The Soother (11 page)

Seeing how Calliope dealt with her mother gave him a better understanding of just how she used her soothing gift. A soft touch that never wavered, a gentle voice that never faltered, a smooth transfer of healing energy that while faint, never waned — all evident in her constant, almost imperceptible movements.

After caring for Ambra, Calliope moved on to the next witch and started the process over again. Shed tears were swept away by tender fingers and reassuring hugs. Now that the witches were outside the boundaries of their village, their magick had returned, but most were too weak to summon it, and instead relied on Calliope and a handful of others to tend to their needs. He had no idea how Calliope had managed to stay on her feet as long as she had. She’d been at it all night. When would she get her turn to grieve?

Krystoff pulled his hands out of his trouser pockets and shoved up the sleeves of his black sweater. He’d seen enough. If he didn’t move in now, Calliope would be completely tapped. He pushed his shadows away and waded through the makeshift beds until he stood behind her, his shins close enough to touch her back.

“You’ve done enough. Come rest.”

She rocked back on her heels, glanced up at him over her shoulder, and offered a weak smile. “I will soon. They need my help,” she said. “I’m okay.”

Krystoff huffed. “No you’re not. You’re practically a zombie.”

Calliope patted the knee of the young witch she currently attended to, and then stood to move on. “I look that bad, huh?” she asked and scanned the group, no doubt triaging her patients.

He wasn’t about to let her dismiss him. Krystoff followed closely, uncaring that several of the witches
tsk’d
at him as if he were a child. He did manage to offer a fangless and slightly condescending smile as he passed. One more
tsk
, though, and he couldn’t be held accountable.

“You look beautiful,” he said to Calliope. “And near dead.” In tune with her pulse, it appeared to Krystoff that even her blood flowed sluggishly through her veins. He rubbed the back of her neck with his thumb, felt the knots of tension in her tight muscles. Guilt had his own muscles bunching. The time to confess was on the horizon, though the repercussions didn’t appeal at all. “You need to sleep, refuel. You’ll be more help then.”

“As I said,” she replied through gritted teeth. “They need me now.”

He tipped his head. Obviously, she didn’t like anyone to interfere with her
duties
. “I understand. But I’m not opposed to using force, Calliope.” His voice had dropped to a volume meant only for Calliope to hear.

Her shoulders stiffened and she shifted away from his touch. “Don’t even think about it. I know my limits.” Calliope turned, sighed. “You barely know me at all.”

Shrugging, he said. “Not to worry. That will be rectified soon enough.” Krystoff stretched his arms and pointed his staff toward the morning sun that had his exposed skin tingling like fire ants had declared war. The sky darkened and the nearby shadows expanded, crept toward him with cat-like determination, a roiling sea of gloom.

Calliope glared, shook her head and pulled her jacket closed. She took two steps backward. More retreating steps followed. Krystoff held his ground and continued to work his magick. If she wouldn’t rest willingly, he’d use the shadows to knock her out. “My apologies in advance, angel. Isabelle and I will take over for awhile.”

“Damn you.”

Krystoff smirked as the shadows closed in, encasing them in a dark and chilly world. “I’m already damned. Anything more is redundant.” He stepped in the moment Calliope’s knees gave way.

• • •

Krystoff and Isabelle patrolled the perimeter in the afternoon sun while Calliope slept beneath the shade of a weeping willow. Krystoff kept one eye on her, anticipating the moment she woke up he’d be in for one hell of a fight, and one eye on the hills, expecting trouble in the form of Riona and her nasties. They were out there somewhere, lurking, waiting, biding their time. He’d long ago pulled down his sleeves and donned gloves in an attempt to ward off the effects of the sun, which were now merely uncomfortable as opposed to unbearable.

Isabelle, on the other hand, had exposed her skin to the hot beams by pulling her long hair into a haphazard bun that bobbed on the top of her head with every step she took. No wonder, considering her combat boots were too big and clunky for her string-bean legs.

“My shadows don’t seem to bother you. Why is that?” Krystoff slid his gaze sideways to study Isabelle, trying to understand what made her so different than Calliope. Not that he knew a lot about soothers, but it seemed to him that whatever drained one would drain another.

