Jocelynn Drake - [Asylum Tales 02] (35 page)

Minutes ticked by one after another in an ever-thickening tension. I didn’t know if it was a good sign or a bad one. If they decided too quickly, would it mean they had ruled against me? If it took too long, would they go to a verbal vote? I wasn’t counting on a verbal vote ending in my favor, and a tie would be worse, as I would be imprisoned until the new council member cast the deciding vote.

When I was sure that I would explode from impatience, the glowing orbs dimmed and everyone straightened in their chairs. No one was smiling.

“You’ve left us with a quandary, Mr. Powell,” the witch commented. “You’ve admitted to breaking your agreement and casting forbidden magic, but you’ve done the Towers a great favor and offered your services, which I’m sure you find quite distasteful.” She paused, her frown deepening. “Killing you is the easy answer, but then we would feel as if we had been . . . ungrateful for your assistance. It may also show the rest of the Towers that we don’t appreciate the vigilance of our fellow warlocks and witches in our protection. We have decided on leniency, this one time.”

“Thank you.” I sighed with relief as I bowed deeply to them.

“I would hold your appreciation until you’ve heard our terms,” she sharply continued, causing an uneasy flutter in my chest. “We will accept your offer. You will become the eyes and ears of the council while living among the people. You will execute our edicts, punish those who threaten us, and deliver those who need to be questioned by the council.”

I took a step back, frowning. “You make it sound as if I am to be included as a part of the guardians.”

The guardians were the enforcement arm of the Towers. When the people shook in terror at the Towers, the guardians were the group they were usually thinking of. This was bad. I had been thinking of something less obtrusive and deeply hidden. The council’s agreement meant that I was back to killing and torturing people for the Towers.

“That can’t be because I’d have to be considered an inhabitant of the Towers to take on such a role,” I said, shaking my head.

She said nothing. She stared at me with cold, dead eyes. I wanted to scream at them all, but I couldn’t because I couldn’t catch my breath. As the truth hit me, I started hyperventilating. To survive, I had to take their offer, which meant that I was a part of the Towers again.
I was one of them. I was back.

Nearly a decade ago, I had fought my mentor, nearly killed him, and nearly died in the process to break free. I had survived a hearing before the council. I lost my family, survived repeated assassination attempts, and lay hidden, lying to the world for years. All of it to escape the Towers. And now I had to choose between death and willingly returning to the enemy’s ranks. The killing I had sworn against doing would only be the tip of the iceberg once I was at the beck and call of the council. If they wanted me to live among the people, they wouldn’t give away my secret, but I’d still have to look at myself in the mirror each day, remembering the lives I destroyed for them.
The life I had built was slipping through my fingers.

I drew in a deep, fragmented breath, trying to stop my hyperventilating. I was on my knees on the cold, black floor, but I couldn’t remember how I had gotten there. A cold sweat covered me and I was so light-headed that the room seemed to sway.

Gideon’s dress shoes came into view. He couldn’t touch me, offer any comfort without giving himself away, but knowing he was close kept me from feeling quite so alone in that ocean of cold, black stone. His presence was a silent reminder that he was a guardian and yet he maintained a secret life that was a place of love and happiness with a wife and daughter. He had found ways around the council’s orders. He was quietly helping the runaways. Yes, he did horrible things for the Towers, but he also did positive things that were protecting lives—namely mine.

If I agreed to serve the council, I could help people like Gideon. I could do more than I was able to do now. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to face myself at the end of the day. Sadly, as I sat there staring at the shine on Gideon’s shoes, I knew I had already decided. I was sick with the thought, but the truth was that I was desperate to live.

When I spoke, the words were so ragged they sounded as if they had been torn from my chest. “If I accept, will I be reinstated to the full privileges of a Tower member?”

The silence stretched but I didn’t look up. They were discussing my question among themselves. My question covered a multitude of sins, but my main concern was being permitted to use all forms of magic again, and they knew it.

The witch’s voice washed over me, sounding less harsh than it had been earlier. “Not yet. This will be on a trial basis. If you prove yourself diligent and trustworthy, we will consider reinstating all your privileges. For now, you may use magic only in self-defense and in relation to a task done in service to the council.”

I frowned. The door wasn’t closed on the topic, but reinstatement to full privileges was looking unlikely. On the other hand, the witch had given me a nice amount of gray area to work in, definitely more breathing room than I had had before.

