Lure of the Wicked Part 36

Naomi whirled, a spray of black sand spiraling around her feet. Her hand clenched over the bulky sweater she'd borrowed from Silas, found no gun, and immediately dropped again.

But she still did it, d.a.m.n it.

Matilda watched her from only a few yards away, her expression inscrutable. She was always inscrutable. Tall and rail-thin, with a waist-length braid gone to more gray than red, Naomi had no idea how old she was. Sixty?

Seventy?

h.e.l.l if she knew. Naomi only knew that she didn't like the woman. And she suspected the feeling was mutual. "Where the h.e.l.l did you come from?"

Matilda's smile was as serene as if she couldn't sense the thundercloud roiling around Naomi. Which was also bulls.h.i.t. "This is my home," she said simply, and stuck her hands into the pockets of a pair of oversized overalls. Her galoshes were bright yellow, speckled with black sand, and her shirt today was something old and worn. Real cotton, rare as h.e.l.l if it wasn't imported topside and sold for a fortune.

The woman collected prequake garbage like junkies collected needles.

"Yeah," Naomi said, feeling waspish. "It's yours. I get it. You want to leave me alone now?"

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes." No.

She wanted a do-over. She wanted to be back in her own bed, at her own office, with her own team. She wanted things to be back to normal; investigate, track down, kill.

She wanted to not be crazy anymore, to have her bed filled with a man whose smile made his eyes warm like- No. Stop it.

What she wanted didn't matter. Naomi turned her back, staring out over the green water. The autumn wind didn't make it into the canyon easily, so only the faintest ripples touched the sh.o.r.eline. Even despite the brisk chill, the hot springs kept the air warm enough to beat the worst of the weather so far.

Footsteps crunched behind her.

Naomi stiffened.

"It's hard, isn't it?" Matilda offered quietly, coming to stand beside her.

Despite the thoughts swirling like needles and knives in her tired, aching brain, Naomi couldn't help her brief, laughing snort. "Life?"

"Choice."

"Same thing." Naomi glanced at the old woman as Matilda shook her head, her dark brown eyes searching somewhere beyond the rock face at the far end of the water.

The single, know-it-all gesture snapped Naomi's control like a rubber band pulled too far. She could all but feel the welt as she snarled, "All right, fine. You've obviously got some sort of bulls.h.i.t ulterior motive here, so can you just spit it out and go away?"

To her surprise, the witch grinned, rocking back on her heels. "What makes you say that?"

Son of a b.i.t.c.h. "Because!" Naomi exploded, and once the word rushed out of her chest, she couldn't stop the rest from following. "Ever since I've gotten here, you've done this whole mysterious stranger bulls.h.i.t. You don't answer anything, you sit there and poke and prod and offer the occasional insight and let everyone else come to the decision you have already made."

The witch was silent, her grin fading to that serene curve once more.

Naomi spun, paced three steps away, came up short and paced back, fists clenched at her sides. "You keep dropping these stupid hints about who I am and what I can do and what this whole team thing is and isn't and it's p.i.s.sing me the f.u.c.k off." She flung a hand toward the house. "Silas and me, we're not used to sitting around! We need s.h.i.t to do, and the only thing we've got going is that the world's a G.o.dd.a.m.ned mess and we can't do jack and s.h.i.t all about it."

Matilda turned her head, tranquil eyes studying her quietly. Knowing.

Jesus G.o.d, always with the knowing.

Naomi ground her teeth so hard, her jaw popped. "Jessie," she gritted out between them, "is the biggest f.u.c.king do-gooder on this G.o.dforsaken planet, and all we can agree on is that we gotta do something. The Church sent a man to get a magical whatever-the-f.u.c.k, and the Mission sent me to stop him. A witch became a missionary-" She stopped abruptly as one faded red eyebrow lifted, and Naomi laughed bitterly. "And a missionary became a witch. Jesus b.a.s.t.a.r.d Christ, Matilda, what the h.e.l.l are we supposed to do? You know everything, you tell us!"

