Dance Only For Me Page 3

  "Of course," Roman said and stepped close. He smelled like his fancy cologne, spicy and musky, the faintest hint of anise that Jackie had always loved. His long fingers splayed across Jackie's chest and soft words of magic filled the little space, warmth spilling through Jackie as the spell took, closing his wounds and easing the worst of the pain.

  Jackie slumped forward, resting his forehead on Roman's shoulder, enjoying as always the way Roman was bigger and broader, nothing even remotely close to his own longer, ganglier frame. Whipcord, mama always called him. Stickboy was what everyone else went with. "Wasn't sure you'd be home," he said eventually, reluctantly straightening, missing the fingers that had been stroking his back.

  He looked Roman over and realized he was all dressed up in black slacks and a shimmery, dark blue-green shirt that matched his eyes near exact. Jackie frowned, something about it puzzling him, but he was too tired to work through it. "Glad I didn't wake—"

  "Roman?"

  The third voice cut through Jackie like ice, the last little piece he was missing to figure out what was nagging him. Roman wasn't dressed for working—he was dressed for seducing.

  "Roman, where did you go?" the voice called again, and then a young man—barely more than a boy, really—who could have walked right out of the pages of a magazine appeared in the entryway. His eyes, the clearest, prettiest blue that Jackie had ever seen, widened in dismay. "Oh, jeez. Are you alright, man?"

  Jackie shoved Roman away, feeling sick, hands shaking with a barely-contained urge to break Roman's face. He looked at the stranger. "I'm fine. If you don't mind me asking, who are you?"

  "Wyatt Thorne…" Wyatt frowned, looking between them. Jackie saw the moment he figured out what was going on, somewhat mollified by the hurt and anger that flickered in his eyes as he realized what Roman had done.

  At least they hadn't both played Jackie for a fool.

  "I think I'd better go," Wyatt said, and he shoved hard past Roman to the door, slamming it behind him.

  Jackie swallowed, staring at Roman's blank face. "Why would you do this? What the hell was so wrong you couldn't talk to me and had to go fooling around behind my back?"

  "It's not you—"

  "I swear to the good Lord if you finish that sentence with 'it's me' I'll knock every last one of your teeth out," Jackie snarled. "Don't treat me like a fool! God help me, I came here tonight to find an apartment because I thought you were worth leaving the only place I ever called home."

  Roman's mouth tightened. "Jackie—"

  "You can stop calling me that right now," Jackie said. "In fact, never speak to me again. If you didn't want me anymore, you should've just said."

  "Jackie, if you would just listen—"

  Hearing Roman call him that again, telling him to listen, like he hadn't heard that before, made Jackie snap. He didn't often lose him temper, but when he did, he lost it good. He snarled and swung, catching Roman on the jaw and sending him crashing to the ground. "Listen? I don't listen to cheating bastards. Been to that rodeo before and I don't aim to go again. I'm sorry me loving you wasn't good enough, that you couldn't even be an adult and end things proper when you didn't want me anymore. But you'll be the one sorrier in the end, hoss."

  He left before Roman could get a word in edgewise, slamming the front door behind him. Stalking down the hall to the elevator, he waited impatiently for it to arrive. The door opened behind him and he tensed. "Leave me the hell alone," he said without bothering to turn around.

  When a hand touched his shoulder, he whipped around and his fist caught Roman's nose. They stared at each other, Roman pouring blood all over the floor. "Why?" Jackie asked. "God damn you, why?"

  Roman didn't answer. The elevator chimed and Jackie strode into it. As the doors slid shut and the elevator carried him down to the lobby, he slammed his fist into the wall, focusing on the pain in his throbbing hand, the leftover aches from the werewolves. He covered his eyes with one hand, wishing the whole miserable day had never happened. How many times in his life was he going to find himself cheated on? Wasn't three times enough for anyone?

  Yes, he decided in the next breath. Three was plenty. He was done trying to do something he was clearly never gonna succeed at. Sixty-nine years old and still played for a fool. To hell with all of it.

  He was done.

