The Cupid Caper, page 11
I didn’t ask what “that” was. We hadn’t the time for tangents, and even if we did, I was tired of the cupid contingency’s implied criticism of my man, and thereby, implicitly, my relationship with him.
It was making me a little stabby, and I didn’t think that was misplaced hunger speaking.
This time, Alex placed his hand on my knee. His eyes crinkled at the corners when I looked at him, and I knew he’d followed my exact—winding though it might have been—train of thought.
“How are we going to handle him knowing we’re on his doorstep?” Michael asked.
Alex sighed. It couldn’t come as a shock. Michael had told us before we’d even entered Kitty Galore that Clay wasn’t inside. “I’d call him, tell him to send out Lenore—if his phone was on.”
Like a hostage negotiation. Wonderful.
But beside the point anyway, because his phone wasn’t on.
And we already knew that Lenore’s phone was turned off as well or her battery dead or the do-not-disturb function engaged, because calls to her also rolled immediately to voicemail. Star told us she’d keep trying until she heard otherwise from us.
Alex slowed as he turned onto Lenore’s street.
“Just go in?” I asked.
“Don’t think we have much of a choice,” Alex said. “Time isn’t on our side.”
Michael agreed.
In seconds we’d parked, left the car, and were walking through the door that Alex had picked with a wave of his hand.
Wizards and locks...
Alex pointed at Michael and gave him the stay signal.
Pretty sure Michael was going to ignore that. Not that Michael was any sort of backup. Not that I was.
Not without Tangwystl.
I felt naked.
But I could do this. I had…fangs. And scary tears. And if it wouldn’t break my heart, I’d get a new sword, because I wasn’t much use in a fight without one.
Hell, I wasn’t much use in a fight with one. I’d always let Tangwystl take the lead, because the truth was that she was a fighter at heart, and I…wasn’t. Not really.
Thank goodness we had real backup on the way.
That was my last thought before discovering Clay and Lenore in her living room.
Having a drink.
They were both sitting on the sofa, facing each other, a glass of some beverage that I assumed was alcoholic in hand.
Lenore was startled. Clay not so much.
“That man is no cupid,” Alex murmured.
Since Alex could see the true reflection of a person, enhanced or otherwise, I believed him without question. But then…what was he?
“Lenore,” Alex said, all calm and cool. “Stand up and move to the door.”
Maybe it was Alex’s unflinching assumption of control. Maybe his assertion that Clay was no cupid.
Maybe it was Michael’s mere presence.
Or maybe it was…the look on my face, the tick of the clock coming from the back of the house, the particular slant of the light as the sun moved in the sky.
Who knew why Clay chose to do what he did? Maybe it was simply always going to end this way.
As soon as Alex spoke, Lenore became confused, and Clay gained clarity.
In the blink of an eye, he had his arm around her neck, his forearm pressed into her throat, all without ever moving from the sofa.
As her face turned red and she gasped in panic, Clay merely sat there, looking unruffled, his arm exerting enough pressure to control her but not to steal her air.
Both their drinks had fallen to the floor. The splashes of liquid on the carpet and the upturned glasses looked obscene in Lenore’s tidy living space.
Alex had drawn his weapon. I’m not sure when that had happened, but then, Alex was wickedly fast. He held his nameless sword, a sword with no voice of its own, in his skilled hand like the tool it was.
“You try to bend the air around me—inside me—and I will break her neck.” Clay’s statement was aimed at Alex, and his arm tightened. Making it hard for her to breathe. Making his point.
It all went wrong so fast. A man (who was supposed to be a cupid, but according to Alex wasn’t) and a woman (who was a witch, but not a very powerful one) sitting on a sofa having a drink became a hostage situation.
Clay hadn’t once looked directly at Michael, and his gaze had passed over me without lingering.
Then again, Alex was the threat in this room.
How Clay knew Alex could manipulate air, I didn’t know. It was hardly common knowledge, but even failing that, Alex was the guy with the sword. So, yeah, Alex would be his focus.
Not the weaponless vamp with tingles of precognition, tiny fangs, and unpredictable bouts of superhuman speed and strength.
And not Michael. Michael was soft. He lacked the hard edges that Alex, and even I, had. He was no threat to Clay.
“What do you want?” The words slipped from my lips. There went that filter I’d been so proud of.
But really? What did he think was happening here?
This wasn’t going to end well for him. Not now.
We knew who he was. We knew what he’d done. He couldn’t escape the justice that would follow. Society justice. Death.
Oh, hell. He had nothing to lose.
“What do I want?” His arm tightened on Lenore’s neck. Her breaths were more like gasps and tears ran freely down her face. “To retire.”
What?
“To love and be loved.”
What the hell?
Michael’s soft words came from just behind me. “You want what every human longs for. Connection and the warmth of acceptance.”
I stared at Michael, because he seemed to have some understanding of Clay’s words, as whackadoo as they were given the situation. Three murders. Three.
Clay’s arm loosened slightly. “Yes.”
“You looked,” Michael said. “For love.”
“Yes.” Clay finally looked at his colleague. “But it was all lies.”
