Arcane Kiss (Talents Book 1) Page 6

  Closing his eyes, Kurt drew in a deep breath, and held it for a count of three, then blew it out. Focusing all his attention on his breathing, he worked to slow his heartbeat.

  Yet still rage swirled through him, feeding on Stoli’s anger as well as his. Fighting his desperate attempts to rein himself in.

  Then he felt it. Magic. Brushing his consciousness like a feather floating over his skin. Genevieve. Trying to work her magic on him, influence him, control him… Like Mom. Something hot and ugly detonated in the depths of his brain.

  Before he could explode, her hand touched the side of his face, her skin cool and soft on his cheek. Her blue eyes met his. “Shhhhh,” she said softly.

  Her magic stroked his. Not to force emotion on him, not to manipulate him with a Bard’s magical song, but to soothe. To help. He remembered the way she’d reduced Parvati’s physical pain, and knew she was doing the same for him.

  Giving him space. Giving him the clarity he needed to exert control over himself. Closing his eyes, he drew in another deep breath. Held it. Blew it out. In. Out. In. Out. Combat breathing until the fury drained into the preternatural calm he’d come to know so well during the Caliphate War.

  “There.” Something brushed his lips, tender as a butterfly’s wing. His eyes snapped open. Genevieve stood on her toes, her lips touching his in a chaste, almost sisterly kiss. Her blue eyes stared into his as she murmured against his lips, “I knew you could pull out of it.”

  And her aura brushed his again, making it thrum a deep, delicious note. She’d probably intended the kiss as a gesture of comfort, but despite his tearing pain, it somehow felt almost sensual.

  In an instant, the pain twisted under the touch of her aura, transforming into something equally intimate. In the depths of his mind, heat leaped. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her narrow waist. His lips opened against hers, starved for the comfort she offered. Drinking in the taste of her, feeling the soft contours of her body.

  That sweetness in the midst of this agony was as desperately welcome as an ice chip to a man burning in hell. Kurt focused on her, grateful for the distraction. But even more than that, there was the taste of her Arcanist magic, swirling all around them, making his skin tingle.

  God, Kurt wanted her. Wanted to lose himself in her, to take shelter from the bitter agony of his father’s death, if only for a moment. So he kissed Genevieve with all his desperate hunger to forget it all: his sins, his father’s death. If only for this one moment. He kissed her, suckling the soft, damp velvet of her mouth, the taste of woman and magic.

  By the time he lifted his head, both of them had begun to shake.

  When Kurt glanced around, he saw they were standing in the simple illumination of the arena security lights. His tiger manifestation had vanished.

  He was in control again.

  Genevieve smiled up at him, though her face was wet with tears and her mouth trembled. “There. I knew you could do it.”

  Before Kurt could reply, a new voice spoke up, sounding dry. “Anybody want to tell me what’s going on?”

  Tensing, he instinctively drew her close as he looked toward the source of the voice. A dozen cops stood in the entrance of the arena enclosure. Every one of them had his gun drawn and pointed at them.

  Oh, shit.

  * * *

  Genevieve’s slowing heartbeat began to pound again as she stared in dismay at the cops. She was acutely aware of just how close Kurt was to the edge. If any of these men did anything aggressive, they could undo all her desperate work.

  “Gen, what are you doing in the middle of this?” A man shouldered out from among the deputies. Unlike the uniformed officers, he wore khakis and a tan knit shirt with a Sheriff’s Department logo. He was a little less than average height, with an athlete’s powerful build and curly brown hair that made his handsome face look almost boyish. His calm, slow speech tended to defuse tense situations even as it made people underestimate his considerable intelligence.

  “Grant!” She blew out a breath in relief at the sight of her friend. “Damn, I’m glad to see you.”

  “Wish it was under better circumstances.” He turned and began to give a series of crisp orders to the men around him. He gestured at Jake and a tall, dark-skinned deputy. “Nolan and Williams, you’re with me. The rest of you, spread out and search the park. Flag anything that doesn’t belong, especially blood trails and weapons. Bad guys or witnesses would be even better.”

