Witchful Thinking (11 page)

Sure, Bella has always been convinced that the prophetess exists. Looking back on it now, I’m convinced Mercedes was the reason Bella wanted me on her side to begin with—so I could reanimate the prophetess and Bella could benefit from her power. As a matter of fact, Bella forced me to try to reanimate some old woman whom she believed to be the prophetess, but of course, the old woman wasn’t
.

Nope, Mercedes Berg is the prophetess. And even though she’s this omniscient being, I can’t say I completely trust her. It’s not as though she’s ever done anything that would make me not want to trust her, it’s just that with all-powerful beings, you can’t help but wonder what their deal is. I keep asking myself if Mercedes really exists merely for the good of our society. Couldn’t it be possible that she falls victim to the same vices we all do—fame, power, and greed, to name just a few? What does Mercedes get out of making sure I unite all the creatures of the Underworld and become their Queen? Maybe it’s just a sign of my sinful humanity that I’m even doubting her in the first place
.

Truth be told, Mercedes worries me—her power is so extreme, no one really seems to know how strong or how powerful she truly is. And I believe Rand questions her for the same reasons. I guess I shouldn’t doubt her, since she’s never done anything other than insist I’m the
savior of our kind. Most people would probably be incredibly grateful to her. Just call me an ingrate I guess
.

And speaking of this whole savior stuff, Savior is a really big title to wear. And so, for that matter, is Queen. Really, if Rand would just stop playing the part of revolutionary, he’d make the perfect King. He’s kind, honest, and just. What more could you want in a King? Oh, and he’s incredibly hot. Hmm, and if I married him, that would make me Queen by default. Wonder if Mercedes would go for that …

Who am I kidding? Rand would no sooner become King than befriend Sinjin. So where does that leave me? The same place I’m always left when it comes to this subject—square one. And square one is getting old fast. Regardless, Mercedes seems to think I’ve accepted my fate as Queen because she keeps going on and on about my lessons and when I’ll be Queen this and when I’ll be Queen that
.

I just have this gut feeling that if I do follow my “calling” and become Queen, I’ll lose Rand. And that’s a big gamble to take
.

I opened my front door, shivered in the night wind, and beeped my remote, unlocking the doors of my silver Range Rover Freelander. The SUV had been a gift from Rand after my relocation to England.

But back to my present mission. There was lots of important stuff I needed to discuss with Rand—chiefly, when to start reanimating our legion. It seemed like it was taking Rand an eon to compile his list of the deceased. Really, I was itching to get started—to be able to give back to the soldiers who had given their lives for our cause.

I drove the two miles to Pelham Manor in silence. Once I arrived, I didn’t make any motion to undo my seat belt; I just sat there instead, staring up at the stone
edifice. I almost felt intimidated by the ancient walls. I turned off the headlights and melted into the darkness, shivering despite myself. I stepped outside to face the wide stone staircase that graced the front of Rand’s majestic home, leading to a pair of dark, heavy, wooden doors.

With the weight of the Underworld on my shoulders, I trudged up the stone steps and rang the doorbell. A few seconds later the door flew open and Christa appeared in her cowboy-and-Indian PJs, a pint of ice cream in one hand and a spoon in the other.

“Hi, Chris,” I said in a somewhat dejected tone.

“Hi, Jules, what’s up?” She rammed her spoon into the hard ice cream and seemed to wrestle with it before a smile of victory lit up her mouth, which she then opened wide to make room for the heaping spoonful.

“I came to see Rand,” I said as I walked in through the open door.

She nodded but said nothing as she spooned another heaping bite of what looked like chocolate ice cream with red cherries and hunks of fudge into her mouth. There was probably a third left. “He’s outside trying to finalize the list of dead guys,” she said, not bothering to swallow first.

“Is the list almost ready, then?”

She shrugged and dug in for another mouthful. “I don’t know but hot damn, it seems like it’s taking forever.”

She didn’t wait for my response but turned around and headed down the hall to the kitchen, which led to the back gardens of Pelham Manor. I couldn’t help but glance around Rand’s house, wondering if anything had changed since I’d moved out. Everything seemed to be in the exact same place. I wasn’t sure why, but for some reason that little familiarity made me happy.

