Dance Only For Me Page 16

  "I—" Ned broke off, touching the star lightly. "I've never seen energies like yours. The only time I saw energies brighter—" He stopped again, voice choking. The hand resting lightly on Jackie's stomach trembled. Ned pulled it away, but Jackie caught it and held tight.

  "Tell me what happened to you," Jackie said, looking over the runes that covered him, wishing a few glances was enough to sort the whole mess out. It was a task that would take months, though, if not years, there was so many of them. And in such a dizzying, unheard of combination. The only ones easy to pick out were the master marks over his heart and the one for eternity. He drew Ned in close enough to kiss that mark, a rush of magic making his lips tingle.

  Ned gently shook himself free. "I'm not telling anyone. Few times I've tried, folks never talked to me again. You're the only—the closest—" He swallowed and drew several ragged breaths. "Doesn't matter. Just, I've never seen energies like yours. Never seen someone so bright and colorful it's almost painful to look at. Like trying to stare at the sun."

  Jackie's face went hot at that. "I ain't nothing of the sort, demon."

  "You can't even see energies, what do you know?" Ned asked, but he kept Jackie from replying by way of a slow, deep kiss that sure as hell made Jackie feel like he was a mite too close to the sun. He could feast on Ned's lips all day long, savor the way they moved against his, warm and confident and familiar, tongues tangling, memorizing each other in ways that sank all the way to his marrow.

  Seemed the most natural thing in the world when Ned shifted to climb atop him, that fine ass fitting all kinds of perfect in Jackie's hands. There were problems that needed addressing, but Jackie didn't mind ignoring them for a bit longer, more than happy to be the object of so much hungry focus, not having to hold back himself. He hadn't realized until then just how much he always had held back. "You're something else again, demon."

  "Ain't got nothing on you, gunslinger," Ned replied, and after that there wasn't much in the way of talking.

  Two hours later, Jackie cleaned up and pulled his clothes on again only with great reluctance. "Where are we, anyway?"

  "Uh—" Ned scrubbed a hand over his head. "I don't honestly know. I settled here back when this land was up for grabs. What it's called now, I couldn't tell you. I come and go from inside the house, rarely ever need to go outside."

  Jackie smiled. "We'll have to figure it out someday, if only to appease my curiosity." He fished his phone out and saw he had no messages. Guess they hadn't been missed; he'd take that as a good thing. "Let's get on back to the club. I'm sure Wyatt is fit to be tied about us being gone so long."

  "Yes, Sheriff," Ned replied and tugging him close, transported them away.

  They reappeared in Jackie's apartment, but it was surprisingly dark. No sign at all that anyone had come or gone since they'd all left earlier for their separate meetings.

  Movement stirred in his bedroom and a moment later Emma stepped out, dressed in jeans, boots, a long-sleeved dark blue t-shirt, and a short, brown leather jacket. The women must have gotten a hold of her 'cause Jackie knew he didn't keep women's clothes about the place. "Howdy. You seen the others?"

  "No," Emma said. "Do we need to go look for them?"

  "I'm thinking I do," Jackie said. "You sure you should be up and about?"

  Emma nodded. "I'm fine. All that rest has restored me to full strength. Let's go find your friends." She drew close and Ned lightly grasped the sleeve of her jacket, holding fast to Jackie's duster with the other.

  They reappeared in front of a rather severe looking, dark stone house mostly hidden by large trees heavy with foliage. A single, orange-yellow light burned at the porch. The back of Jackie's neck prickled, hands straying close to his guns. "Something ain't right. Damn it."

  He strode up to the house—and oofed when he immediately found himself stopped by two firm hands upon his chest and a scowling face. "Wait here, Master. There are incantations upon the house; I can break them." Emma didn't wait for him to reply, just whirled around and placed her hands on the heavy columns framing the doorway.

  Light flashed, and then Jackie smelled the copper and burned matches tang of destroyed magic. "Lord almighty, what kind of spells were laid on this place?"

  "Curses," Ned said. "It looked like somebody laid deadly curses. They didn't want anyone getting out once they got inside."