“Will I retain a warden?”

“Yes.”

“Not Toussaint,” I said sharply, trying to infuse as much anger and hatred into those two words as I could. I lifted my head and glared at the council. “He’s been a knife in my side for nearly a decade and I’ve had enough. His constant abuse and attempts at entrapment have gone against our agreement of live and let live. I want someone else!” By the time I was finished, I was on my feet; I didn’t have to fake the anger.

The “pregnant” warlock lounged in his chair and smiled broadly at me. “It seems Master Toussaint is doing an excellent job, so why should we relieve him of the task? He will remain your warden.” He had spoken without consulting any of the other council members and none would disagree with his decision out loud, though several looked like they wanted to.

My attempt at reverse psychology had been clumsy and ham-fisted, but it was all I could think of. I was afraid that if someone else was assigned to watch over me, the Towers would simply kill Gideon for his failure to curb my magic use. Luckily, the warlock who had just spoken had been so eager to see me suffer that he didn’t think about my possible motivations. I scowled at him, playing my part, but others didn’t look so convinced.

“For your first assignment,” the witch broke in, drawing my eyes back to her, “you will kill the dark elf for his attack on the Towers. And you will kill him with magic.”

Panic surged through my frame for a second and I even saw Gideon stiffen beside me. I knew why they’d decided this. Punishment for outmaneuvering them. I’d lose a year of my life for killing Reave with magic, and not one of the crappy ones off the end. It could be one of the good years right out of the goddamn middle. But it wasn’t losing a year of my life that bothered me. It was the fact that Lilith would have me in her clutches for two whole years since she was holding a chunk of my soul.

Of course, this was all assuming that my body would be preserved during the years I was dead. I couldn’t come back if I didn’t have a body to come back to.

I wanted to scream and rant at them. I wanted to tell them that they were handing me into the most dangerous being in existence—Lilith would use those two years to break free and I wouldn’t be able to stop it. But I knew they wouldn’t listen. They wouldn’t believe me when I told them she really existed and they would never believe anyone could be more powerful than the Towers. There was nothing I could do.

Not trusting my voice, I gave a jerky nod and turned toward Reave, who was watching me. He’d known he was going to die when Gideon and I brought him to the Towers. He’d had enough time to accept it. Hell, he’d probably known he was going to die the moment he embarked on this insane scheme. He was just disappointed that he didn’t take me down with him.

“Release him,” I barked. Gideon hesitated. I liked to think that he was mentally scrambling, trying to think of a way out for me, but in the end, the binding spell disappeared. There was no way out. If I didn’t do as they asked, they’d kill me. If Gideon did it for me, they’d kill both of us.

Reave balanced on one leg, the toe of his injured one barely touching the floor. His bearing was straight and his head was high as he stared me in the eyes. He was in pain but you couldn’t tell. I hated Reave. I hated him because he was behind the death of countless creatures. I hated him for tearing Robert out of my life. I hated him for all the harm he had done to Bronx. I hated him for helping to destroy the life I loved. But standing there as he was, with body straight and gaze unflinching, I had to respect him, and that was the only reason why I killed him as quickly as possible.

Gathering up a quick swell of energy, I thrust both my hands forward and Reave jerked as if I had plunged them through his chest. I clenched my fists together, gathering the energy around his heart, crushing it. The Svartálfar gasped, his eyes widening in pain, and then he collapsed, dead.

It took only seconds to kill him and it would cost me a year of my life. I could hear Lilith laughing maniacally in my head as she celebrated the second year I now owed her.

“Excellent,” the witch said, jerking my attention back to the council. “An agreement has been reached. All is settled. This meeting is adjourned.” She pounded her staff on the floor twice, signaling the end of the meeting. There was a low murmur of conversation as people either disappeared from the chamber or filed out of the room through one of the doors. The council members disappeared one after another. Except the dandy.

He smiled at me, sending a chill down my spine. “Next time you come before the council, you may want to consider dressing for the event, Master Powell.” He dipped his staff toward me and I could feel a wash of magic run down my body like someone had poured a bucket of cold water over my head. I held his gaze, refusing to flinch, until he disappeared. When I looked down, I found myself wearing a suit identical to the one Gideon had on.

I wanted to scream, and cry, and burn the whole fucking place down. Instead, I looked over at Gideon to find him staring at the chair the dandy had sat in.

“Who was that?”