Even though the outside of Pelham Manor boasted its
seventeenth-century beginnings, the inside was the epitome of modernity. A large black leather sofa dominated the living room, which had oriental rugs on the floor and abstract oil paintings on the walls. But the most outstanding centerpiece of the room, and the feature most commented on, was Rand’s fireplace, which was easily as tall as I am. What I loved most about Pelham Manor, though, wasn’t the priceless art or the ginormous fireplace, but the way it smelled—it shared the same clean spiciness that put me in mind of Rand.

“Did you hear Sinjin is back?” I asked, in an effort to force myself to think of another subject.

Christa glanced over at me in surprise, pausing only momentarily before she dived back in again, looking like an archaeologist chipping away at a fossil. She’d probably come across a nut.

“Where did you see him?”

I knew my answer was going to sound bad but there really wasn’t any way around it. “He showed up in my house last night.”

She nodded, not daring to pry her attention from the excavation of an almond. “Did you get it on?”

I just shook my head—I knew that would be the first thought to cross her mind. “You seriously think about sex way too much.”

She freed the almond and spooned it into her mouth, smiling at me as she did so. “And you think about sex way too little.”

I wasn’t sure if that was true but I also wasn’t in the mood to argue. Instead I stayed silent and followed her through the hall and into the kitchen.

“So where the hell has Sinjin been?” she asked, dropping the empty ice-cream container in the trash can on the way to the back door. How Christa could eat the way she did and yet manage to keep her awesome figure was beyond me. I teetered on the line between “athletic”
and “could stand to lose five pounds”; it was a constant struggle. I did find, however, that living within the Underworld had taken about ten pounds off me. So I guess I was off the diet seesaw … for the time being, anyway.

“He refused to tell me,” I answered, remembering how Sinjin had deliberately avoided the subject of his location.

After our reintroduction, I’d sent him on his way so I could get some shut-eye. I was convinced he’d just hung out in my house, though, because I kept waking up to strange sounds I couldn’t place—sounds that had probably been coming from the TV. I hadn’t really minded. Somehow, with Sinjin in my house, I actually felt safer, as ridiculous as it sounds, since he could easily rip my throat out.

Before I had the chance to comment any more on the subject, I noticed a pool of mist appearing just over the staircase. The more I watched it, the more it morphed into the shape of a man, resplendent in nineteenth-century breeches and a waistcoat.

“Um, what are you looking at?” Christa asked and turned in the direction of my gaze. Of course she couldn’t see the ghost, Pelham, the original owner of Pelham Manor.

“I’m looking at Pelham,” I answered as I smiled and waved at the ghost in question.

Ah, you have decided to return and grace me with your beautiful presence
. I could only hear Pelham’s voice in my head.

“Hi, Pel,” I said with a warm smile.

Christa glanced at the staircase, back to me, and back to the staircase again before letting out a deep sigh. “Spooky. Anyway, Jules, why don’t you tell your invisible friend that we were in the middle of a conversation before he interrupted us?” She folded her arms against
her chest and tapped her fingers on her elbow as if she was irritated.

“He can hear you,” I said and threw her a frown.

Pelham just smiled at me and tipped his head as if to say yes, he could hear her and he apologized for interrupting us.

“I’ll come and visit soon, Pel,” I announced.

Very well. I have missed you
. Then he just disappeared into the stairwell.

“Do you still want to see Rand?” Christa asked.

“Yes,” I said and followed her down the hallway to the kitchen, which, in turn, led to the back garden area.

“There’s your man,” Christa said with a smile as she pointed at Rand, who stood beside Odran and Trent. All three of them were staring at a piece of paper on a picnic table. I assumed the paper in question was the ledger of names of the dead soldiers who needed to be reanimated.

Behind them, as far as I could see, were the tents of our legion. The glow of their campfires cast shadows and flickering lights against the tents, making it look like a campsite of ghosts.

“Thanks, Chris,” I answered with a grin before starting forward. The three men were probably twenty feet or so from us, all hunched over the table, scrutinizing whatever was on the sheet. At my approach, all three looked up, but it was Rand who smiled first.

“Is everything all right?”