  “Grant?” Kurt murmured, gold eyes narrowing and taking on a dangerous glint. His magic boiled around them, and Genevieve realized he was about to manifest his tiger again.

  Damn it, I just got him calmed down! Gen wrapped her fingers around his wrist, trying to reestablish their magical connection. His skin felt too warm, feverish with the magic he was using.

  Fur seemed to brush across her mind -- Stoli, his spirit tiger, reaching out to her. There was something possessive about that elemental contact, as if the cat thought she somehow belonged to them.

  Which probably explained the growl making Kurt’s chest vibrate against hers. Crap. She started talking. Fast. “Grant Sawyer’s a violent crimes detective with the Laurelton Sheriff’s Office. I do forensic sketches and magical consulting for him. Nice guy.”

  As the other cops scattered, Sawyer walked past them to Fred’s body. Careful not to step in the blood, he bent to search for a pulse, as calm as a man who wasn’t being glared at by agitated Ferals.

  When he straightened, his broad shoulders slumped. “He’s gone.” He looked down at the big sprawled body before turning to study them, his dark gaze cool. “This is Fred Briggs, isn’t it? I’ve seen him on the news.” He looked at Kurt, and his voice gentled. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  To her relief, Genevieve felt the aggression bleed out of Kurt. “So am I.” He closed his glowing eyes and swallowed, making an obvious effort to control the animal instincts that had driven him to assert a claim over Gen.

  Sawyer turned to Jake. “Green said you called this in. What can you tell me?”

  Jake didn’t quite come to attention, but it was close. Evidently he respected the detective as much as Genevieve did. “A Feral and an Arcanist entered BFS tonight and trapped Mr. Briggs in the arena with some kind of spell. Fred manifested his lion and fought the Feral.”

  “Looked like a polar bear, based on the size,” Kurt added in the clipped tone of a military briefing. “I’d estimate it was about twelve feet tall, based on the comparison to Dad’s lion, which is… was… about eight feet standing reared.”

  Sawyer’s brows lifted. “Damn. Big animal.”

  Jake nodded and continued, “Fred was badly wounded during the fight and died about ten minutes ago. Bled out.”

  “How much of that did you witness?”

  “Not much. Fred managed to tell us what happened before he passed. Deputy Green was there.” He grimaced. “Pointing a gun at Dave, who was trying to render first aid.”

  Sawyer glanced at the tiger, who’d moved over beside Kurt and Genevieve and lay down on his belly in an unsuccessful attempt to look harmless. “I can see why he might have been intimidated. Did Briggs have any idea who his attackers were?”

  Jake shrugged. “He didn’t give a description, just said it was an Arcanist and a bear Feral.”

  “They were wearing magical camo,” Dave put in. When Sawyer looked at him, the tip of his striped tail twitched in irritation. “I was Arcane Corps before I went furry. I know a Spook Suit when somebody in one shoots at me. Couldn’t see the Arc at all unless you looked for the magic.”

  “Did he have any idea why they attacked him?” The detective crouched to study Fred’s body. He reached into a pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and started snapping photos. “Had he argued with anybody? There had to be some reason these guys killed a man everybody in town considers a saint.”

  “It definitely had something to do with magic,” Genevieve said. “Really dark magic. I sensed it all the way out in the sanct
uary.” Glancing around the bloody arena, she again felt the swirl of alien power. Kurt’s crisis had distracted her from it, but now she closed her eyes and looked.

  Sigils appeared behind her lids, spinning in lazy malevolence. “Yeah, Arcanist magic. And the spell is still active.”

  Sawyer stiffened. “What? Now? There are a hell of a lot of Ferals here. You sure that’s not what you’re sensing?”

  “No, she’s right,” Kurt said. “Dave and I ran right into a working at the entry to the arena -- must have been the same one that trapped Dad in with the bear. The Arc was up on the bleachers with a weapon. Probably a sniper rifle. That’s who shot my cat.” He pointed up toward the bleachers where a furry still shape lay draped over a seat plank. A spasm of grief flashed over his face before he banished it. “I’ve got to get him down from there.”

  Sawyer followed his gaze and frowned. “We have to get a necropsy on that cat. I’ll need the bullet for ballistics.”

  “I’ll call the vet.”