  "Damn it, if my friends are dead because I was—" He tested the door, and when it proved locked, drew a revolver. Shooting the lock, he shoved the door open and hastened inside. The smell of blood and magic washed over him, and Jackie strode through the halls of the dreary house until he saw light pooling on the floor in front of one of the many closed doors. He ran down the hall toward it, threw the door open—and stopped.

  There was blood and bodies everywhere. At a glance Jackie counted six, and as he stepped further into the room and got a better look around … the total seemed more like ten. "What in the hell happened here?"

  He spied a familiar head of mottled hair and bolted across the room, kneeling down to check Phoenix over. Jackie slumped in relief when he saw Phoenix was merely unconscious and—minus a few scratches and one ugly, but not remotely fatal, gash on upper right arm—seemed fine.

  "Someone used a hex to nullify magic," Emma said, picking up a burned piece of wood that had probably been some sort of figurine. "These men do not possess magic, save one or two. The hex trapped your friends in the house and took away their magic."

  Jackie wanted to hit something. "They tried to make'em weak, make'em an easy kill. God damn it! I shoulda been here, I shoulda been aware of this sooner. Where the hell is Wyatt? If he's come to harm—" He stopped at the hand on his chest, the heat that emanated from it.

  "It's my fault as much as yours, and we couldn't have known Morrington would do this," Ned said. "I don't see Wyatt in here anywhere so he must have gotten away and hidden somewhere else in the house. What I want to know is who killed all these men? They've been expertly killed, but not efficiently. Whoever did this wanted to cause them pain. Wanted them to suffer."

  The words made Jackie's gut roil and churn. Damn it. "I gotta find Wyatt. Ya'll look around here, take care of Phoenix. I want to know what happened." He spun away and stormed from the room, hollering loud as he could for Wyatt. No reply came, but Jackie didn't let it discourage him none. He bent to searching, going through every last damn room in the house.

  He finally found Wyatt in the master bedroom, of all places, the door to the master bath wide open and spilling out fluorescent light. Wyatt stood there staring vacantly at the floor, so soaked in blood he damn near seemed painted red. He still held the knife that had obviously done all the killing: a long, thin, wicked-looking thing that seemed to fit all too easy in Wyatt's hand. Jackie recalled the one other time he had seen it, when they'd first encountered Ned in Roman's apartment. "You alright there, son?" Jackie asked softly, stepping into the bathroom but giving Wyatt his space.

  Wyatt made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. "They trapped us. I should have noticed, but I thought they just had especially strong wards. The hex came down after we were in the study. Morrington just sat there while they secured us. He got mad when we wouldn't answer his questions. He's definitely mixed up in the whole mess. When we wouldn't cooperate, he ordered us put down. He even said it like that: put down. Like I'm a fucking animal." He slammed the knife on the counter, flinging specks of blood about. "He didn't seem to know who I was, but he must have been expecting something because there were ten men in that room whose sole purpose was to kill me and Phoenix." He gave another laughing sob. "I keep telling people I ain't a kid. No one ever believes me until their blood is spilling over my hands." He glanced down at his hands, which were covered in sticky, drying blood. It peeled apart and fell off in rust-colored flakes. Wyatt looked up, met Jackie's eyes in the mirror. The darkness Jackie had seen hinted at before was alive and pulsing, a hungry, hunted look that probably should scare the hell out of him.

 
But all Jackie saw was a kid who'd overcome circumstances that would have destroyed most men. If he'd come out of it a little broken, well, it was only a little. Jackie stepped closer, turned Wyatt around, and hugged him tight. "It's alright, son. I'm sorry I wasn't here."

  Wyatt held himself stiff at first, but then all but melted against him, crying near-silent into Jackie's shirt. Jackie held him close, tamped down on his anger, wishing there was something left of Morrington for him to tear into. He glanced at the knife on the counter, steel shining at random points where blood hadn't caked it. The hilt looked like it was made of bone, which was interesting. The most curious thing about it, though, was that there wasn't a speck of magic on it. Damn near everything Wyatt owned was layered with spells, but that knife coulda belonged to a normal it was so free of abnormal modifications.

  After several minutes, Wyatt finally drew back, staring at Jackie's shirt as he said, "Now you see why no one wants me around, Sheriff?"

