Grave Dance Part 20

I blinked and looked around. All the gra.s.s was withered and gray in my grave-sight, so I never would have known that if he hadn't told me. What kind of ritual kills all the gra.s.s in the area?

I had no idea, but there was only one thing left to do.

I crossed the edge of the circle.

Crossing someone else's circle, even one long ago dispelled, into someone's ritual s.p.a.ce is always a little uncomfortable for a sensitive. The area is almost guaranteed to be saturated with that witch's magic, and even the trace of beneficial and friendly magic can be overwhelming. Not that I was expecting friendly spells on the other side of this barrier.

What I expected even less was to find no magic at all, but that was exactly what I found.

I blinked. Over the last few hours I'd grown so accustomed to seeing the world through hazy swirls of Aetheric that their sudden absence was jarring. I glanced behind me. Outside the edge of the circle the Aetheric still hung over the world, but inside the circle there were only a few thin wisps, like what the skimmers had been drawing from the tear. I'd heard of magical dead spots before, but that wasn't what I was looking at, and I knew it. This was more like depletion. But what kind of spell uses that much energy?

Something major, that was for sure, and whatever it was, I definitely didn't like it.

I squinted. I wasn't used to my grave-sight opening multiple planes of existence to me, but I knew there were more planes than I had names for. I occasionally caught glimpses of different planes that didn't "fit" with the land of the dead or the Aetheric, though those two were my only constants. Now I tried to look for another plane, one that might give me a hint of what had happened in this circle.

Colors splashed across the world. They weren't the vivid, swirling colors of the Aetheric, but colors that seemed to emanate from inside objects and s.p.a.ce. I'd seen this plane before, and from what I'd gathered, it absorbed the emotional resonance of the people who brushed against it. Around the rift I could make out the bright, blissed-out spots where the skimmers had stood, but those were just splashes of color, already fading. Under them, in the very center of the tear, was the most brilliant light I'd ever seen. It was no color, or all colors-I couldn't be sure. It created a silhouette of light instead of shadow. I stared at it, realizing this was the profile of the witch we were looking for, but I could glean no details from the shape except that the witch had stood in that very spot and felt hope . . . joy.

Hope and joy? What had happened in this circle? Had I been wrong about who cast it?

I turned, walking farther from the tear, and then I stumbled because as soon as I left the glow of the witch's hope, the air turned thick with a deep stain of pulsing red.

The color bled up from the ground and throbbed against my skin. Fear. Pain. Desperation. I crashed to my knees. I could almost see the shadows of rage closing in around me, as they twisted and writhed in the circle. The very air hummed with anger, p.r.i.c.kling my flesh and burning my lungs. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.

I slammed my shields closed, blocking out the dead, the color, the rage, the pain. Darkness fell over me, and I welcomed the sudden lack of sight as I sucked down gulps of the night air.

"Alex, what happened?"

Falin.

He was beside me, his hands on my arms as he tried to help me stand. I let him.

"They died here," I whispered. "So much pain. So many people." And the witch had stood in the center of all that misery and had felt hope.

I didn't tell the police what I'd seen. The antiblack magic unit had both an auramancer and a wyrd clairvoyant who could tap into the reality I'd touched if the cops really wanted to know what the victims had felt, though I wouldn't have wished what I'd just felt on anyone. When I saw John tomorrow-or really, later today, as it was long past midnight now-I would tell him that I'd sensed only one witch in that circle. That was something he needed to know. The rest? I didn't see how it would help.

I fell asleep on the ride home and woke to Falin lifting me from the car.

"M-mm. Put me down; you're hurt," I mumbled, the words coming out slightly garbled in my half-awake state.

"I'm not that hurt."

Right.

But he did put me down, and I stumbled up my stairs on my own. I let him use my keys to unlock the door, as I'd have just fumbled the job in my trembling, half-blind condition. I'd spent way too much time peering into other planes of existence. What I really wanted now was a hot shower and a good night's sleep, though not necessarily in that order.

PC danced around us, his little gray body burning my legs where he brushed against my pants. c.r.a.p, I hadn't even raised a shade and I was chilled to my core. I glanced longingly at my bed, but I'd made a promise to myself to stop sleeping with Falin-in any sense of the word-until I figured out how I really felt about him. And I'd made that decision before he'd gone and disappeared on me. Now? Yeah, I was sticking to my resolve.

"So," I said, turning toward Falin.

"So?" He slid his jacket off and hung it on the back of my solitary chair. His holster followed.

"Do you want the bed or the floor?" The good-host thing to do would be to offer him the bed, but he'd invited himself, so I'd let him be gallant and take the floor.

"You're kidding, right?"