Christa mumbled something about it being too cold outside and returned to the house but I didn’t turn to watch her leave. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Rand. I smiled and nodded even though the answer to his question was a definite no. If anything, it felt like my world was crumbling down around me and it was all I could do to grab hold of a loose brick or two.

“Yeah, I just wanted to find out when you thought we should start the reanimations,” I said.

Rand nodded and glanced at the sheet of paper in front of him, flicking it with his long index finger as he stood up straight and beamed at me. “I think we’re ready.”

“And I am quite certain the dead soldiers would thank you if they could.”

All four of us turned to the sound of Sinjin’s voice as he stepped out from behind a massive pine tree. My heart leapt into my throat and I wasn’t sure if it was because Sinjin had just appeared out of nowhere and scared me half to death, or because he was standing in front of Rand. The two hadn’t seen each other since the battle and whenever they came within a few feet of each other, it was a prescription for conflict.

“Sinjin,” I said without realizing I’d spoken his name.

Sinjin bowed and smiled, his fangs reflecting in the moonlight. He was dressed, as always, in black, and he looked as elegant and handsome as ever with his longish black hair curling over his ears in gentle waves, in contrast with the iciness of his piercing blue eyes.

“Greetings,” he responded, his tone dripping with sensuality.

It was like slow motion as my gaze shifted from the vampire to Rand. And Rand’s expression was not a happy one. His eyes were narrowed and his lips were tight, his jaw even tighter. The color had completely drained from his face.

“You bloody bastard,” Rand started and before anyone could stop him, he lunged forward, pulled back his fist, and delivered a clean blow to Sinjin’s cheek. The vampire took a step back and appeared to be slightly off balance. For a split second I thought he might fall down, but he regained control and stood stock-still.

“Blooody ’ell,” Odran exclaimed while restraining
Rand with his mammoth arms when it appeared the warlock was going to go for round two. Rand said nothing but shot daggers at Sinjin with his eyes as his chest rose and fell with his belabored breathing. If Odran released him, he’d be at Sinjin’s throat in a split second.

The tension in the air was so thick, I felt like I didn’t want to breathe. I didn’t want to inhale the negativity—enough pessimism was floating through me as it was.

Glancing at Sinjin, I was suddenly worried he’d lash out at Rand, but he didn’t appear to be in a fighting mood. Instead he just wore a smile that was ironic considering the blood still trailing from his lips. After another second or two, Sinjin wiped his sleeve across his mouth.

“That was not quite the greeting I expected, Randall.” Sinjin had a tendency to call Rand “Randall” even though that wasn’t Rand’s name and Sinjin knew it.

Rand made an attempt to break out from Odran’s grip, and Trent and I stepped in between Rand and Sinjin. I glanced at Trent with a frown but said nothing, instead turning my attention to Sinjin.

“I don’t want either of you to fight,” I said in a tight voice.

“Fear not, my love, I come bearing tidings, not ill will,” Sinjin said, taking a step toward me until we were separated by only two inches. I swallowed hard as I looked up at him, wondering what in the hell he was doing here, and why, no matter where he went, he always brought trouble.

“What the hell,” I began, but my voice died away as he brought his fingers to my mouth and shushed me.

“Don’t touch her,” Rand seethed, fighting to release himself from Odran’s stranglehold. “You do not fucking touch her.”

Sinjin dropped his fingers from my lips and turned to face Rand, a smirk on his face. “Ah, Randall has become
quite territorial, has he not?” he asked, facing me again with a wink.

“It’s your bloody fault she died,” Rand ground out in a hoarse voice.

“Enlighten me, Balfour, how was that my fault?”

A bluish light engulfed Rand and grew brighter until Odran winced. Realizing Rand was using magic to try to release himself, Odran began glowing yellow in response, using magic to fight magic. The blue of Rand’s light blinked a few times more before dying out as Odran reinforced his hold on Rand with a bullish roar.

“Release me, dammit!” Rand yelled at Odran.

“There will be nay fightin’,” Odran said in a low tone that echoed the warning.

“I won’t touch him,” Rand responded while staring Sinjin down. Odran must have believed Rand, because he dropped his arms and Rand stepped away.