“Love isn’t a lie, Khamael. You know it isn’t.”
Clay’s arm tightened once again. “For me it’s a lie. I tried, but none of them were right.”
My blood started to simmer. I could feel the heat of anger under my skin. Poor sad cupid who couldn’t find love…so he killed three women?
This could not be about a man who’d been thwarted in his affections. Could it?
“They lie, Michael. I see it, their hope for love. And I see the potential for me and them, but then…nothing.”
I wanted to kick his sad little man balls so hard they wedged in his gut.
But I got a handle on myself. I was not what this equation needed.
“Maybe you’re seeing what’s not there,” Michael’s voice was gentle but firm.
I also didn’t think telling this guy hard truths was all that helpful.
Clay’s arm tightened, and he pulled Lenore’s head back by yanking on her hair. “You think I’m broken. He thinks I’m broken.” Clay’s gaze slid to Alex then back to Michael.
Michael’s silence fell into the space between us all. It was an implicit affirmation.
Again, hard truths weren’t the answer, but I knew Michael wouldn’t lie to this man. This broken man who wasn’t a cupid anymore, not really.
Clay yanked Lenore’s hair. “I’m not broken. It’s them.”
Them. The women.
This really wasn’t going to end well.
Alex, seeing the same inevitable outcome I did, said, “If you kill her, I will take your head.”
As if Alex hadn’t even spoken, Clay said, “You don’t understand, Michael.”
“No, I don’t.” Michael moved forward as Clay spoke, and Alex shifted nimbly to the side, giving him space to talk. Make a connection. Talk down the terrorist. Negotiate the hostage’s release.
“You’ve always been among the strongest, the most skilled.”
“Because I studied and trained.” The pain in Michael’s eyes made my own burn.
Clay made a dismissive sound. “From the very beginning, you fit in. You made yourself useful, enjoyed leadership. Even now, you’ve found your person. Why you? Why not me?”
I knew the answer to that question: Because you’re a murdering murderer.
I bit my lip hard.
“You can’t force love, Clay. It doesn’t work that way.”
“But I want that beautiful light that shines from inside. I want that, too. I deserve that.” As he ranted on, his grip was loosening on Lenore. “For me, the chance of love sits on a precipice and then backs away. For you, love falls over the ledge with open arms.”
Michael shook his head. “Is that why you killed them, Clay? Why you murdered three women? Because they didn’t fall for you with open arms?”
Noooo, not the murders. Don’t mention the murders, Michael.
I was sure that Clay would turn on Lenore. That this was it. She would die.
Clay would kill Lenore.
Alex would kill Clay.
And I’d be left to deal with the crack in Alex’s heart.
So much death. So much pain.
All because a pathetic man hadn’t found the love he’d wanted.
I wished that Tangwystl were here. For once, I felt a hint of bloodthirst that raged within her metal body.
16
Never Cross Swords with a Wizard
I was suffering homesickness.
For a sword.
Or maybe just missing her on some deep level. But wasn’t that what homesickness was? Missing a piece of you that was so close it became home?
Also, I was a bit freaked out that I was channeling her thirst for blood.
But if anyone ever deserved to bleed, definitely Clay fell into that category.
And then…
Clay let Lenore go.
His hold loosened, and Lenore slipped to the sofa then the floor.
I blinked at the hostage who was now free.
Lenore crawled away from a distracted Clay. He’d let her go.
He’d let her go.
Faster than I could think “Clay is a complete loon who’s gone off the deep end,” Alex’s sword was gone, and Lenore was in his arms weeping silently.
He passed her along to Anton, who took her out the front door.
When had that cat-footed, bald son of a gun shown up?
I knew backup was on the way, but I’d been so absorbed in the drama of Clay that I hadn’t heard or seen Anton arrive.
The drama of Clay… The man really was his own drama, with himself as the star and everyone else playing bit roles. Even Michelle, Lisa, and Katarina.
I was glad for Anton, for once, because this situation didn’t need a weeping Lenore adding to it, and Lenore sure as hell didn’t need to hear Clay’s crazy tell-all. Bad enough she’d have to live with the memory of that man’s arm strangling her.
And still the drama of Clay unfolded. He was talking as if nothing had changed.
Michael’s strategic choice to directly address the issue of murder had been a successful ploy, distracting Clay from his hostage.
But now we’d have to hear the why of it all.
I was curious. And repelled. Curiously repelled, because there could be no reasonable explanation for what he did.
Three deaths. Three murders.
Three women gone.
“The first was an accident.”
My stomach turned. It was worse than I’d expected.
“An accident?” Michael said.
Clay stood and stepped away from the sofa as a sword appeared in his hand.
Alex had quietly stood to the side, allowed Clay to more fully incriminate himself, silently collecting evidence and possibly details for the victims’ families.
That changed when the sword appeared.
Michael staggered and bumped into me. Probably because Alex had pushed the two of us behind him as he’d drawn his own sword. From thin air. As wizards do.
But cupids and swords?
“Cupids carry swords?” I whispered. I didn’t mean to, because I knew the answer. Weapons and cupids didn’t mix.