"No," I said, and I meant it, but even to my own ears, the single-syllable word sounded feeble. Maybe that was because I was staring at the smooth skin being revealed as Falin unb.u.t.toned his oxford.

"Really?" He pulled the shirt free of his pants so he could get to the last b.u.t.ton, but he didn't take the shirt off. It gapped as he stepped forward, exposing small glimpses of pale skin and hard abs.

He lifted a hand, brushing a strand of hair back from my face. He'd stripped off his gloves at some point, so his fingers were bare and warm against my cheek.

"I-" I started, but he leaned down. His lips brushed mine, the kiss tentative, a question with just a touch of breath and heat.

Whatever I'd planned to say vanished.

I lifted on my toes, inviting more, and he didn't disappoint. His lips closed over mine, firm and soft all at once as he deepened the kiss. One of his hands slid into my hair, the other around my waist as he pulled me closer, surrounding me with his heat, his scent, his touch.

Someone cleared their throat behind me. "Please tell me I get a veto in this."

I jumped, breaking contact with Falin in midkiss.

Death leaned against the counter, his thumbs hooked in his pockets and his dark hair spilling into his face. I couldn't do anything more than stand there staring at him as my heart thundered in my chest, though I couldn't have said if I was more breathless from the kiss or from the fact that it was Death who had caught me at it.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?" he asked. Death may have looked casual and sounded bored, but his eyes were fixed on Falin with dark intensity.

Yes. Very much. Not that I shouldn't have been thankful-I had made a promise to myself, after all-but I couldn't quite summon up that particular emotion as Falin's hands slid over my shoulders.

"Alexis," he whispered, his lips pressing against my hair, his breath tracing my ear.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the chill filling me and everything to do with the sensations his touch woke in my body rang through me. Aside from the awkward, teasing dance that Death and I had been stumbling through recently, I hadn't been touched, really touched-in a month. The feel of his skin on mine sent a thrill through me as if it had been a lot longer than that. But I couldn't do this. Especially not with Death watching every change in my features from beneath his heavily hooded eyes.

I shrugged away from Falin's hands. "I'll just take the floor," I said, no longer caring who got stuck with the floor so long as his hands, and lips, and eyes stopped lighting a fire in my skin. I turned to Death. "What are you doing here?"

He lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. "At the moment? Chaperoning."

Right. Of course. I groaned silently and realized I could almost hear the ringing absence of movement as Falin went still behind me.

"Who's here?" he asked.

As answer, I reached out my hand toward Death. I wasn't sure he'd accept it. Roy enjoyed becoming visible, but Mr. Super Secretive Soul Collector? Him I wasn't sure about. h.e.l.l, for all I knew, he might vanish just because I'd let on that he was present. But if he was going to stand around making commentary, I wasn't going to be the only victim listening.

Death looked at my outstretched hand for a moment, and then smiled, flashing a row of perfect teeth before placing his palm against mine. I dropped my shields and Falin let out a curse.

"What's he doing here?" he asked, the question directed at me and not the collector, though I knew he d.a.m.n well was now visible. Falin crossed muscular arms over his chest and glared from Death to me.

I frowned at him. The point of dropping my shields was so they didn't talk through me in the first place.

Death lifted my hand to his lips, drawing me several steps forward in the process, but he didn't so much kiss my knuckles as smile into my skin. His eyes watched me as he did this; then, as if we were dancing, he spun me so my back was to him. Dropping my hand, he wrapped one arm around my shoulders. He was tall enough that he could prop his chin on the top of my head.

"I heard Alex was having a slumber party and decided to crash," Death said, and though I couldn't see it, I could hear the smirk in his voice.

I'm tall-I have been ever since I turned twelve and in a single year shot up from a respectable twelve-year-old height of four-eleven to a gangly height of five-ten. I'd slumped for the rest of the year, until I'd left the academy for summer break and my father had threatened to make me spend my entire vacation in a social polishing camp if I didn't stand up straight. I'd soon stopped caring that I towered over my female peers and learned to enjoy the fact that I could look most guys in the eye. It was some time after that when I decided kicka.s.s boots that added an extra three inches to my height were the only way to go. All that said, I wasn't used to feeling short. But with Falin towering in front of me looking like some sort of p.i.s.sed-off Greek G.o.d carved out of marble, and Death pulling me back against his wide chest, I felt downright pet.i.te.

I also felt like I was suddenly caught in a situation that was about to spiral wildly out of control.

"You shouldn't be wasting energy. We need to get your body temperature back up, not invite in the chill." Falin stepped forward and, apparently deciding the best thing to do was ignore Death completely, rubbed his hands over my arms-which was more annoying than helpful.

Death's arm wrapped tighter around my shoulders. "I have body heat."

"Stop it, both of you." I shrugged away from Falin's hands, which earned me a frown from the fae, until I ducked out from under Death's arm. Then I garnered frowns from both men.

