Dance Only For Me Read online

  The alchemy symbols he was not familiar with, though he knew enough to realize they weren't quite correct. "This is bad. These marks here … only a demon can bind himself so deeply to another, and only to his consort. You know that better than me."

  "Yes, and I will not lie: it scares me that someone else is using this kind of binding spell upon a demon. There is not enough here for me to say what exactly they're doing, but that these marks are involved at all is terrifying. I wish I knew more, but gathering this much information was difficult enough. If you stand a chance of putting this unhappy history to rest once and for all, I will gladly do what I can to help you. Everyone else who has tried to go against him has wound up dead or worse. We have never been able to put a name or a face to whoever it is controlling Firebrand, who was behind it all. Your father killed Corrigan; I think if anyone could end the entire matter it would be his son."

  "I'll do my best," Jackie said and stood when Frye did. "Much obliged for the help, my lord."

  "I'm grateful for your help," Frye replied and handed him the file. "Call if you think there is anything else I can do."

  "I'll do that. Ya'll take care."

  Outside, Jackie breathed a sigh of relief as the nausea and skin crawling sensation finally faded off. Though he was curious as to what it must be like living in a territory controlled by a demon of poisons, he was also grateful he'd probably never have to know. His new home wasn't Texas, but living under dragon rule wasn't bad by half.

  Heading down the street, he stopped at a diner he'd spotted on his way to see Frye. Settling in, he ordered his lunch and then began to read while he waited. He hadn't even gotten to the second page when his phone rang. Pulling it out, he stared at the 'Unknown' flashing on the screen for a second. That never boded anything but trouble, hell. Sighing, he accepted the call. "Black."

  "Sheriff! I need—"

  "Boy, how the hell did you get this number?"

  "I stole it from Roman's phone when he wasn't paying attention. But that's not—"

  "What kind of stupid fool are you to be talking to him again?"

  Wyatt huffed in irritation. "That's what I'm trying to tell you."

  Jackie pinched the bridge of his nose. "Get on with it then."

  "I was in my lab this morning and Roman showed up. I told him to go play in traffic, but this really fucking crazy dude with him broke through my wards and busted into my house. They wanted me to translate some alchemical formula for them. It was some scary shit. I don't get scared and this shit freaked me out. Thankfully it was incomplete. But not so great, that didn't seem to perturb them much. I don't like it when people are a-o-fucking-kay with a spell being incomplete, especially the one they showed me. You should hurry the hell up and get over here and look at it, see what you can make of it since patches of it are sorcery. I'm good with runes, but I'm an alchemist not a sorcerer."

  "What—" Jackie tried to keep up with the rapid fire words. "You still have whatever they gave you? That don't sound like Roman."

  "No, I don't have it. I memorized it," Wyatt snapped. He didn't add 'idiot' to the end of the sentence, but Jackie heard it. "I live in Delovely territory, at the southeast edge. Sunset Court, number 1275. It's got a blue roof and faces east. Hurry up."

  "Yes, my lord," Jackie replied and hung up. He shoved his phone back in his pocket, gathered up the papers and placed them back in the file, then threw cash down on the table before darting out. He quietly mourned the triple decker roast beef he would not get to eat as he headed to back to the location where he had first arrived.

  When he reached it, he knelt and drew out a piece of chalk to start drawing the spell circle he would need to reach Wyatt. He hoped the boy's directions had been sufficiently accurate. His phone chimed and he sighed, not even a little surprised when he saw Wyatt had texted him a picture of the spell circle he would need to get to Wyatt. Lifting his eyes to the sky, he put the phone away and finished drawing the circle himself.

  He appeared on a back patio that, like the one he'd left behind at his house in Texas, was made entirely of slate. The back door flew open and pure unadulterated rage filled Jackie.

  Taking the three steps to close the space between them, he gently tilted up Wyatt's head to better examine his battered face: black eyes, a bad cut on one cheek, and a nose that looked like it was one breath away from being broken. Jackie wanted to find the bastards what done it and teach them not to pick on kids. "You didn't tell me they'd roughed you up, boy," he said gruffly.