  The elevator doors slid open and Jackie strode out, leaving the foul taste of Roman's betrayal, the bitter aftertaste of another love proved false, behind him. Outside, the thunder rolled, bringing a fresh downpour that soaked him clear through as he made his way back across the city. He made two wrong turns before he finally found his way back to Robin's place, and distant church bells ringing two a.m. reminded him of one more reason he felt so tired.

  He paused halfway up the stairs, when the door flew open and a man came charging down, knocking into his shoulder in his haste and nearly sending Jackie tumbling down the stairs. "Hey, now!" he called after the guy when he didn't stop.

  The man turned to look at him and Jackie's skin prickled with alarm at the way his eyes glowed and flickered as if they were made of fire. Then the guy turned and ran. Jackie started to go after him, but stopped when he smelled the smoke.

  He turned and bolted up the stairs into the house that was rapidly filling with smoke and heat. "Robin!" Pulling out a handkerchief and tying it about his face to help with the smoke, Jackie made his way through the house, searching desperately for any sign of Robin. He saw blood—plenty of it, too much of it—and it finally led him up the stairs and all the way to the back. Unfortunately, Robin and the flames were in the same place.

  Jackie didn't stop to examine Robin, just scooped him up and made his way back downstairs, flames licking at his heels and ruining his duster. He was lucky it didn't ruin more as he burst outside, never more grateful for rain in his life.

  Laying Robin on the sidewalk beneath a shop awning across the street, he checked him over … and sighed softly when he realized Robin was beyond saving. The bastard with the flame eyes had cut him up like a butcher. "Hey, there, pops," he said quietly as Robin's eyes opened.

  Robin said nothing, but his mouth twisted into something that coulda been a grimace or a smile. His hand twitched and Jackie took it—and realized there was something in it. After a moment, he realized Robin was trying to give it to him.

  "What—"

  "Basement," Robin whispered, and then with a soft sigh, passed away. Grief washed over Jackie, mourning for a man he hadn't really known but had wanted to. The necklace he'd first gone out to retrieve for Robin seemed a sudden heavy weight in the pocket of his duster. He wished he'd pressed Robin on what had really been bothering him. Maybe he could've prevented Robin's death. Damn it.

  He glanced at the object Robin had given him: an old-fashioned key covered in runes. Jackie gripped it tightly then slipped it into the pocket of his jeans. Taking Robin's hands, he folded them over his chest. "Sleep well, partner. Ride on to happier trails."

  Across the street, flames and smoke were pouring out of the house in earnest. Swearing, Jackie crossed the street again and weighed his options. He wasn't really surprised there were no sirens, not in a city dominated by paranormals. Not in a city owned by dragons, especially. But he was surprised someone from the clan hadn't shown up already.

  The rain made drawing a spell circle impossible. Reaching into his duster, he drew out a small leather pouch and tipped out the rune stones inside. They had been made according to proper tradition: the bones of his grandfather carved by his father, and given power by his own blood.

  Runes were generally witch work, their power more in line with the wild, mercurial nature of runes, and sorcerers were powerful enough that rune casting hindered their full power. Rune casting was also extremely old-fashioned—near obsolete. Jackie hadn't seen anyone rune cast since his mama's mother and she'd passed away when he was still wet behind the ears.

  Jackie had learned rune casting, but only the bare essentials. It wasn't to his taste
anyway; he used it only in emergencies. Nothing good ever came from throwing stones about and expecting them to know what was best. Give him a proper spell circle any day.

  Kneeling on the sidewalk in front of the house, unable to get closer because of the flames—and still too close, really, but he couldn't risk backing up further—Jackie laid the runes out in a crude spell circle. There were twenty-one runes in all and properly casting all twenty-one at a single go would break a man's mind, if not straight up kill him. But using them in lieu of chalk was relatively safe so long as he didn't get too fancy with it.

  When they were properly arranged, Jackie made himself triple-check that the arrangement was correct, then splayed one hand over them and spoke the activating words of the spell. Everything went silent as a tomb for the span of a breath, and then the flames were snuffed out in a rolling sweep of magic.