  "I think I'm mighty glad you were able to keep yourself and Phoenix alive," Jackie said. "Ain't a one of us got clean hands, boy. Being good with a knife don't make you evil."

  "I could have killed them quicker and neater than I did," Wyatt replied. "I'm pretty sure wanting them to suffer does make me evil."

  Jackie shrugged. "I ain't never seen you go after someone just because you wanted to kill. This is the first time I've seen more than a hint of your ability to kill. I think I know a lot of creatures what like to hurt and murder, and you ain't anything like them, not by a longshot. You were protecting yourself and a friend. Those bastards weren't going to kill you quick and painless neither. Don't worry upon it. Get cleaned up and then tell me everything that happened." When Wyatt didn't move past a half-hearted nod, Jackie gripped his shoulders and gave him a shake. "Come on now. Where's the bossy little spitfire deputy of mine that can't ever leave well enough alone?"

  The words had the desired effect, a shy, hopeful grin flitting across Wyatt's face. "Give me a few to clean up, Sheriff, and I'll come find you."

  "Good," Jackie said and ruffled his hair before leaving. He looked down at his own clothes, covered in blood from Wyatt, but shrugged the matter off to take care of when he was back in his apartment. He'd been covered in worse for longer.

  Back in the study, Ned and Emma were talking quietly, Ned leaning against the desk and Emma standing beside him. They looked up at him as he drew close. "Eleven people dead in total, one of them Morrington. Does he have family, do you know?"

  "I'm pretty sure he's got a daughter, but I don't know if she's married or not," Jackie replied. "Think his wife went to Europe to visit with friends a few months back. I honestly can't remember for sure. Anyway, he woulda been the only one here except for servants and the like."

  "None of those on the premises," Emma replied. "I would imagine they were sent away so as not to interfere. Phoenix will be all right. I did what I could for his wounds. He was knocked out pretty hard, but I think he will come around in a little while. Unless you wanted me to wake him?"

  "Nah," Jackie said. "So Morrington was tangled up in this mess, you figure?"

  The sound of a throat being cleared came from the doorway. Wyatt stepped slowly into the room, gaze sweeping over the bodies. He was damp from a hasty shower, and the clothes he wore were too big for him, but minus some smudges of exhaustion beneath his eyes and the halting way he carried himself, he seemed to be back to himself. "His wife and daughter are in Europe, all right, but it's because the daughter is sick. Morrington didn't say much, but he said enough—he's helping Firebrand's team in exchange for a promise of a cure."

  "The vampire blood craze ain't curable," Jackie said. "Some diseases just can't be beat, and I'd think a Dracula would know that better than anyone."

  Wyatt shrugged. "He's desperate to save his daughter."

  "I guess I would be, too," Jackie said with a sigh. "So, what, they trapped ya'll and tried to get answers out of you?"

  Nodding, Wyatt joined them at the desk. "Yeah. Wanted to know where Ned was, what we knew of the magic on him. Kept asking about you, too. They seemed pretty pissed you weren't with us. I'm glad you weren't."

  "I should have been here," Jackie said. "I should have come straight here after we was done with Desrosiers instead of wandering off like a damned fool."

  Wyatt shrugged and managed the barest smile. "You couldn't have known, Sheriff. Why should any of us have suspected a vampire would fall in line with a bunch of foul alchemists and sorcerers? Vampires never want anything to do with us, not like that. It shows in the way he didn't anticipate that I would be able to fight back with no magic whatsoever." He rubbed absently at his wrists, red from where they'd obviously been bound. "Also, they can't tie knots for shit."

  Jackie shook his head, laughing ruefully. "I don't suppose you managed to get anything useful out of them first?"

  "Maybe," Wyatt said. "When he was talking about his daughter, he said something about being able to trust 'him' because 'he knew what it was like to sacrifice everything to save a child.' I don't know if saving that child has anything to do with all of this, but it should help narrow down who we're hunting, eventually."

  A soft groan drew their attention, and Jackie strode over to help Phoenix to his feet. "Alright there, hoss?"