  "What difference does that make?" Wyatt asked impatiently. "I'm fine. I've had way worse than this. Come on."

  "I'm coming, I'm coming." Jackie followed him into a house nice enough he kinda wanted to gawk for a bit, but he didn't get the chance before he was led into an enormous laboratory. Given the size and shape of it, the brief impression he'd gotten of the rest of the house, it looked like Wyatt had converted three bedrooms into one giant lab. That … was somehow a saddening thought. No one that young should live in such an empty place.

  One of the shorter walls had been completely covered in chalkboard, most of it scribbled on with shit that left Jackie with a headache threatening from trying to figure it out. He had never been a slouch, but Wyatt made him feel like a calf next to a bull in terms of aptitude. It really wasn't no wonder everyone thought him dangerous.

  Most of the room was given over to tables, some topped in slate, others in stainless steel. What space was left was filled with bookshelves, storage cabinets, and a handful of trunks and bins. One of the bookshelves was filled with grimoires. Jackie went to them, helplessly drawn, and whistled in appreciation. In the supernatural world books were gold, and the collection before him made Wyatt a millionaire. "Where'd you get these?"

  "All over. Come and look."

  Jackie obeyed before Wyatt had a heart attack. Spread out on the table he stood at was a large sheet of paper on which Wyatt had written several rows of runes and alchemical symbols. There were enough gaps in the whole thing that the spell (formula, he guessed, since it was mostly alchemy) was useless—but there was enough of it left to spell trouble. "What in the blazing hell…" Setting the folder he'd been holding down, Jackie pulled out the paper with the rough sketches and laid it next to Wyatt's larger sheet. Put together, the two sets of runes spelled out a whole lot of trouble. "Damn it."

  "Those are the master runes missing from what I've got," Wyatt said quietly, sounding as scared as Jackie felt. "Those kinds of runes in that arrangement …"

  "And they're meant to be drawn with blood," Jackie added grimly. "The woman who remembered the marks said they'd been drawn in blood, and just looking at them I can't see how anything less would work. You don't get this kind of power using chalk."

  "Burn it," Wyatt replied in a flat tone.

  Jackie nodded. "Make note of them."

  "I already did."

  "Of course," Jackie murmured, faintly amused despite how unamusing the entire situation had become. He drew out a piece of chalk, but stopped when Wyatt gestured behind him.

  "There's a permanent fire circle on that table."

  Jackie really should have guessed as much. He took the paper over to the designated table and set it in the circle carved into the slate surface. Murmuring the activating words, he watched until the last shred of paper had turned into ash, then returned to Wyatt. "You have a sharp memory to memorize so much with just a few looks."

  "Being a good alchemist requires a lot of memory work, same as anything else in magic. I'm a great alchemist, so my memory is better than most. But I didn't really have anything better to do growing up." He smiled bright and sheepish, but Jackie knew deep-rooted sadness when it was fighting to be seen. "So, yeah, I have an awesome memory. Where did you get all this info?"

  "Went to talk to Lord Frye. He had a bit of research collected on the people I'm hunting—people apparently connected to Roman, the son of a bitch. The paper I burned was from the memories of a woman who survived Corrigan. You know him?"
/>   Wyatt just gave him a look. "I'm an alchemist. Of course I know of Corrigan."

  Jackie shook his head. "Anyway, those marks were all she could recall, though I think the alchemical marks ain't quite right."

  "They were off a bit, but not so badly I couldn't figure them out," Wyatt replied. "I could rewrite them if I had to, though I think there's still a few entire lines missing from the overall spell. I'm not quite sure what's missing, since I don't know what the spell is ultimately meant to do, but I could tell the lines we destroyed were all anchor lines meant to go at wrists, ankles, and throat. The master runes you had would go at the abdomen and lower back and of course the most important one goes over the heart. I'm sure you know all this better than me."

  Jackie shrugged. "Ain't really my thing, at that. But I am familiar with it all, yeah. It's a soul-binding spell. Not something that's really done, except with demons and consorts, and demons have their own magic for that. I don't think it's been used by a non-demon in recent history, not that I've heard. I'm more worried about the high amount of blood casting involved. Ain't never met a spell writ in blood that I liked, and I like it less when it's been intertwined with soul binding so heavily."