“No,” Michael whispered in a sad, small voice.
I itched once again to call for Tangwystl. I almost did, because maybe, if I really needed her…
But Alex was here.
He was armed, and he was a hundred times the swordsman that Clay was.
So I did what my gut told me to do: I comforted Michael. I wrapped an arm around him while we watched Alex disarm and restrain Clay.
It took less than a minute.
I suspected it only took as long as it did because Alex didn’t want to kill him.
Anton returned in time to see Alex restrain Clay.
As Alex stood behind Clay, now on his knees, hands restrained, and covered in sweat from his brief bout with Alex, Clay repeated his previous words. “The first one was an accident.”
He was speaking to Michael. It was as if the rest of us weren’t there.
He kept calling Michelle the first one.
He wouldn’t even give her the dignity of her name.
And yet, as he said the words, he sounded sincere. He believed that a knife through the heart had been an accident.
Michael’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t state the obvious. That it was no accident. That Clay had thrust the weapon into his victim with enough force to pierce bone and cartilage.
Michael hesitated, but after he composed himself said, “And after…the first one?”
He’d noticed Clay’s avoidance of names, as well.
I suspected it took everything Michael had to control the anger that flooded through his body, but he managed it. His voice was even, if not calm. Who could manage calm speaking to a violent criminal who felt no remorse for his heinous actions?
“There was this feeling of complete weightlessness,” Clay replied. “A release from all my burdens. It felt just as others describe it when they give themselves over to their person. Not the feeling of love, but the acceptance of all that love can offer.”
While I didn’t entirely understand what he meant—my experience with love had been wildly different—what Clay described sounded a lot like a religious experience.
Killing an innocent woman had done that. Made him feel transcendent. Forget what Alex had said about him not being a cupid. He wasn’t remotely human.
From Alex’s stony expression, he agreed.
“And the others?” Michael asked. Now he just sounded tired.
“Once I felt it, I wanted that soul-deep freedom back. The feeling went away so fast. I had to have it again. And again.”
Michael nodded like he understood. “They’ll sentence you to death for this.”
The Society would certainly execute him. I was a selfish woman in love with a man whose heart was too tender for his job, and my strongest emotion was relief that Clay’s death wouldn’t be on Alex’s conscience.
Clay stared at his former colleague. “I know. Some part of me understands that I deserve to die. Worse, probably.”
Michael looked into Clay’s eyes. Held his gaze for several seconds. “There’s another choice.”
“There isn’t really.” Anton uncrossed his arms and approached Michael from the corner of the room where he’d been observing. “We have to take him to Society headquarters, where the truth of his confession will be weighed. And when it’s determined that he killed three witches, all members of the Society, he will be executed.”
“There is one other option.” Alex rested a hand on Clay’s shoulder. It wasn’t a friendly gesture. “He can’t do it without your permission. It’s against your laws.”
Their laws? Did cupids have their own? And what was this other choice?
Staring into Michael’s eyes, Clay said, “I give you permission. I give you myself. I give you my light.”
Anton stepped forward in a menacing fashion. “Whoa.”
“He’s giving Michael permission to take away the part of him that’s cupid,” Alex explained. “When he does that—”
“I know exactly what that will do.” Anton blinked, but his face was otherwise expressionless. He asked Michael, “You can really do that?”
Michael nodded once. “I learned a very long time ago and haven’t done it before, but yes, I know how it’s done.”
I didn’t really understand what was happening, but it sounded serious. And everyone was just going to let it happen. “Alex, is this really okay?”
But it wasn’t Alex who answered me.
Clay said, “No, not really. Taking my light, all that makes me cupid, will strip me of everything I am. My memories, much of my personality. At my age, they’re all too tightly intertwined to separate. But the alternative is death, and Michael can’t live with that on his conscience. Can you, Michael?”
Michael didn’t answer. It was an unfair, cruel even, accusation. Clay was blaming his future altered—maybe diminished?—state on a man who’d done absolutely nothing to deserve that burden.
“It’s your choice. Death or this.” Michael waited.
Anton shook his head. “We’ll still have to examine him, after this procedure. The witches will dig in his brain until they’re satisfied that he shouldn’t be executed.”
“You’re telling me there’s still a chance I’ll die.” Clay nodded. “Do it.”
Michael approached him warily. He seemed to steel himself, then placed a hand on either side of Clay’s head. He closed his eyes, but nothing happened.
Michael sighed and stepped away. “It only works if you let go.”
Clay stared at nothing in particular, then he nodded.
This time when Michael placed his hands on either side of Clay’s head, a tear escaped, and then light followed.
Bright, silvery white light.
Not blinding. An ethereal glow that filled the room.
I thought all that magic would have to go somewhere. Maybe become Michael’s? But it was just there…then gone.
Clay opened his eyes.
It was as if another man looked out from inside him.
He frowned when he tried to move his hands and couldn’t.
“Can you uncuff him?” Michael asked.
Alex removed Clay’s cuffs and helped him to his feet.
He looked around at Anton, Alex, Michael, then me. “I don’t know you. Where am I? What’s happened?”