Gideon sighed, a sound that seemed to come up from the bottom of his soul. “Darius Courtland. You don’t want his attention. You definitely don’t want to be caught alone with him. He makes Thorn and Fox look like Boy Scouts.”

“Figured as much,” I muttered. That was about how my luck ran. There wasn’t anyone on the council I particularly wanted to face off against, but there was something about Darius that made my blood run cold with fear.

“I think he’s the one who killed Peter.” Gideon’s voice had dipped to a whisper, as if he was afraid that someone was listening, but we were now alone in the council chamber.

The warlock blinked and turned to face me. Sadness filled his eyes, making me feel uncomfortable, mostly because he was sad about the things I wasn’t yet letting myself think about. If there was anyone who knew what the agreement I had just made cost me, it was Gideon. I had a feeling that in the deep dark of the night, when he had his arms wrapped tightly around the waist of his secret wife as they cuddled in bed, he wished he had gotten out like me.

“Welcome home,” he said, a grim smile touching the corners of his mouth.

Oh God . . . I was back.

30

IT WAS NEARLY
three in the afternoon and the sun was beating down from a clear blue sky as if it was trying to convince the inhabitants of Low Town that it was the middle of June rather than the start of October. Leaning against the side of my SUV, I tilted my face up and closed my eyes as I soaked in the warmth. The leaves had already started to change into a blend of red, yellow, and orange, and the smell in the air held echoes of fall, but today felt like summer with the warm air and the distant growl of lawn mowers gliding across lawns.

My birthday was only a few days away and we were hoping the nice weather would hold up. Trixie was planning a grill-out, complete with scorched meat, fireworks, and a plastic wading pool, because she was desperately trying to keep a smile on my face. She had even gone so far as to suggest that I invite Gideon and his family, though I wasn’t expecting them to show. I hadn’t been smiling much since my return from the Ivory Tower. Trixie hadn’t asked what happened, and I hadn’t volunteered any information, but the question was coming. For now, she waited and watched me with a worried look when she didn’t think I could see her.

The Towers had made no demands of me yet, but that would come too. The world had fallen into a tense peace as people tried to return to their lives while holding their breath in anticipation. Few knew why the Towers had destroyed Indianapolis or attacked Low Town and most didn’t think the attacks were over yet.

The sound of leathery wings flapping caught my attention. I lowered my face and opened my eyes as I turned toward the noise. Duff landed on the hood of the SUV, where he did a little dance, hopping from one foot to the other as his bare feet cooked on the hot metal. With a frown, I stepped close so that he could crawl up to perch half on my shoulder and half on my head while his long tail curled around my arm.

Duff weighed the same as a small dog, so this wasn’t the most comfortable position, but for some reason, he liked to be close to me. In the few times he’d popped into the parlor, I’d never seen him try this with Bronx or Trixie.

“Were you waiting for me?” he asked with a chuckle.

“You know I was,” I said as I leaned against the car again. “How’re things at the shop?”

“Trixie just finished up with the queen’s tattoo and it is so lovely,” he said, excitement filling his voice. “The king was a gentleman the entire time. Your friend wasn’t needed.”

I kept my comments to myself. When I discovered that I couldn’t be at the shop when Trixie tattooed the king and queen of the Summer Court, I’d asked my friend Parker Banton to hang out and keep an eye on the king. Parker was pretty good at taking care of himself and I knew he’d watch out for Trixie for me, but I had asked him because he was an incubus. It was a subtle threat. If the king gave Trixie any grief, Parker was going to use his unique charm on the queen. Considering the queen was now pregnant with the king’s child, I thought that jealousy would keep him on his best behavior.

Of course, the king also knew what I was and that I considered Trixie mine. I didn’t think the elf was stupid enough to piss me off more than he already had.

“You should have seen him,” Duff continued. He pulled at my hair with his little fingers as if he were playing with it. He paused and bent down so that his upside-down face was directly in front of mine. “He was so attentive to the queen. I think they are past their quarrel and are in love again.”

I closed my eyes before they could cross and pushed his head up so that it was no longer in front of mine. Duff specialized in being ridiculous.

“How’s your pixie friend?”

“Much happier now that the dark elf is gone.” We stood there in companionable silence for another couple minutes before Duff tightened his fists in my hair and pulled until I looked up at him. “Well, you’ve had my report. No more stalling from you. Get in there. Once I see you inside, I have to report back to Trixie and then I am joining the pixies. They’re starting their trip to Buenos Aires tomorrow. We’re following the Summer Court to their next destination. I’ve also heard whispers from the Winter Court that they’re planning an ice storm before All Hallows’ Eve.”

