Wilder (14 page)

Chapter 25

C
harisma found Guardian washing in the waterfall. Showering, actually. He turned his head to look at her—obviously he would not allow her to sneak up on him again—and then returned to soaping himself thoroughly.

She approved. Not only had he smelled like blood and demon guts and sweat and fighting, but now she got to see him naked.

Charisma was not one to deny herself the creature comforts. So to speak.

She dragged a chair—a new chair that replaced one of the ones Guardian had smashed—close to the stream. “Getting those hands clean?” she asked.

“Peeking?” he retorted.

Don’t be snotty with me, mister.
“I don’t have to peek. I’ve seen it, and I’ve felt it. This is more like after-season reruns.”

The trouble with her snark, of course, was that she saw him grin before he disappeared under the water.

He thought she was amusing. Was there any greater flattery? The man was too charming for his own good.

When he came out, he had a bottle of shampoo and he proceeded to use it vigorously . . . all . . . over . . . his . . . body.

Charming. And a tease.

“About Aleksandr Wilder . . . it sounds as if you were a little in love with him, too.” He sounded stuffed up, as if he had water up his nose.

Good.
He
was
jealous. “No. Aleksandr and I were good friends. Of all the Chosen, we’re the ones who are about the same age. Plus we had a lot of interests in common. In college, I majored in earth sciences. He majored in engineering and mathematics. He tutored calculus in the summer.”

“You were geeks.”

“A very rude, blunt person might say that,” she said primly; then she grinned. “Thank God for Aleksandr, because he’s done some . . . I mean, he did some fabulous computer stuff for the Chosen Ones. Hacked information for us, built software, did research. Brilliant guy.”

“What was his gift?”

“He didn’t have one.” She laughed at the expression on Guardian’s face. “Remember I said the Chosen Ones’ gifts were fading? The board of directors had trouble finding seven Chosen Ones to fill the quota, so they drafted Aleksandr.”

“If he didn’t have a gift, what was the point?”

“It was his background. He’s a Wilder, a family famous among the folks who fight this battle.”

“What did they do?” Again that stuffy, stifled voice.

“Old Konstantine Wilder is from the Ukraine, from the oldest and most famous crime family ever. The way he tells it, a thousand years ago, the original Konstantine Varinski made a deal with the devil. In return for giving him and all his descendants the ability to transform into beasts of prey, he promised that they would serve the devil in all his guises. To seal the deal, he killed his own mother—”

“Nice guy.”

“—and sacrificed his soul and the souls of his descendants. The current Konstantine and his wife, Zorana, immigrated to the US, changed their name to Wilder, had four kids, and twenty-five years ago they broke the devil’s pact.”

“Not an easy deal, I don’t imagine.” Guardian stepped out and grabbed a towel off the rock shelf, and he seemed not at all concerned about covering up.

In fact, Charisma would have said he was flaunting himself.

She gave him full flaunting points.

Guardian said, “If Aleksandr Wilder had no gift, I still don’t see why he was drafted as one of the Chosen Ones.”

It took Charisma a moment to gather her thoughts, ignore the beast that stood naked before her, and get back to the conversation. “When he was only three, Aleksandr performed a very important task in the breaking of the pact. He went through fire while sheltered in his mother’s arms. He was a whiz kid without ever having done anything that he could remember.”

“So he can walk through fire? I’d say that’s a pretty cool gift.”

“Well, no, not exactly. His mother is the fire walker, and it could be that her gift protected him.”

“Did he ever try to work the fire thing?” Guardian tossed the towel over his head and started drying from the top down.

“When he was a kid, he was showing off for his cousins and picked up a burning brand. That didn’t go well. On his right hand, his fingers were fused. But the gifts of the Chosen Ones were fading, and he had connections, so he got picked for the team.”

“He skipped out when the going got tough.” Guardian’s tone was critical.

“No. Well, sort of.” Her voice softened with affection. “He was so much in love. I only saw the girl the one time. Beautiful. Blond hair. He met her on the steps of the courthouse . . . and they disappeared.”

“Never to return?”

She soberly shook her head. “Ever since, I have searched for them both, but not even my stones have given me an inkling of where they are or whether they’re alive.”