  While they were talking, Genevieve started walking around the arena, holding her hands out at waist height, feeling the currents of energy swirling around her. Kurt paced her, the set of his shoulders protective as he stared around as though on the lookout for another attack. “It’s definitely a working, and it’s powerful as hell. But I can’t quite tell what it’s supposed to do.” She looked up at him. “You said there was a barrier at the arena entrance?”

  “I ran head-first into it. Felt like a brick wall.” He strode across the bloody sand, head down, and gestured at a spot just before the gate. “Right about here. You can see my -- Stoli’s -- paw prints.”

  Genevieve extended a palm over the churned sand. Someone with a lot of power had indeed cast a spell circle there. “We’ve got at least two different workings. This one is designed to block the gate entrance like a cork in a bottle. It’s not active now or I doubt we could’ve gotten in. The killers must have deactivated it when they ran.”

  “And the second spell?” Sawyer asked. He’d followed them and stood taking notes in one of the narrow spiral notebooks he used at crime scenes.

  “Let me take a look.” Gen moved away from Kurt and started pacing along the inner perimeter of the fence. Energy roiled the air so violently she could almost see it with her eyes open. She hissed at the stinging electric tingle. “Damn, it’s powerful! Strongest working I’ve ever encountered. And it’s definitely death magic. I think they killed Fred to power the spell.”

  “So he was a human sacrifice?” Sawyer cursed viciously. “What kind of spell is it?”

  “Booby-trap?” Dave trailed them, his tail whipping back and forth. “Do we need to get the fuck out before it blows?”

  Genevieve shook her head; her mother had taught her how to spot mystical antipersonnel mines when she was a kid. “It’s not a bomb… exactly. It does something nasty, but I can’t tell what.” She closed her eyes and turned her head, scanning the arena.

  Glowing shapes seemed to hover in the darkness around her. Eyes still closed, she began working her way around the arena. Her shoulder raked across wire as she collided with the arena fence.

  A firm male hand took her by the arm -- Sawyer, guiding her as he often did whenever she tried something like this. “Thanks…”

  A menacing growl sounded in the air. Through her closed lids, Gen saw a tiger slinking toward her, head down, lips peeled off scimitar fangs.

  Behind the manifestation, a glowing man snapped in Dave’s voice, “Get it under control, Kurt!” He was tall, with the wiry build of a marathon runner. Big, bony hands, close-cropped hair, and rawboned features made him look as if he should be riding the range somewhere. He was dressed like a soldier in a tank shirt, camo pants and combat boots. Glowing dog tags hung around his neck.

  Startled, Gen opened her eyes.

  Kurt stood where she’d seen the tiger, while Dave watched his friend warily from the location of the glowing soldier.

  “Detective, get away from her,” the tiger said in a very even, calm voice. “His control sucks just now.”

  “She has to keep her eyes closed to see the magic, so somebody’s got to guide her,” Sawyer objected.

  “Then I’ll do it.” Kurt’s growl was even lower than it had been before, naked menace in the sound.

  The detective tensed, eying him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You couldn’t be a cop and be a coward. “Are you sure you can be trusted with her? Because frankly it doesn’t look that way to me.”

  Kurt growled louder, a savage light in his eyes.

  Just what this situation doesn’t need: a pissing contest. Awesome. “It’s all right,” Genevieve told Sawyer. “Kurt’s not going to hurt me.”

  Reluctantly, the detective stepped back, though he didn’t move far. Kurt glared at him, the air growling around him, reacting to his magic.

  “Might want to give him some room,” Jake suggested in a deeply careful voice. “He’s going to be strung a little tight until he catches his balance. It’s not a good idea to push him.”

  Sawyer studied Kurt coolly. “Did your dad push you too?”

  “Frequently. But he wasn’t the one who shot me, and I’m not the one who killed him.”

  The two men stared at each other, hostility sizzling between them like burning meat. At last, Sawyer stepped back even as Jake and Dave moved protectively closer. Gen couldn’t tell who they were there to restrain, the cop or Kurt.

  She gave them all the look they deserved. “Flex your testosterone later. I’m trying to work here. Kurt, are you going to help me or not?” Physical contact would make it easier to help him calm his roiling aura.