I pushed away from my SUV as Duff launched himself into the air. “Safe travels.”

The hobgoblin settled on the low branch of an old oak tree and then pointed over my shoulder. He was right. I was stalling.

Taking a deep breath, I walked up the sidewalk to the red-brick ranch with the dark blue shutters I had been sitting outside of for nearly thirty minutes. The yard was neatly trimmed and two sedans sat in the driveway, baking in the afternoon sun. I got to the front porch before I started to lose my nerve. I wiped my sweaty palms down the legs of my brown cargo pants and over the edge of my navy polo shirt. They were the nicest clothes I owned besides the fucking dark suits that kept appearing in my closet. I shredded the first two only to have four appear the next morning. I wished it was Gideon’s doing, but I knew it was Darius taunting me.

Cursing my cowardice, I punched the doorbell with my index finger before I could chicken out. I held my breath, listening to the sound of footsteps echoing through the house as one of the occupants approached the door. My heart pounded and my throat was threatening to close up on me. As the footsteps stopped by the door, I realized I didn’t have a clue as to what I was going to say. I almost bolted when the door was pulled open.

My first thought was that she was shorter than I remembered, but then I realized that I must not have been done growing when I last saw her. Her hair was still pale blond, making it nearly impossible to pick out the gray hairs, and there were more lines around her eyes and mouth. It wasn’t so much that they made her look older as that they softened her lovely face.

“Hello,” she said in a voice that cut straight through my heart. There was no recognition in her eyes at first, but they immediately swept up for a closer inspection as if something had registered faintly in the back of her mind.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I started, my voice low and rough. My eyes darted away from hers, no longer able to hold her gaze as I frantically searched my mind for what to say next. What was I supposed to say?
Hi, I’m the middle child who ruined your lives.

“Jason?” Her haunted whisper jerked my gaze back to her face. Tears were filling her eyes. My entire body tensed painfully. I licked my lips and tried to say something, anything, but I couldn’t make a sound past the lump in my throat. I finally settled on a nod.

My mother gave a harsh cry before she threw both of her thin arms around my neck, holding me in an impossibly tight embrace. Her fragile body was racked with violent sobs as she held me in her arms. I hugged her, wrapping my arms around her.

From the back of the house, I heard heavy footsteps rushing toward us, and the tension that had started to ease returned. I took a step backward, pulling my mom with me as my father turned the final corner to enter the hallway. I was afraid of being rejected, of being blamed for their hardship. It was no less than I deserved, but that thought did nothing to protect me against the pain.

My father was still a tall, broad-shouldered man, but his brown hair had gone completely gray. Confused anger hardened his features as he looked from his crying wife to me standing in her tight embrace. “What’s going on here?”

My mother pulled back enough so she could turn to look at him, but both of her hands were tightly fisted in my shirt as if she were afraid that I was going to disappear. “It’s Jason. It’s our baby Jason,” she cried.

He held back, his eyes narrowed on me, searching my features. I wasn’t sure what my mother had seen to convince her it was me, but it only took him a second to see it as well. His face crumpled in a blink and I found myself pulled roughly into the house by big hands before I was engulfed in a hug by my father.

I don’t know how long we stood there, hugging and crying; somewhere between a heartbeat and forever, but I knew it would never be long enough. It was only when my mother laughed that we started to pull away.

“Goodness,” she said, wiping away her tears with her right hand while her left hand was tightly clenched in my right. “The neighbors must think we’re crazy, standing in the open doorway, crying like a bunch of loonies.”

My father and I laughed, letting the last of the tension ease from my shoulders. My father reached past me and closed the door while my mom ushered me down the hall toward the living room. I stopped, my eyes falling on the wall filled with framed photographs. They were all family photographs taken over the years. Sadly, there were no pictures of me over the age of seven, and those were all of the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy I had been so long ago. I was surprised to find that I was on the wall. It was only when I was standing there staring at the pictures that I realized I hadn’t expected them to be on the wall.

Something must have shown on my face, because Mom touched my cheek. “Jason, honey, what is it?”

“I didn’t expect to see my picture here,” I admitted softly before I thought about what I was saying.

