CHAPTER SEVEN
"You all right?” Xavier’s firm hand was there to help her to her feet.
Misty pushed her hair out of her face, plopped back down on the bed, and let out her breath. She was wearing only a long T-shirt, which covered her underwear, thankfully. “How do you think I am? I just woke up with two men standing over my bed.”
“Reid and I heard you screaming.”
“Had a bad dream. Sorry, I’m still a little shaky. And thirsty.” She licked the inside of her mouth.
Xav and Reid were staring at her as though they’d never seen a woman wake up from a bad dream before. Misty stood up, pushing aside the blankets, and started out of the room.
She heard Xav and Reid follow as she padded down her narrow hall and out into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator, yanked out a bottle of water, and saw it was the last. “Need to go to the store.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Xav said. “I’ll send someone shopping for you, until we’re sure it’s safe for you to go out.”
Misty regarded him sharply as she pried open the water bottle. “You said you got Flores. Who else is after me?”
Xav exchanged a look with Reid. Xav started to say, “We’re not sure . . .” but Reid cut him off.
“Tell me about the dream.”
Misty took several gulps of water, letting the wetness slosh around her mouth before she answered. “I saw that hiker, and the cave again.”
“Every detail,” Reid said.
Reid looked a lot like the hiker. Not exactly, but enough to be unnerving. His build was similar, though the shape of his face was different. The greatest similarity was his eyes. Reid’s coal dark eyes had the same kind of intense focus as the hiker’s.
Misty related the dream to the two of them, remembering more of it as she spoke. She described the pool, Graham lying hurt nearby, the hiker’s commands, the wave of ice, and the two wolf cubs trying to stop her.
Reid listened without blinking. How did anyone not blink for that long?
“Fae water,” Reid said.
Misty glanced at her bottle. “What water?”
“Spelled. One drink holds you in thrall, giving the Fae a way to find you, no matter where you are. The only thing that will slake your thirst is another drink of the water. The Fae will make you his slave, forcing you to do his bidding in exchange for another sip. But the satisfaction doesn’t last, and you will be as thirsty as before. More, even. Those enslaved end up parched and dying, no matter how much water they drink.”
Fear worked its way through Misty. “But wait, that’s not right. It was just a dream. I’m thirsty because I was stuck out in the desert for hours. I was starting to get heatstroke. It takes a long time to cool the body down again.”
“No,” Reid said. “The person you describe is a hoch alfar. How he got to the place in the desert you were, I don’t know. There must be a ley line there.”
“What the hell is a hock . . what?”
Xav answered. “A Fae. They come into human mythology as fairies. You know, as in fairy tales, fairy godmothers. But apparently, they’re evil bastards, not the cute things with wings.” He jerked his thumb at Reid. “He’s a Fae.”
Reid looked annoyed. “I am dokk alfar. Dark Fae. Not the evil-bastard kind.”
“Depends on your point of view,” Xav said without smiling.
Misty opened her mouth to argue some more—they had to be insane—but Xav’s words made her remember something. “Wait a minute.”
Sucking on more water, Misty left the kitchen and made her way back down the hall, the tile floor cool to her bare feet. The bedroom she used as her home office was comfortingly cluttered, her computer and sheets of invoices waiting for her to catalog them, her shelves filled with books on flowers and plants.
Misty scanned the shelves, which contained books about everything from scientific studies of rose growing to the meanings of flowers in Victorian times. She had books on the care of cut flowers, flower arranging, how commercial flowers were grown and cultivated, and the history of every flower imaginable and how to grow them.
Misty also collected unusual books about flowers, buying them at antique stores, flea markets, garage sales, and used bookstores. She’d found fascinating gems filled with flower lore from centuries past.
There it was. Misty reached to the top shelf and pulled out a small book, leather bound, with the binding still pretty good. The book had been published in 1907, and by the quantity of handwritten notes and underlining inside, had been used quite a bit. She’d found the book at the bottom of a cardboard box of old paperback romances; the indifferent flea market vendor had charged her a dollar for the entire box.
She sat down at her desk, opened the book, and scanned it for what she was looking for. Misty found the slanting pen strokes of the little volume’s unknown previous owner strangely calming. Whoever it was had written such notes as, Only attempt under a waxing moon; Make sure the flowers have bloomed three days on the bush and are cut in the morning; Scatter the leftover petals across water in the light of the setting sun.