The woman raised a gnarled hand, rubbing at her nose. For a moment, all the reply Naomi heard was her own voice, bouncing from canyon wall to wall and vanishing into the cloudy gray sky.

Naomi spat a curse and turned away.

"Naomi."

She stopped, shoulders rigid.

"How did you feel?" When she glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows snapped tightly together, Matilda had gone back to watching the water, her lined features inscrutable. "When your father killed himself?"

Naomi's mouth twisted. How did she feel? Between the bone-crushing grief and the fury that she'd been placed into an orphanage? She took a deep breath. "Relieved."

"Why?"

That was easy. "Because he didn't have to deal with the pain of his wife's rejection. That killed him way before any rope did."

"His wife." Her tone was light. "Not your mother, but his wife."

"She was never my mother," Naomi replied flatly, turning to face the old witch the same way she'd face an opponent. Chin up. Fists tight. Eyes level.

She'd be d.a.m.ned if the old biddy bested her now. She'd been through too much to eat this. "Even when she was there," she added. "He loved her." And so had Naomi. Once. When she was too little to understand that the polished, beautiful creature who came by now and again was every bit as shallow and merciless as a reflection.

"What about Phin?"

This voice came from behind her, feminine and younger. And with enough matter-of-fact sting to tell her without looking that Jessie had followed her. Which meant Silas wasn't far behind.

Naomi didn't turn. "What about Phin?"

"How did you feel when you left him?"

Empty. Hollow. Aching. "Relieved," she repeated, but even to her own ears, it lacked the same certainty. Naomi shook her head, answering the question she knew would follow. "Because it cuts him from this life. He made a mistake; I didn't hold him to it. Clarke was a good time, for the circ.u.mstances." Her voice flattened. "He was there, I was there. He's a good lay, and that's it."

Silence filled the corner edge of the bay, filled only with the faint brush of the autumn breeze. With the wind above and the odd, silent pulse of growing things.

And with the beat of Naomi's own heart, solid and strong. Even now, she could feel it underscored by something liquid smooth, golden, and warm. The fountain.

Witchcraft.

Finally Jessie sighed. "Okay, fine," she said, in a tone that said she'd let it drop . . . for now. "So we've ascertained that this isn't about you."

Naomi bit her tongue before she said something she'd regret. That Silas would regret-she owed him more than that.

"Now we have to figure out what it is about," Jessie continued.

"And what we can do about it." Silas's voice rumbled as it always did, always so much louder than he meant. Naomi jerked as one large hand settled on her shoulder. "Naomi, I know it's hard. We're all displaced here, and we're lacking everything we're used to having. Orders, for one," he added, and she glanced over her shoulder to find his lips quirked up.

"Jonas, for another," she admitted reluctantly. "We have limited information."

"Just what I can glean," Jessie said as she crouched by the water's edge. She trailed her fingers into the water. "And that's as much chance as it is anything else. I can't spy on your . . ." She paused. "On the Mission because I don't know where to look now. The one place I knew of was Peterson's."

"Little Miss Parker got her own pad," Naomi muttered.

Matilda watched silently, gnarled hands firmly in her pockets.

"But we're all agreed," Jessie continued, rising, her golden brown eyes serious as they touched on each of them in turn. "We have to do something. Sometimes I get lucky and a vision comes my way-"

"Which is how we learned about Timeless," Silas interjected.

Jessie nodded. "But we can't rely on that."

"There's more to consider," Matilda offered. Naomi glanced at her, shoving her own hands into the pockets of a pair of jeans the witch had loaned her. "As far as the Church is aware, you both are dead." Her head tipped toward Naomi. "But you've gone outlaw, my dear."

"Which means," Silas said, voice edged, "a bounty."

"And a sizeable one," Naomi offered. She grinned, a wide slash of teeth as Jessie tilted her head curiously. "Next to Silas, I was pretty hot s.h.i.t. That means they're going to hedge their bets."

"You were better than me, Nai." Silas furrowed his brow. "It was close, but you were better."

She shrugged, but the compliment-the statement of fact-did at least a little to ease the knot in her chest. She'd been good at something. A d.a.m.n fine missionary.