She lifted a shoulder. “Honestly? I think it’s because of my age. I’ve been sequestered my entire life. This is the first time I’ve ever been outside the village.” She kicked at a pebble, sending it careening into a nearby tree. “Not the way I’d expected my first excursion to go down, but here we are anyway. I guess I’m not tainted enough by the ways of the worlds to be affected. Besides,” she said, smiling. “You’re not so bad. You just look tough.”

Krystoff coughed into his hand. “I beg your pardon. I am very tough.” Now out of the immediate battle zone, he marveled at the way Isabelle had pulled herself together. Would she retain that strength when the next battle ensued?

“Not
very
.” She giggled. “
Very
is really, really pushing it. I’d say you’re fractionated.”

“I see. Did you just make up that word?”

“I could tell you yes, and you’d probably believe me. But I can’t take credit for this one. I like words. Certain circumstances call for certain words that some may be unfamiliar with.” Isabelle pointed a finger in his direction. “This happens to be one of those instances.”

“Well said. Okay, Madam Dictionary, define ‘fractionated’.”

“It means you’re separated into different portions. You, Mr. Sorta Wizard, are more fractionated than most.”

“Am I?” He certainly was, though how this witchling knew what existed within him was a mystery he had every intention of solving.

“Yep.” Isabelle reached inside her pocket, pulled out a pack of gum. She offered him a piece and when he declined, she unwrapped a stick, popped it in her mouth and jammed the rest of the pack back into her pocket.

“That’s it? ‘Yep’ and some gum smacking?”

“That’s all I’ve got. I can’t share all my secrets with you.” She blew a large bubble and sucked it into her mouth before it could pop. “I’ve gotta keep something for myself.”

Book-smart
and
street-smart. He had to hand it to her. Isabelle would keep him on his toes every bit as much as Calliope, but for completely different reasons. He liked the young chit, and that said a lot considering he hadn’t come across many he could even tolerate over the last several years. She’d impressed him with how she’d more than stepped up to the plate after he’d knocked Calliope out. Before Krystoff could even ask Isabelle for assistance, she’d rushed to make Calliope a plush bed full of blankets and pillows. So what if he’d conjured more luxuries for Calliope than the others? So what.

Together, they’d tackled the task of dressing wounds, dispensing water and berries, and using thoughtful coercion techniques to get the witches to sleep. Most had labeled him as the enemy, as was evident in the lethal sneers he’d grown accustomed to. Some even went as far to slap his hands away while muttering villain, assassin and murderer under their breaths. He couldn’t blame them. Something had shifted inside him and Krystoff had no idea which side of the line he belonged on. For the time being, it was better just to toe it and use his staff for balance until he figured his life out.

Once everyone was rested and able to use magick again, Krystoff planned to leave. If he could somehow manage to get Riona to track him, Calliope and her coven would have a fighting chance to escape, take some time to regroup and then rebuild. Acidic teeth gnawed at his gut and pierced his heart. He’d have to leave Calliope behind and that prospect held zero appeal.

Though he’d recently fed, hunger pangs hit him every time he glanced at her sleeping form. Her hands cushioned her pale cheek and her knees were pulled up to her stomach. What he wouldn’t give to have someone paint a portrait of her as she was now. The constant mountain wind carried her magickal scent, but every now and then he’d catch faint whiffs of her essence riding on the breeze toward him like an arrow that had honed in on its target. Now was one of those times. Faint had turned into heavy and potent, and he’d turned into an alcoholic willing to do anything for one small sip. Sleeping must have been exactly what Calliope had needed to get her blood surging again. Krystoff closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Magick and blood. His two favorite things. He tilted his head and cracked his neck as the urge to feast consumed and demanded action.

“You okay?” Isabelle asked.

Krystoff bit his hollowed out cheeks, then forced his fangs to retract. That was nearly impossible. “I will be,” he said through clenched teeth. It wasn’t safe for Isabelle to be around him right now. He didn’t want to hurt her, but the desire to feed had grown too strong and his control was teetering on the wrong side of the cliff. “Go check on Ambra. I need a few moments alone.”

Isabelle scrunched her brows. “You sure? You don’t look so good.” She reached out.

Krystoff yanked his arm back, evading her touch. “Don’t question me,” he snapped.

Isabelle blinked. “I’m just saying I can help you. You don’t have to get an attitude.”