But I couldn't escape Death's touch. He and I had to be in contact for him to be visible unless I wanted to start channeling major amounts of energy, which I didn't, maybe even couldn't at this point. So I stood there for an awkward moment, my hand clasped in his, but my arm outstretched to add s.p.a.ce between our bodies. How do I get myself into these things? Well, there was always one safe topic: business.

"There was a collector at the crime scene earlier. Or at least I think he was a collector. But he collected the souls before death." Well, with the female skimmer he did, though I could have sworn the male was going to make it before the collector showed and snagged the man's soul. "Can you guys do that? Get impatient and collect a soul early?"

I'd been focusing on studying the layer of dirt coating my boots from my recent misadventures in the great outdoors, but as the silence stretched I looked up and found Death staring at me. Not the dark but intense I'm-imaginingyou-with-a-lot-less-clothing stare he'd been p.r.o.ne to giving me lately but a you've-stumbled-into-something-over-yourhead stare.

"What did he look like?" he asked.

"Male. Average height. Late twenties to early thirties. Dark hair. Long dark trench coat. What are you thinking?"

Death frowned, his gaze moving past me.

"Could he be involved?" Falin had snapped into cop mode while I wasn't paying attention. "He was at a murder scene that had a rift into the Aetheric. Could a . . . collector"-the way he said the word made it clear it wasn't a t.i.tle he was accustomed to using-"have ripped through to the Aetheric?"

Death shook his head, but I wasn't sure if he was disagreeing or simply dismissing his own thoughts. Then his eyes focused on me again. "You're trembling."

"I'm fine." I should have saved my breath.

"She needs sleep," Falin said, his gaze going icy again.

"With you, I suppose?" Death asked.

Falin crossed his arms. "It's an option."

"I'm fine," I repeated. Not that either of them noticed-they were too busy attempting to stare holes into each other. Perfect. Just what I need. I was cold to the core, magically drained, and far beyond the point of exhaustion.

"You know what, guys, maybe you're right. Have fun with the p.i.s.sing contest. I'm going to bed." I dropped Death's hand, closed my shields, and marched over to collapse fully dressed on my bed. I was asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

Chapter 21.

I woke trapped under a warm arm. A quick status check showed I was still in my own bed and fully dressed, though my boots had vanished at some point in the night. I was sure the warm body curled around me belonged to Falin only because Death was staring at me from where he leaned against the wall across from my bed.

"Did you stay all night?" I kept my voice low, trying not to wake the man behind me.

Death lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Wasn't much night left. More morning and early afternoon."

"You know, that is kind of creepy stalkeresque."

"I'm not the one who crawled into bed with you after you were asleep."

Point. The men in my life were . . . complicated. And so much for my resolve. I craned my neck to glance back at Falin. His face was relaxed, peaceful with sleep. Good. Now to get out of this bed without waking him.

Easier said than done.

I tried to slide out from under his arm, but the more I wriggled, the more his muscles flexed, tightening around me. He dragged me back against his chest without waking, like it was a reflex.

c.r.a.p.

I grabbed his wrist, hauling his arm off me. Then he did wake. The bed shifted as he moved, and he lifted his wrist from my hands, wrapping his arm around me once again.

His breath tickled along my jaw as he placed a kiss on the sensitive skin under my ear. "Good morning," he whispered, his voice still rough with sleep.

My mouth went dry, my body waking to answer his in ways I really wished it wouldn't-especially with Death still standing three feet away, watching me.

"I, uh-I have to pee." I broke free of Falin's arm and rolled to the edge of the bed.

As I crossed the foot of the bed, Falin flopped over onto his back. Staring at the ceiling, he bunched both his hands in his hair. "How many hours should I wait to start breakfast?"

"What? I-" Okay, so I had hid out in the bathroom the last time I woke with Falin in my bed, but this was different. "I'll be right back."

Death trailed me. I ignored him until I reached the bathroom-I had no intention of making him visible and encouraging a repeat of last night's posturing. Once I closed the door, I rounded on him.

"Out. This is alone time."

"You're cute when you're fl.u.s.tered."

I frowned at him. "I'm being serious."

"Then you should seriously make him leave." He jerked his chin toward the inner wall and the one-room apartment beyond.

"He's not here in the bathroom."

Death gave me a look that said I knew what he meant, and I sighed.

"He's helping me, okay?"

Death just continued to frown, and I turned my back on him. His reflection in the mirror watched as I tried to drag a brush through the snarls that my curls had turned into after they'd been slept on, and before that, hours of being tossed around in the wind while crossing over from the land of the dead.

"How do omelets sound for breakfast?" Falin's voice called from somewhere in the kitchen, and Death's reflection shook its head.