  “I’ll guide you.” He took her arm.

  She closed her eyes and went back to pacing along the perimeter of the enclosure, trying to ignore the glowing tiger that walked where Kurt should be. It was more than a little disconcerting, especially since she could feel Kurt’s fingers cupping her elbow. It was as if he was both man and tiger.

  Come to think of it, that was exactly what he was.

  And I don’t have time for this. Dragging her attention back to the matter at hand, Gen concentrated on the sigils burning like coals behind her closed lids. They floated in midair in three concentric rings, each a different shade of red, blazing almost as brightly as the Ferals. “I don’t get this at all. I can’t tell what the spell is supposed to do, other than something vicious.”

  “That’s not exactly surprising, if they murdered my father to cast it.”

  She frowned, studying the sigils, which glowed in scarlet, ruby and crimson. Each shade of red probably formed a different layer of the spell, much as her own pastels did. Whatever it did, the working was complex as hell. “I’ve got to dispel this. I don’t dare let it run, especially if we don’t know what it’s doing.”

  Opening her eyes, she turned to Sawyer, who was busily taking notes. “I’m going to have to look these sigils up. I need to go back to the cat clinic and get my sketchpad. I have to copy the sigils, and I need a big enough pad to do it.”

  “Where is it? I’ll have one of the deputies get it.”

  “It’s in my messenger bag. Just bring the whole bag. I left it in the Cat Clinic with the caged tiger.”

  “I’ll get it,” Jake said, starting for the gate. “I know the clinic better than your guys anyway.”

  “That’d be great.”

  He broke into a run, broad shoulders rolling, arms pumping.

  Five minutes later he was back, the bag slung over one shoulder. He handed it over, not even breathing hard. The cop was in good shape -- but then, given that he was both a Feral and an Arcane Corps vet, that probably went without saying.

  “Thanks.” Gen pulled out the pad and three colored pencils of the same shades of red as the spell circles. Putting two of the pencils in her mouth, she used the third to sketch the first set of sigils, closing her eyes to study the shapes, then opening them to draw each as precisely as she could.

  Each magical sigi
l represented an entire word or phrase, rather like ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. The trouble was, most of the sigils that made up the working were so obscure, she had no idea what they meant.

  Genevieve copied each set of sigils in their respective colors, then moved a little further and started drawing the next set. As she worked, she was careful not to infuse them with any of her own magic, since that would defeat the purpose of breaking the spell.

  It was a slow process, but Genevieve didn’t dare try to hurry. If she got one of the sigils wrong, it might be impossible to determine the working’s purpose. Worse, she might think it did one thing when it did something entirely different.

  “Once you figure out what it does, will you be able to tell who cast it?” Sawyer asked.

  “Maybe.” She paused to copy an elegant swirling pattern. “My mother specializes in magical theory. Chances are good she’ll be able to decipher them. If that fails, I can always post this in an Arcane Internet forum, see if anybody sees something they recognize. Often there’s a distinctive style to the way an Arc puts a spell together. Maybe someone will be able to ID the caster.”

  “Sounds like a long shot,” Jake commented.

  “Yeah, but it could also work. Gen’s paid off for me before.” Sawyer turned back to her. “Do you think you could sketch the attackers for me?” She’d done magical forensic sketches for him in the past that had helped him make arrests in major cases.

  “Depends on how much breaking this spell takes out of me. I may not have enough left.”

  “May not work though,” Dave pointed out. “Spook Suits are designed to block magic as well as visible light.”

  Sawyer shrugged. “Worth a try anyway.”

  By the time Gen finished walking the circle, her head was aching savagely from sheer effort. And she was nowhere near done. She only hoped she had the strength to break the working.

  After checking to make sure her work was accurate, she tucked the pad and pencils back into her bag. Gen looped the strap over her shoulder and headed for the spell’s dark heart.

  Sullen arcane energy swirled above Fred Briggs’ butchered body, making the hair on her arms stand up as she approached. When Genevieve closed her eyes, she could see glowing lines of force in scarlet, ruby, and crimson pouring down into the corpse and out again in great loops.