  Jackie made certain it had truly worked before he gathered up all his runes and put them away, kissing the very last one before dropping it in the bag. When he was sure the runes were safe, he gave in to the way his body was yelling at him for a night of too much magic, too much injury, too much of being a damned fool, and passed out.

  He woke to the sharp smack of a hand against his cheek. "I'm up, I'm up," he protested. He stared blankly up at a face he didn't recognize, trying to puzzle out what was off about the guy. Then the man growled and looked at someone out of Jackie's sight, rumbling, "Cow awake."

  "Who the hell you calling a cow, lizard?" Jackie groused and sat up, groaning as every single one of his aches and pains clamored for attention. "Ugh, I feel like I done been dragged through the streets by the ankles." He got to his feet and wiped ineffectually at the grime covering him, sighing.

  "That's about how you look," said a familiar voice. "I thought you were house-hunting, sorcerer."

  Jackie made a face. "Apologies, Steward. That's what I meant to do, but I met a man who needed my help, which led to a fight with werewolves…and it all just went downhill from there. I hurried on back here, and found him dead and his house burning. Don't know why, don't know who, just know I should have kept my fool head at home." He sighed again, then belatedly checked his revolvers, relieved they were both where they should be, spared the effects of his lousy night by the protective runes etched into them.

  "I was devastated to learn Robin Holliday was dead," Ken said quietly. "I was hoping it wasn't true. Amr ordered me to bring him anyone who seemed involved. You really don't know what happened?"

  "I was going up into the house and this guy with eyes like fire—literally like fire—came rushing out. I wanted to go after him, but the house was aflame and I went in to try to save Robin."

  "Damn it." Ken kicked at the ground, a thundercloud overtaking his face. "When I find the son of a bitch, I'll fucking tear him in half."

  Beside Ken, his dragon growled, amber eyes glowing. He looked at Jackie, nostrils flaring. "Cow okay?"

  "It's cowboy, dragon. You call me a cow again and I'll turn you into boots."

  The dragon growled, but seemed more amused than anything. Pushing away from Ken, it shifted back into its natural form. And didn't that beat all—Jackie had never seen one that could change without help.

  "Come on," Ken said with a sigh. "You look like you could use some rest. I have people taking care of Robin's body. We can put you up for the night and you can tell us everything you know or suspect in the morning. I'm sorry your visit here took such a tragic turn."

  Jackie shrugged, feeling more exhausted than he had in a long time. "Trouble and I are old friends, Steward. If you meant that offer of a bed, I'll take it and gladly."

  Ken smiled and gestured to a car that was waiting for them. "I meant it. The lizard is Nevada—Nev. Come on, cowboy."

  "Much obliged," Jackie murmured and slumped in his seat as he settled into the car. A raw ache gnawed at him, a need to call someone who would listen to him, know how to make him feel better. But his father hadn't bothered to answer his phone in weeks, and Roman…

  Closing his eyes against that pain because it was just too much to deal with right then, Jackie let the rhythm of the moving car lull him into a doze. Shit would just have to wait until he woke up. For the moment, he was just plum done.

  Part 02: Born & Raised in Black & White

  The first thing he was doing when he finally made it back home was getting a new hat. Damnation, he was tired of losing the things. Sighing and raking a hand through his hair, Jackie climbed out of the car and thanked the driver, waiting until he'd gone out of sight before he headed for the burned-out skeleton of Robin's home.

  Picking his way through the mess certainly finished waking him up in a way three cups of strong coffee hadn't, and the smell of the place made Jackie glad he'd skipped breakfast. He damn near hollered when he finally found the door to the basement. There were entirely too many doors for one burnt out house, and he'd about tried them all.

  The stairway was dark, and daylight didn't really reach it enough to be of use, but he decided against summoning any light. The less he did to attract attention the better. At the bottom of the stairs was a closed and sealed door, but when he touched it to examine the wards, the door shimmered, flashed, and swung open.

  What was the key for, then? Puzzled, and not in a good way, Jackie kept ready to draw his guns and ventured into the dark basement. Light flared as he stepped well into it, revealing a small room that smelled like it hadn't been used since the house was built. Jackie wrinkled his nose but kept looking around. There was so much magic around the space he winced at the hours it must have taken not just to lay the spells, but maintain them.