Misty flipped through until she found the entry she was looking for. To counter Faery magic.
She read, her heart beating faster. Gather petals of red roses, washed three times, chopped with a fine-bladed knife. Immerse in alcohol, and drink by the light of the moon. Drink four quantities. Bury leftover rose petals in the earth, turn thrice, and open to the cleansing rays of the moon, the Mother Goddess.
Xav and Reid were watching her, less curious than they were worried. Misty realized she was murmuring to herself, as she sometimes did when working here alone.
She held up the book. “It’s an out-there idea, but you never know.”
Reid reached for the book. Misty handed it to him, and his brows drew down as he read the page through. “This is—”
His words were cut off by a loud thumping on the front door, bangs like blows from a large and very angry hammer.
Xavier lost his friendly look, his hand going to the gun in his back holster. He stepped out into the hall, blocking Misty’s way, and started for the front.
The door burst open, wood splintering as the lock gave way. A hulk of a man strode in, followed, incongruously, by two small boys.
“Misty!” Graham’s bellow rocketed through the house.
Xav relaxed and took his hand from the pistol. Reid joined Xav, the two of them still shielding Misty as Graham came on like a freight train.
“I’m right here,” Misty said between the two tall men.
Graham glared at the wall of Xav and Reid. “Get out of the way. I’m not going to hurt her.”
Xav didn’t move. “She said you split up. Now you tear down the door and come running inside her house. What are we supposed to think?”
“Move, Escobar, or I’ll break your ass. Misty, what the f*ck was that?”
“What was what?” Misty squeezed around Xav, who let out an exasperated breath as he let her go. Misty eyed the hole where her door latch used to be and the splinters of wood that clung to it. “Graham, you broke my door. What the hell?”
Graham grabbed Misty by the shoulders and stared down into her eyes. The two kids, Matt and Kyle in their human form, grabbed onto his legs, one to each. “You were in that dream, right?” Graham demanded. “The one with the fountain and the Fae?”
Misty’s mouth dropped open. “How did you know that?”
“I was there. The Fae bastard kept trying to get you to drink the water, and to give it to me.”
“And the wolf cubs stopped me.”
“Then you all jumped on me.” Graham let out a growl. “Had to wash all the spit off my face when I woke up. They were licking me for real.”
“This can’t be right. How did we share a dream?”
“Because Fae magic is messed up. I saw the ice coming for you. I was afraid . . .”
Graham’s fingers clamped down on her shoulders, and the lines around his eyes tightened. Misty saw the fear in him, stark and real, which he strove to cover.
“I’m all right,” Misty said, softening her voice. “Xav woke me up, and it all went away.”
Graham’s fingers tightened more, his anger returning to drive out the fear. “Xav woke you? What the hell was Xav doing with you while you were asleep?” His glare shot to Xavier, who stood without flinching.
“Guarding me,” Misty said. “What did you think?”
Graham’s growl increased, his eyes turning very light gray. He said nothing, only fixed his wolf stare on Xav.
“Keep it cool,” Xavier said, unruffled. “I’m not a shithead who takes advantage of a lady in distress.”
“The points to focus on,” Reid broke in firmly, “are the shared dream, the Fae spell, and how to break it.”
Misty shrugged out of Graham’s grasp, much as she liked the comfort of his touch, even when he dug in. “That’s what you made me remember, Reid—I’d found a book of magic spells involving flowers. I thought it was just nonsense, but now I’m willing to give the rose spell a try.” Anything to break this thirst. She looked down at the boys, who were still clinging to Graham, being quieter than she’d ever seen them. “Thank you, Matt and Kyle, for helping.” She glanced back up at Graham. “Were you all taking a nap?”
“I was walking across Shiftertown to take them to the bears,” Graham said. “I woke up flat on my ass in the dirt, with two wolf cubs licking my face all over. Little shits.”
Both boys grinned. Their faces were dirty, their T-shirts crooked, as though someone—probably Graham—had dressed them in a hurry. One boy had hair a lighter shade of brown than the other; one had brown eyes and one hazel. A way to tell them apart, Misty thought, as soon as she figured out which was which.
Misty leaned to them, her long T-shirt hanging to her knees. “You two want some ice cream?”
“Ice cream!” The boys released Graham at the same moment and hurtled toward the kitchen.
“No shifting!” Graham bellowed after them. “They don’t need any more food, Misty. They already ate everything in my fridge. Don’t know why they haven’t gotten sick yet.”