Guardian pulled on one of his djellabas.

“None of Aleksandr’s replacements lasted. Ella Owoso. Stewart Mickelson. Carl Badden. Lily Carter. Good people, all of them, gifted in magical ways. But unseasoned, unprepared for the fight. We trained them, but nothing we could do could prepare them enough. The battle just keeps getting more savage, and none of them lasted more than a year. Carl made it only two weeks.” Charisma couldn’t even mourn them; she had known each so briefly, she couldn’t truly recall their faces. “After losing so many, we gave up. We couldn’t bear the heartache of losing those good people. The thing we’re all afraid is that . . . we need seven Chosen Ones. We
require
seven Chosen Ones to defeat Osgood. Since we’ve had such bad luck with replacements, we suspect that Aleksandr Wilder is
the
seventh Chosen One. The right one. The only one who can do whatever needs to be done with whatever powers he has or doesn’t have.”

Guardian put his hands on his hips and stood over her. “So what about this Ronnie?” he asked quietly.

“I’m the weak link of the Chosen Ones. I haven’t found my true love; I don’t have enhanced powers; I’m pretty much just a street fighter who survives on my wits and my knowledge of where evil’s going to pop up next. So unfortunately, I was primed for seduction. I met Ronnie, who was rescuing a nun from a gang of murderous thugs—”

Guardian snorted.

”Exactly. I fell for a cliché. And I didn’t question his motives or his background or his knowledge of my likes and dislikes, because I really, really wanted to find my true love, get enhanced powers, and stop being a drag on the Chosen Ones.”

“I can’t believe you were ever a drag on anyone.”

Oh, God.
How pathetic was she? Guardian was being
kind
. “I do my best, but compared to the others . . .”

She was so glad Samuel couldn’t see her now. He would rub his eyes and pretend to cry like a little girl, and Isabelle would have to tell him to stop.

Or worse, he would be embarrassed for her and avert his gaze.

“This Ronnie tried to kill you?”

“He tried.”

“What happened?”

She looked up into Guardian’s eyes. “I killed him.”

Chapter 26

A
leksandr Wilder.

Jacqueline and Caleb. Aaron and Rosamund. John and Genny. Samuel and Isabelle.

Konstantine Wilder.

Aleksandr Wilder.

The names buzzed in Guardian’s brain, stinging him, demanding that he recognize them. And he wanted to; he really did.

But how could he concentrate on the elusive shadows of his past when right now Charisma was here, and she was breaking his heart with her tale?

Ronnie deserved to die. But Charisma should never have had to do it. This affair should never have happened. If Guardian had been there . . .

But how could he have been? It was about twenty months ago when Guardian had first made his appearance in the tunnels. About twenty months ago that any of his memories began. Half-crazed as he was, he would have been no good to her then. But still, the conviction pounded at his mind.

If he had been there, Ronnie would have never happened.

But while Guardian was not there for her then, he was now.

He heard the tremor in her voice when she said, “When the affair was finished, as I stared at his body lying dead on the floor, the thing I hated most was that I had to tell the Chosen Ones. I mean, I had to. I was pretty battered; plus I was covered in blood; plus I was . . . bitter. I was in such bad shape, not even Samuel gave me a bad time.” Her beautiful, plush, rounded lips quirked and quivered. “Although for once I had given him good reason.”

“I don’t like this Samuel who always gives you a bad time.”

She dismissed Guardian’s hostility with a wave of the hand. “He’s like a brother to me. We butt heads. We make up. We fight. We make up.”

“I don’t know why this man would fight with you.”

“I don’t know why
you
would fight with me, but you did.”

The two of them stared at each other, neither lowering their eyes.

She was probably right, and he wasn’t going to win this one, so he inclined his head. “So we are back to the question, Why seduction and not murder?”

“Exactly. Why go to the trouble to seduce me first? Samuel shows a remarkable affinity for knowing how Osgood’s mind works—”

“You trust Samuel?”

“With my life. But you have to realize—he’s a lawyer.” She grinned, a lopsided grin that made fun of Samuel, lawyers, and herself. “Samuel has seen evil. He understands evil. He knows the way evil thinks. He says Osgood has almost unlimited power, and that’s boring.”