  Starting by the door, he followed the intricate, meandering spell around the room. It really was a marvel: the entire damn room had been wrapped in a giant spell circle, more or less, all of it for protection and meant to cause serious pain to anyone who was not granted permission—and that was only the topmost layer of the spell. It wrapped around and around, spiraling down to the very center of the room … no, to something underneath that small square of space at the very center of the circle.

  Jackie knelt and ran his fingers over the bare space, the too smooth dirt. He thought at first he'd have to go hunt up a shovel, but after a bit of struggling to get started, the dirt proved to be loose enough to dig through with his bare hands.

  He'd been digging for about half an hour or so when his fingers jammed against something. Swearing, he cleared the dirt away a bit more carefully until he finally revealed a battered-looking chest, roughly square and not quite as long as his forearm. Heaving it out, Jackie set it on the ground and brushed more dirt away, fingers tingling as he was examined by still more spellwork.

  It was masterful work; Robin had been one hell of a witch. Jackie lifted the heavy padlock, humming thoughtfully as he realized what the key was for. The question was whether it was better to use it or leave well enough alone. But Robin wouldn't have given him the key if he'd wanted matters to lie, so there really wasn't a question at all, except maybe deciding if he should open it right away or go somewhere else first.

  He was half-tempted to take it somewhere else, but the only other place he'd feel safe enough was back in Texas and right then thinking of home just made him sick to his stomach. He could also leave the box good and closed until he was better situated to open it, but the sooner he knew what mess he'd gotten himself into the better. He had no desire to walk around ignorant of the trouble he might be carrying.

  So he settled himself more comfortably on the dirt floor and unlocked Robin's mysterious box. He half expected light or something to come pouring out of it, all Hollywood like, but all it did was squeak from disuse, the top giving a dull thud when it struck the ground. Inside … mostly looked like a bunch of mementoes: old pictures, mostly sepia and black and white, but a few in various qualities of color. There were also sketches and miniature paintings. Jackie wondered what it must have been like to live from days when drawing was the only method for capturing loved ones to c
enturies when a picture could be had all the way to when a phone could do the picture taking.

  Setting the pictures aside, Jackie went through the rest of the contents, feeling an ache when he realized there were four different wedding rings along with other bits of jewelry. Had Robin's marriages had all been happy ones? Jackie would be content to have just one relationship that proved successful.

  Not that it really mattered anymore. He'd meant it when he said he was done. When all he had to his name was a string of momentary flames and three serious lovers who had all cheated on him… well, he might be stubborn as the day was long, but he knew when to quit. Some things just weren't meant to be.

  At the bottom of the mess of memories was a leather-bound book small enough to fit his hand. It reminded Jackie fleetingly of the grimoire he'd gotten from the goblins he'd helped only the day before. So much had happened since then it seemed more like a lifetime ago.

  Shaking his head at himself, Jackie started reading. The book was written in the same precise hand that had written out his directions, so it was definitely Robin's. It was filled with all manner of notes on various things Robin had encountered throughout his life, but given the accountings seemed to start in the 1800's, Jackie wondered if there were more books somewhere that accounted for the earlier years of Robin's life.

  He skimmed through the entries, marveling at all Robin had seen and done the same way he marveled at his Pa's tales of his days when the West had been something entirely different from what it was in the present.

  Jackie started to close the book when his eyes were caught by two words: magic experiments. Narrowing his eyes, he went back to the start of the passage and read it in full.

  Rescued a woman today who was running from a group of men and their dogs, like they thought she was some sort of rabbit to be run to ground. She was extremely ill from experiments that had been performed on her. There were runes branded and carved into her skin; it appears a part of the experiments was in determining which method was more efficacious. Whatever the bastard was attempting with the poor woman, he did not complete his work and so I cannot determine what spell was ultimately intended. I think it was some manner of binding, but past that I simply cannot say. From what I have been able to gather from the woman, who is understandably shaken and likely will never entirely recover, she was sold to a sorcerer I've heard rumors of before, a man who conducts horrible experiments in the name of magic.