic of my own.”

“Do you know much about—” Simon began, but cut himself off, leaning closer to Emil. “Wait. I think your pupils are dilated. Turn toward the light, please?”

“I’m sure it’s just the lighting. The IV looks fine. Are we all set?” He looked at Simon expectantly. Simon shrugged slightly and reached for the rubber tubing so he could connect it to Emil’s IV.

“Stop,” I heard myself saying, though I wasn’t sure why. “Something’s not right.”

Simon and Emil both began talking at the same time, but it was Quinn who strode forward, grabbed the end of Emil’s just-taped IV, and yanked. The tape came loose with a small ripping sound, and a tiny trickle of blood spurted out.

Before any of us could process what he was doing, Quinn smeared a finger in the blood and stuck it in his mouth. Then he spat. “Belladonna,” he growled.

Before anyone could react to that, he had grabbed Emil by the throat and was beginning to lift. Emil’s legs kicked out, blood trickling down his arm.

“Who the hell are you?” Quinn demanded.

“I can explain,” Emil began in a reasonable tone—just as he pulled a stake out of one pocket and plunged it into Quinn’s chest.