“So Osgood uses the Chosen Ones for entertainment.”

“Yes. And he couldn’t lose with me. If I was killed, the Chosen Ones were down to five, the struggle would be more hopeless, and . . . my friends would know I had deceived them. That I had a secret affair when I should have known better. I would have besmirched the memory of Charisma Fangorn by my own stupidity and shame. If I wasn’t killed . . . I had wasted time and energy proving to myself that true love was a chimera.” She took a painful breath. “And, of course, I had to tell the Chosen Ones about the whole foolish affair.”

“Have they reproached you?”

“Worse. They were kind.” Crimson burned along the top of her cheekbones.

“
Did
this Ronnie convince you that true love was a chimera?” Guardian waited a little too anxiously for her reply.

She chuckled a little. “No. That’s not possible. When I am with the Chosen Ones, I see true love at work every day. In my friends. I see the miracles their love creates, and I believe. In the end, he was an illusion, a hope unfulfilled—and a failure.”

But she hadn’t started this conversation to tell Guardian about a murderous affair, only to dismiss the results so cavalierly. Something was off, and it niggled at him. Something she’d said earlier . . . “Who sold Ronnie the information to use against you? Who told him your likes and dislikes? Who betrayed you to him?”

She looked down and away. “You already know the answer.”

Guardian knelt before her. He took her hands. “Your
mother
did this to you?”

“I told you. I was only ever an opportunity to her.” Charisma set her chin. “Ronnie offered her money.”

“And she took it.” He chafed Charisma’s cold fingers. “What did you
do
to her?”

“Nothing. I found her in a hotel in Times Square, where she was thoroughly enjoying her ill-gotten gains. I showed her the bruises on my throat where he had tried to strangle me, the stab wounds I received during the fight. I thought if she actually saw the damage she’d helped inflict on me, she would finally get it.” Charisma looked at him and rolled her eyes, as if amused at her own eternal optimism. “Mom pointed out that I wasn’t supporting her anymore, and as far as she was concerned, I should have been. Because she saved me from the trash bin. So in her opinion, selling me out was acceptable behavior. And payback for turning her in to social services, for my going to school, going to college, and leaving her behind.”

“Isn’t that what children are supposed to do?”

“One would think. Ronnie hurt me. He did. In all ways. But I cherished this secret hope—I didn’t even realize I held it—that at the proper moment, my mother would step up to the plate for me. Love me, support me, care for me, fight for me. Instead, she sold me. It took her a lot of years, but she killed my faith in love. Or at least, my faith that I was lovable. Once I lost that . . . the earth doesn’t sing to me anymore.” Charisma smiled, tried to joke. “It barely hums.”

“That breaks your heart.”

“Since the day I went through puberty, the earth was always there, helping me, warning me of danger. To have lost that support—it’s like losing my mother all over again. Worse. She never . . .” Charisma shook her head. “You know.”

“If you’re trying to convince me there are worse things than fur on my back, you’ve done it.” He was quite serious.

“That’s progress, I guess. And I do have a point for telling you this whole pathetic story, and it has to do with you and me. You don’t believe me when I say I don’t care what you look like.” She looked into his eyes and said, “I don’t care what you look like.”

“You care what
I
am like.”

“Give the man a gold star.”

He deserved a gold star. She deserved a gold star. They both deserved a lovely meal with delicate china, glowing candlelight, fine food, and excellent wines. But in lieu of that . . . “I’ve got beef jerky and some crackers stashed in Tupperware under the bed.”

Her eyes got wide and round. “I’m starving.”

“Me, too.” Still holding her hands, he stood. He pulled her into his arms. He held her. Just held her. “It’s not that you’re not lovable. It’s that there’s something seriously wrong with your mother. I’m about halfway in love with you myself right now.”

She stood stiffly for a moment, then hugged him and buried her head in his chest. He had to bend to hear her say, “Tell me sweet lies and feed me beef jerky, and I’m happy.”

“They’re not lies.” He tilted her face up to his. “Shall I prove it to you?”

She nibbled on her lower lip to subdue her smile. “How ever will you do that?”