  "It's worse than you realize," Wyatt said grimly. "Some of the alchemical symbols… they aren't used for this kind of work. Even I would never have thought to use them the way they were in that spell. I can't say for certain, because it's that strange, but it's almost like they used a soul to make a cage."

  Jackie felt like he was going to be sick again, but it was far more acute a feeling than it had been in Frye's office. He threw his hat on the table and raked his hands through his hair. "Damn it all. That can't—I really hope you're wrong."

  "Me too," Wyatt said quietly, staring at the table where the spell had been, absently touching his wounded cheek. Jackie stared at him, concern blossoming anew as he took in the terrible state of Wyatt's face. More worrisome was the way Wyatt himself barely seemed to notice the damage. He seemed to be touching the edges of the cut out of restlessness rather than concern.

  Jackie walked over to the chalkboard wall and drew out a piece of chalk. The spell circle was an easy one, mostly because he'd had entirely too many occasions to draw it when he was young. "Come here," he said gruffly when he was finished.

  "Huh?" Wyatt asked, though he obediently walked over to him. Jackie gently touched his fingertips to Wyatt's face, placed his other hand fanned out over the spell circle, and activated the spell. Wyatt jolted as the spell coursed through him and stared at Jackie in surprise when it finished. Then he looked away, cheeks flushing. "No one has ever done that."

  Not replying to that because the people who needed to hear the angry words that wanted out weren't there, Jackie cupped Wyatt's chin and turned his face back and forth until he was satisfied the spell had tended all the damage. The only thing remaining was a faded scar on Wyatt's cheek. "So do I want to know why you considered that an easy whoopin?"

  Shrugging, Wyatt said, "I guess you should understand what you're putting up with, if nothing else. People tell me to butt out of everything because they're scared of what I'll do to everyone else." He smiled, tired, bitter, and sad. "I'm surprised no one told you already. My grandfather was H.H. Holmes, that man who killed hundreds of normals and abnormals. You know him?"

  "Ayah," Jackie said quietly. "Not the kind of tale a man forgets."

  "My mother worked in his hotel and actually got out alive, later wound up married to one of his bastards. What are the odds, right? She died when I was young and I went to live with my aunt and uncle. They weren't really better than my grandfather, but I didn't figure it all out for years—not until they started hurting me. I killed them and the people who had helped them… and a few others," he finished sadly. "A taste for blood and pain runs in the family."

  "I remember that case," Jackie said, more than a little shook up that the reckless idiot boy who drank vanilla whatever coffees was the same fourteen year old boy who had so expertly sliced up his aunt, uncle, and seven other people. "Who were the few others?"

  "They were beyond saving," Wyatt replied. "I couldn't leave them to suffer like that, not after what had been done to them. I told you dead bodies were nothing to me."

  Jackie reached out and combed his fingers through Wyatt's hair, feeling the tightly coiled tension in him, the way he was vibrating with it. He cupped the back of Wyatt's neck, squeezed lightly. "You're still a might reckless, son, but I don't think you're anything I have to worry about past that. Saddle up, we got a lot of work ahead of us. Let's get you settled with me, 'cause you'd best stick close until we sort this mess out. After that, we got us an appointment with a mutual acquaintance."

  Wyatt looked up cautiously, eyeing him for a moment. His face lit up from whatever it was he saw in Jackie's expression. "Give me a few minutes and I'll get my emergency bags. Those should last me a little while and I can take care of all this stuff later. Grab those books, would you? If I'm going to be gone for a while, I don't want to leave the grimoires."

  He ran off and Jackie shook his head at himself, having a sneaking suspicion he was never going to be rid of the boy now. More troubling was the realization that he didn't want to be, even though he had no idea what in the hellfire he was doing taking on a stray, especially one who thought any sort of beating was negligible and kept emergency bags. Pa was gonna tease him merciless if he ever found out. Hell, the club was gonna hurt themselves laughing. He'd just have to worry upon it all later. For the present, he definitely couldn't go leaving the boy alone.

  Wyatt reappeared a few minutes later, as promised, just as Jackie finished packing up the grimoires. "Ready?"