  "I've had worse," Phoenix said. He looked around the room, then turned a somber gaze on Wyatt. "Thank you. I am quite certain I would be dead if not for you. I've not been terribly kind to you in the past, Wyatt, and for that I apologize. I will be far more appreciative and respectful of your abilities from here on."

  Wyatt shrugged. "There was no fucking way I was letting them kill us. I just wish the stupid bastard had provided a bit more information."

  Phoenix frowned and rubbed at his temples. "I think he may have and if I am correct, I shall feel a perfect fool the rest of my life."

  "What do you mean?" Jackie asked.

  "I moved here to the colonies not long after the conclusion of the American War of Independence," Phoenix replied. "Around the eighteen twenties or so, a man in New York whose name I never knew begged me to visit his home. His son was an alchemist of…quite frankly negligible skill who had overreached himself in his experiments and done himself great harm. To this day, I am not certain what he managed to do, only that it cost him most of his soul—energies, whatever you want to call it. Only an ember of it remained in the body. The rest had scattered across the planes, though the man had somehow managed to retrieve them. He wanted my help with fitting the pieces back together, but though my skills are impressive, I could not help him. Necromancy and sorcery have worked together before, but it would take greater abilities than I possess. I always assumed the boy had finally died."

  "What makes you think that has anything to do with this?" Jackie asked.

  "Because of the magic involved," Phoenix said. He motioned to Ned. "The soul binding elements, the fusion of types of beings in Firebrand. It smacks of Frankenstein-style work, which, quite frankly, chills me. But it would make sense. I did not even recall that old matter until Morrington spoke of sacrificing to help children. I could be wrong, but I think it is a lead worth pursuing. Unfortunately, as I said, I never knew the man's name. If he's still alive, I could not even say that he would still be in New York."

  Jackie tugged on the brim of his hat. "Got some possible leads of our own. Apparently our mysterious fella Finn Wayland was known to bounce around town in the company of a man named Marion Howler."

  "Howler? I know that name, sort of, but the Howlers are dead the last I heard," Phoenix said. "Even the line that remained in Europe died out, lost in the First World War, I believe."

  "Maybe, maybe not," Jackie said. "Ol' Marion apparently had no magic at all, so he consoled himself by sponsoring other magical talents. Finn was one of the flashier ones. They're both supposed to be dead, but I suspect rumors are a touch exaggerated. I think I'm going to be spending the next few days trying to get an appointment with the demon lord of New York. If anyon
e can tell us something, it'll be him. For now, let's get on home. I'm sure Phoenix and Wyatt could use some proper rest, and I need to go tell Prince Amr that we killed Dracula Morrington."

  "Better you than me," Wyatt muttered. Jackie looped an arm around his shoulders, and it hurt something fierce how easily Wyatt pressed against him. Clearly he wasn't as recovered as he was putting on.

  Jackie held on tight as Ned took them all back to Jackie's apartment. "Ya'll get on cleaned up. Phoenix, stay here tonight. Probably safest if we stick close to each other from here on. Emma, would you mind running downstairs and getting food?"

  "Where are you going?" Ned asked.

  "Making a coffee run," Jackie said, ruffling Wyatt's hair when he brightened slightly. "Take care of things here, would you?"

  Ned nodded. "Of course."

  "Thanks, darling." Jackie dropped a kiss on his mouth, then left in search of coffee. He was going to need plenty of it before he went to face Amr, and he'd buy fifty of those silly vanilla things if that was what it took to make Wyatt smile again.

  Part 08: Storm in the Heartland

  Jackie returned to the club carrying five large coffees precariously arranged in a carrier that seemed too fragile for the job. Lordie, he wanted to nap for a week. The throbbing bass wasn't helping his head none, and he sensed it was only the first of many headaches he'd be enduring that night.

  "Going to walk right by me, then? Ain't no way to treat your old man."

  Jackie damn near dropped his coffee as that voice caught him in a pause between songs. He stared at the bar, at a man who looked exactly like him but a few decades older. His father was over two centuries old, but he didn't look a day past sixty. "Pa?" Jackie strode over to the bar and set the coffee on it, then removed his hat and swatted him with it. "Where the ever living hell you been? You think I call you for help just so you can ignore me? Ma was here, she'd tan your fool hide!"