“Energy,” Xav said. “Diego and I gobbled down everything in sight when we were kids. Still do.” He grinned.
Misty ducked back into her bedroom to change into a pair of shorts and a tank top. By the time she emerged, the three men had gone into the kitchen after the cubs. Reid was sitting at the table going through the book, Xav leaned on the counter near the back door, and Matt and Kyle had planted themselves in front of the refrigerator door, eyeing it longingly. Graham, behind them, had obviously told them not to open it.
“Come on, sweeties.” Misty took down bowls, fetched chocolate-vanilla swirl ice cream from the freezer, and spooned it into bowls. After observing the frozen chunks of chocolaty vanilla cream, icy in the bowls, Misty scooped out a helping for herself.
“Xav?” she offered. “Reid? Want any?”
Reid held up a hand without looking away from the book. Xav shook his head, giving her a small smile. “Not while I’m on duty.”
Graham didn’t respond as Misty carried the bowls to the table, sat the little boys down, and gave them spoons. The two boys stared at the spoons, mystified, then lifted the bowls, and started licking the ice cream out of them.
“Hey!” Graham roared. “Be civilized.”
“Don’t yell at them.” Misty sat down across the table from Reid and lifted her spoon. “Maybe they don’t know. Like this.”
Misty demonstrated how to hold the spoon and dip it into the ice cream, then she scooped some into her mouth. Frozen goodness coated her tongue, momentarily easing her constant thirst. Would be great if she could cure herself with ice cream.
As soon as she swallowed, the thirst came back, so she shoveled in more ice cream.
Kyle and Matt watched her, wide-eyed. “You can eat faster our way,” one of them—Kyle?—said.
Misty wanted to. She could lift the bowl to her mouth and take all its contents in one gulp. The only reason she didn’t was because Graham had sat down next to her and was watching her closely.
His gaze flicked to the spoon as she dipped it into the cream then followed it back to her mouth. He fixed on her lips as the ice cream went in, dropped to her throat as she swallowed, then returned to her lips, where a bit of cream lingered.
When Graham looked at her fully, Misty stilled, caught by eyes that held heat like silver fire. A shudder worked its way through her, besting even the thirst that popped back up as soon as she stopped eating.
Quench it with Graham . . .
The thought made her shake. Misty dug her spoon through the bowl, slowly lifting another scoop of cream. The ice cream was starting to melt now, its chocolate-stained vanilla droplets falling back into the bowl.
She lifted the spoon to her mouth. Graham’s gaze fixed on her even tighter. Misty moved her tongue out and licked up a dollop from her spoon.
A growl sounded in Graham’s throat, one so soft Misty knew only she could hear it. She took another lick of cream from the spoon. Graham sat so still he might have been carved into the chair, but his chest rose and fell sharply.
His face held the hardness of a man who’d survived on his strength alone for a long time, but Misty had always seen something in him besides the hardness. The tiny lines that feathered from the corners of his eyes, for example. He got them from laughing—Graham was a man not afraid to laugh. He could roar with it. Scars crisscrossed his cheekbones, and his nose had been broken, several times, he’d told her. His face was sunburned from their adventure today, but even that was healing, his skin settling into its usual liquid tan.
The sun-bronzing made his eyes stand out even more, the gray turning to silver as he watched her lick another bit of ice cream. She moved her tongue around the mound on the spoon and drew it back between her lips . . .
Graham snarled. With one flick of his big hand, he sent the ice cream bowl flying across the table to shatter on the floor.
Misty could form only the first syllable of his name in protest before he was up and out of the kitchen, striding out the back door into her small, walled yard.
As she leapt up to follow him, she realized the entire kitchen had gone quiet. Matt and Kyle were staring, their eyes round, spoons frozen in place. Xavier, across the room, was watching as well. He didn’t smile, but there was a knowing look in his eyes. Only Reid was oblivious, still poring over the little book.
Misty darted out the back door, pulling it closed behind her. Graham was striding through her small yard, which she’d filled with desert and tropical flowers she carefully cultivated. He was stomping around, hands clasped on his head, the sun beating down on him. He was about to ruin the clump of autumn sage she’d nursed back from frost kill last winter—she’d finally got the plant bushy again, the bright red blossoms cheerful against the green.
Misty marched to Graham and grabbed him by the arm. He swung around, the look in his eyes so wild and empty that Misty had to take a faltering step back.