  "Ayah," Jackie replied, hefting the box. He followed Wyatt back out to the patio and watched, bemused, as he set wards that made Jackie's skin prickle. Leaving him to it, Jackie set the books down and began to draw a spell circle that could take both of them and all of Wyatt's belongings back to the club. "You gonna miss this place?" he asked as Wyatt stepped into the circle with him.

  "No," Wyatt said. "I'm never here unless I'm working on an experiment."

  Jackie nodded because he'd never been much for lingering either for years and years. He spoke the activating mark, and they vanished.

  "Come on, then," he said as they reappeared in his workroom. "It ain't much, but we can turn this room into your bedroom, figure out where to put all this stuff later. For now, throw your bags in my room. Get something to eat if you're hungry. Did Roman mention where he was going next?"

  "No."

  "Then we'll wait for him at his apartment. He's got to show up there sometime. Get on a move on."

  Wyatt ran off, and Jackie heard him moving around, the thump of his bags being thrown about, before he came rushing back a few minutes later. "Thank you," he blurted. "No one—I just get told to go home."

  Jackie just nodded, not really certain what to say. He'd always worked alone, save for special circumstances and when he'd been training Rostiya. It was going to be interesting having someone along he was pretty certain he wouldn't be able to shake loose—a young, reckless, bossy kid at that. He finished drawing a new circle and stood. "How's that fancy watch of yours working? The transfer spell thing."

  "Some flaws to work out, and I think it requires more energy than usual so I have to fix that. It might be viable someday, but not anytime soon. Why?"

  "Just curious. I've been doing so many transfer spells lately, it occurred to me to ask. I prefer to draw'em, but I was curious if the silly thing worked." He nodded, satisfied his circle was good, and tucked his chalk away. Stepping into the circle, beckoning Wyatt to join him, he said, "Now, when we get there, you're to stay behind me, hear? Things start to go bad, get out of there. I don't want you coming to anymore harm, understand?"

  "Yes, Sheriff," Wyatt said, looking the very image of obedient.

  Jackie cuffed him lightly. "Just stay out of my way, vagrant, and stop calling me Sheriff." He activated the spell before Wyatt could giv
e the reply that had put a grin on his face.

  He was a bit surprised the spell worked without issue, that Roman had not warded him and Wyatt from entering the penthouse. Jackie listened for a moment, but didn't hear anything. When he was relatively certain the coast was clear, he left the entryway and stepped into the living room—and smelled blood. Roman was sprawled on the floor, blood pooled around his head.

  A scream of pain dam near made him jump; Jackie drew one of his revolvers and cocked it. He raised it as he turned around—and found himself frozen in place.

  A white haired man with pasty skin was dangling in the air, scrabbling futilely at the claw-tipped hand holding him up. His shirt and pants were soaked with blood and there seemed to be so much of it Jackie doubted there'd be any saving him.

  He was being held in the air by a man with skin so dark it was near-black, and damn near every inch of it was covered in runes and alchemical symbols. His eyes were a vibrant yellow-gold; they glowed faintly as he stared at Jackie with an expression Jackie couldn't quite puzzle out. He was a wiry little bastard, didn't look like he'd even reach Jackie's shoulders. His voice was low, a bit gravely, when he said, "You're a gunslinger."

  "Ayah," Jackie replied, heart pounding like a herd gone stampede, though for the life of him he couldn't say why. "Who are you, hoss? What say you let the gentleman down?"

  The man sneered. "Gentleman. Bah." He threw the man across the room, eyes flashing with satisfaction at the ominous cracking sound he made as his head struck the glass and left it spider webbed with fractures. The yellow-eyed man prowled toward Jackie.

  "Back off," Jackie said, tensing as the tang of magic on the air sharpened, bringing with it the scent of wet leaves and crisp air, a hint of apple. So much power…

  Demon.

  "I mean it, demon. Stop there or you'll be sorely regretting it." The demon just laughed and kept coming. Jackie took care aiming, then fired—and swore loudly and colorfully when the demon caught the bullet easy as pie. He holstered his weapon. "What the hell was that?"