Dad placed a hand on my shoulder from where he was standing directly behind me. “Of course your picture is here.”

“I talked to Robert.” My voice was rough with emotion. I wasn’t angry. Just surprised. “He said you told everyone that I died. He said that I was the reason you were forced to move and come to Low Town. I figured when you started fresh here, there’d be no evidence of my existence.”

Mom placed both her hands on my cheeks, forcing me to look down at her. “Oh, no, honey,” she started, and then stopped, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. “I mean, yes, we did tell people you had died when you first left, but we were always so ashamed of that lie. We have never been ashamed of you and your wonderful gift. But they told us it would be easier if we told everyone you were dead. We never took your pictures down and we never denied that you are our son.”

I folded my mother in a fierce hug. “I’m not angry. You did what everyone does, what you were supposed to do. I guess I’m surprised. I wasn’t sure how you’d react to seeing me again. I’m sorry about what happened in Vermont. I’m so sorry I screwed up your lives.”

“Jason Stephen Grant,” Dad thundered behind me, causing me to flinch. I hadn’t heard anyone use my entire real name since I was six and in trouble for covering the dog in green food coloring. “I don’t ever want to hear you apologize for that nonsense. You have nothing to be sorry for or ashamed of. Like your mother said, we’re proud of your gift and have no regrets. And the weather is much nicer here than in Vermont.”

I laughed. I couldn’t stop. If my father was anything, he was always practical.

We walked into the living room with its pale yellow walls and thick brown carpet. I sat on the end of the couch while Dad took the chair nearest to me. Mom hovered, offering to get drinks but seeming unable to let go of my hand. I squeezed hers and smiled. “I’ll be here when you get back, I promise.” She gave a jerky nod and then released my hand as she expelled a heavy breath before disappearing back down the hall.

Dad shifted to the edge of his chair, leaning close as he clapped his hand on my shoulder. “We’re happy to see you, son, don’t misunderstand me,” he started softly so Mom couldn’t overhear. “But the last time we saw you, you said you weren’t coming back because it was too dangerous. I’m guessing something has changed.”

I sighed. “Yes and no. There’s some danger, but not like before. If you want, I’ll leave. I can alter your memories. You’ll never know I was here.”

“No! No!” Dad said quickly, sitting back in his chair. “Damn glad you’re here. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He knew there was a lot I wasn’t saying, and he wasn’t going to ask for more information, but he felt that he needed to have a handle on the situation. As I said, Dad was practical. “Regardless of your hocus-pocus, you know you’re not getting out of here before having Sunday dinner. It’s not as fancy as when you were a kid, but your mom still makes a great pot roast.”

Sunday dinner had been a tradition in my family. Throughout the week, all of us were constantly running for school, work, soccer practice, Little League games, and music lessons, but by some odd twist of fate, Sunday dinner seemed to be one time when we all managed to be in the house at the same time. Mom and Dad had taken turns each week making a large meal that we ate while sitting around the formal dining room table. When I had been taken by Simon to the Towers, it was the first thing I missed from my old life.

Mom quickly rejoined us with drinks and then took a seat next to me, her hand slipping back into mine. A part of me wanted to keep the conversation light, filled with silly stories and random incidents, but that wasn’t why I had come to their house. Mom squeezed my hand and smiled at me, trying to look encouraging. She knew there was something, but then that was Mom. Dad was practical and Mom always knew when we were hurting like she had some kind of mystical sixth sense.

Slowly, I told them about Robert. I cleaned up the story as much as I could, but something in Dad’s eyes told me he knew I was leaving bits out. The last thing I told them was that his final thoughts as Robert Grant had been about them. I never mentioned his new name or the direction I sent him in. I also didn’t mention the deal I had made with the Towers to keep him safe.

We sat in silence for several minutes. I kept my eyes fixed on my untouched iced tea, the glass sweating on the coffee table while I listened to my mother cry.

“Is he safe now?” she asked, both her hands tightly gripping mine.

“As safe as I could have possibly made him.”

She nodded. “Thank you. I don’t know what it cost you to do it, but thank you for saving your brother.”

I took a deep breath and launched into a brief and somewhat clean version of my life, trying to distract them as much as possible from the loss of yet another son. I knew they’d think about Robert and cry when I left, but for now we smiled and laughed over my bad relationships and tattooing adventures.

A comfortable lull in the conversation had Dad taking command again. “Was Robert the reason for this visit?”