"Lousy at everything else," she said, half to herself.

Jessie blew out a hard breath. "We need an information network somewhere."

"We need a place to start," Naomi pointed out.

"We need," Matilda said, and somehow her quiet, easy authority cut through everything else, "to get Naomi into shape."

She bristled. "I don't-"

Understanding dawned on Jessie's face. "Right. Look," she added, turning to face Naomi fully. She wrapped her hands around Naomi's arms, just above the elbow, and leaned in until she was nearly nose to nose with her. "Listen to me closely. Okay? It's important."

Bemused, Naomi said nothing, letting the much shorter woman keep a grip on her. Partly because Silas was within easy reach, and he'd toss her on her a.s.s if she so much as lifted a finger against his woman, and mostly because Jessie's occasional flex of steel spine amused her.

And impressed her.

"You're a witch now," Jessie said, slowly and clearly. As if talking to a child, which didn't amuse Naomi quite as much. "And you've pretty much sworn off guns, so you have to get yourself strong in the magic department."

"I can still fight-" she began, only to cut herself off as Jessie shook her head.

"We're small enough a group as is, Naomi. If one of us dies because you don't know how to use that fountain, we're screwed."

Naomi didn't have an argument for that. "So." She shrugged off Jessie's grip and bit back an edged smile as Silas stiffened, then visibly forced himself to relax. "I'm a magical healing genie, then."

"No," Matilda said, but amus.e.m.e.nt made her eyes dance. "Close. I'll help you hone your control, my dear. That I can do freely. And," she added dryly, "without motive. Every witch needs to learn control, no matter what the gift."

Slowly Naomi flicked her tongue over the divot in her lower lip, her gaze sliding from witch to ex-missionary to witch again.

What were her options?

Run, as Silas had offered. That wouldn't last long. Go back to the Mission, which would end in her inevitable discovery and subsequent execution.

Sit on her a.s.s and do nothing?

Like h.e.l.l.

"Fine," she said, but pointed a finger at Jessie. "But if I'm going to be playing doctor for you, then you're training with me."

Jessie's smile flipped crookedly. "I'm pretty good at the control stuff already, but if you want, I can sit in."

"I don't mean with witchcraft," Naomi said, and knew she sounded smug. Silas's features suddenly took on a worried glower. "I mean training, hand to hand, self-defense, cripple and run. You fight like a girl, princess."

Jessie opened her mouth. Hesitated.

Silas slid both hands down her arms and murmured, "You don't have to, but like I said, she was better than me."

Jessie's eyes narrowed as they met Naomi's. "Deal."

Success. Pounding the blond princess' face into a mat would give her something else to think about.

The empty nights were something else, but if she was lucky, between magic control and bone-rattling beat-downs, she'd be too tired to do anything but sleep. Dreamlessly.

"We still need somewhere to start." Naomi sighed, but at least her fingers uncurled. Tension leaked out of her, leaving behind a weariness-a soul-deep ache that hadn't left her since Timeless.

Silas nodded. "Give me a few weeks. You ladies work on your lessons and whatever-"

Jessie snorted. "Way to make it sound like a knitting circle."

"-and I'll see what I can rustle up," Silas said over her, but he drew her back into his arms. Rested his chin atop her blond hair with so much obvious devotion, Naomi had to look away. Her throat ached.

"Where?" Jessie asked.

"I might have a few ideas. It'll take time."

"Oh-kay," Naomi drawled. And turned back to point at Silas, her eyes narrowed. "But I want something from you, too."

"Name it," he said, so seriously that for a moment the words froze on her tongue.

d.a.m.n it. The man had a way of getting around even her. Missionaries, once. Partners for life. Slowly her lips curved into a wide, wicked smile. "Anything?"

"f.u.c.k me," Silas muttered, and Matilda gave a crack of laughter. "Yes," he said warily. "Anything."

"Good. There's a name of a guy who owes me. I want you to collect some things from him."

"Things?" She tapped her lip with her index finger, and Silas's shoulders shook with laughter. "Oh. Why not? Sure, I'll get you your face full of metal again."