Isabelle’s anger amped up her pulse and color flooded her cheeks. Hunger pangs whipped through Krystoff’s gut. Grinding his teeth, he snuck a look at Calliope — the witch whose blood truly called to him — and then put all his power of persuasion into one word. “Go.”

• • •

“Watch out, girly. The enemy is watching you.”

Calliope turned toward the vaguely familiar craggily voice but didn’t have the energy to crack open her eyes. Like a sunken ship, her limbs were heavy and glued to the sea floor. It would take heavy-duty machinery to get her out of the horizontal position, and even then she seriously doubted she could stand on her own. The combination of grief, pain, and Krystoff’s shadows had really done a number on her.

“She’s telling the truth.” This time the voice was a smooth whisper very close to Calliope’s ear. “He’s looking at you like you’re dinner. It’s unnatural.”

Unnatural?
Some would say the same about witchcraft. Their whispering was no different than shouting through a bullhorn. Krystoff probably had super enhanced hearing to go with all his other vampiric abilities. “He’s harmless,” Calliope muttered, though in truth she knew Krystoff was anything but.

“Pfft,” said the craggily one.

Calliope chanced an eye roll, knowing the two witches couldn’t see it since her eyes were still closed. Muscles tight, she stretched and attempted to sit up. Her efforts were in vain. Exhaustion had taken root and nothing short of a spa treatment in a kingdom full of juggling royal jokers would rejuvenate her. Yes. She was that tired, and the feeling didn’t sit well. She had too much to do. They would have to move on soon. Without a doubt, she knew the Mistropans would be coming after them. “Help me up, please.”

Two sets of hands grabbed her arms and hoisted her into an upright position. They tucked soft cushions behind her back and against her sides, and then pulled the blanket up over her legs. Somehow the mountain getaway had turned into a plush hotel that all but smothered her. Calliope pushed the restrictive blanket away and rubbed at her heavy and scratchy eyes. Apparently she’d face-planted into the sand before her ship had sunk. Sure felt like it, anyway. That would also explain why her mouth was so dry. With focused determination, she managed to untwine her lashes enough to make out the two gossipers haloed by the bright sun. May as well call them Thelma and Gertrude and stick them in the middle of a small town’s church festival with all the clucking they were doing.

Covering her yawn with the back of her hand, she said, “What are you two jabbering about?”

Two fingers, two heads, and four bulging eyes pointed south. Calliope swiveled her creaky neck and immediately sank back down. Worried that any slight movement would provoke an attack, she slowly reached for the blanket and pulled it up to her chin, while sliding covert glances to her right. They weren’t kidding. Krystoff was hungry and if she read the intensity of his gaze correctly, she was his one and only seven-course meal. Heat flooded her cheeks and shot a straight path to her core. Each time she saw him, her attraction tripled. If he wasn’t interested in her for her blood, she’d most certainly dabble with the wizard who stood dead-still, hands in his pockets, possessive look in his eyes. He still wore all black. The color suited him. So did the magick, as she was quickly figuring out.

She should be worried he would take blood from another witch if she didn’t allow him to feed from her. She wasn’t. Maybe she was naïve, maybe conceited, though she really didn’t think so. He’d brought every witch to this mountain and not once did she see him even appear to be half-interested in any of them. Why was that? Weren’t vamps supposed to be indiscriminate in their donors, willing or not? Once again, she was reminded that he was not normal or predictable in any way. The fact that his abnormalities excited her probably meant she wasn’t normal either. Calliope mentally shrugged. Nothing she could do about that.

Soft bells tinkled nearby. “Let her rest.”

This voice Calliope recognized. “Blessed be, Tia. How are you feeling?”

“I’m faring better than you, it seems.” Tia smoothed Calliope’s hair with a gentle hand.

“Don’t worry,” she said to whoever was listening, but mostly for her own benefit. “I’m going back to sleep now.” As if she had a choice. The abyss was sucking her under with inky fingers, clawing and tugging at her body. “He’ll be fine.”
Maybe
.

“It’s your neck on the line.”

This from Thelma. Or was it Gertrude? Who knew? Calliope’s ears had already stopped working as she started to drift, leaving the gossipmongers to their own devices. Hopefully, Tia would keep them from causing too much trouble for Krystoff. Calliope did, however, manage to cover her neck with two pillows before she went comatose.