Warrior Witch: Book Two, page 13
“Whatever do you mean?” His grin was unrestrained.
Kye dropped down off the stool, stalking him. Jack’s heart hammered harder the nearer she came. He cleared his throat. She slipped her hand in his pocket, fishing out the charm, and his blood ran hot.
Kye hefted the bracelet, shaking it at him. “Why didn’t you hide it somewhere?”
“This was as good a test as any. Besides, I didn’t want it to get dirty.” Jack sighed as her magics misted over him, soothing and soft.
Her tongue went to her cheek. “It’s been about a week since we . . .” She toyed with the charm, wringing it between her fingers. “You don’t seem to hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.” His grin went lopsided.
Her eyes fell to the floor. “Do you still feel . . . inclined toward me?” She fidgeted under his stare.
“Take off your clothes.” His voice turned to gravel.
Her hazel eyes went wide. “A simple ‘yes’ would suffice.”
“Not now that you’ve put it in my head.”
Kye muttered something that sounded an awful lot like “single-minded jackass.” She rounded on the counter, clearing up the bands of leather and charm scraps. He studied the side of her face, where lovely color blossomed high in her cheeks.
Jack followed at her heels. He touched her face with the tips of his fingers, enjoying the heat and how the color darkened. “You know what I like most about you?”
“I couldn’t begin to guess.”
He trapped her wrist and shook it gently, making her drop the scraps. She met his gaze and, responding to the unspoken request in his eyes, turned, bringing her body flush with his. Jack’s hands combed up her arms, then down to her waist. He lifted her onto the edge of the counter with ease, she was so light, then he stood between the cradle of her legs. “What I like most is that you’re perfect. And you know it.”
Kye scoffed. “I don’t think I’m perfect.” She hooked her legs around his hips, drawing him in.
Jack bit her shoulder playfully. “Don’t be modest with me.” He kissed her cheek where her blood flowed hot.
“I’m not being modest. No decent person truly thinks they’re—”
His hand slid under her shirt, up to her breasts, squeezing them, applying a firmness that made her breath catch. “Say you’re perfect.” He spoke the words in her ear, watching her skin flush.
“I’m . . . don’t stop . . .” Her eyes slid closed.
Jack released her. “Say it.”
“I’m perfect, I’m perfect,” she whimpered.
He rewarded her with a kiss on her lips and both hands under her shirt, teasing the pert nipples. “I’m a mess,” he confessed. “When I ruin things between us, when I can’t give you what you want, you need to know it’s because I’m a mess.”
“You’re not—”
He bit her shoulder again, harder this time. She moaned. The sound shot through him.
“I’m a mess,” he said hoarsely. “A damaged mess. You’re perfect. It’s my fault if this doesn’t work. I can’t promise you anything, Kye. That would be dishonest and foolish.” He freed a hand to sweep down her stomach to the buttons of her leather pants. He loosened them. “Do you still want me to try?”
“Yes, please,” she breathed.
“You’re perfect.” He kissed the flesh just below her ear. “When I give you your release, I want you to say it again.”
She did.
***
The next day, Jack accompanied Marnie to and from her tutoring sessions with Master Shar. She’d snagged a newspaper from the palace before they left and was playing with it—opening it, changing her mind, and rolling it back up again.
“Don’t do it,” Jack warned, wishing he’d confiscated it the second she picked it up. “I don’t know why you even took the damn thing. Give it to me. I’ll throw it out the window.”
Exhaling dramatically, she ignored Jack’s warning and unfolded the newspaper. With a resigned sigh, he skimmed the opening article over her shoulder:
Sophia Marnie Becker has been credited with the alchemical air purification system that made mining gold in Magus District safer and more comfortable for hundreds of workers. The miners from Wood District continue to work in dangerous conditions in their copper and coal mines.
“In order to secure the assistance of an apprentice councilor in any circumstance, one simply needs to send a request by wire for services, just like Magus District has,” Sophia Marnie Becker told reporters late last week.
Indicating an unprecedented favoritism which borders on prejudicial, neither the ‘hero witch’ nor the crown have rendered any alchemical aid to Wood District to date.
“Because they still haven’t asked for alchemical help,” Marnie groaned. “The stubborn bastards! I can’t just march in there and force my solutions on them. It’s not my fault the owners think my organic magic is evil! This article is dangerously worded. I’m not denying my help to anyone.”
“I told you not to read it.” Jack took the paper, wadded it up and threw it on the floor.
“Oh damn, they’re still here,” she said, as the motorcar pulled through the manor gates.
Jack looked out the window, following her eyes. Two bulbous steam trucks with a flat bed and wood-paneled sides sat idle in the drive. Whatever they had carried, it had to be large. Very large.
“Happy twentieth birthday,” she said. “They must still be putting your present together in your bedroom. I thought they’d be done by now.”
His eyes crinkled. “Whatever it is, did it annoy your mother?”
“Oh, you know it. She’s by the door now, it looks like, still accosting the delivery men for aiding me without consulting her. She was so upset earlier when she learned what I was up to and how much it cost—not that she can’t afford it. The woman is filthy rich. It was great, though, Jack. I thought her pins were going to pop out of her hair!”
“I’m sorry I missed it.” And he meant it.
In the entryway, Annette lectured a set of burly delivery men dressed in suspenders, too caught up in her aggravation to spare Jack or her daughter a glance.
Marnie led him to his room with the enthusiasm of a child, practically skipping through the foyer. She took the spiral stairs to the lower level two at a time. Then she pushed open his door with a flourish that made him grin. His small bedroom had been overtaken by the most enormous bed he’d ever seen. It was a monstrosity of solid carved wood, decorated in spirit and witch runes. He laughed at the sight of it, feeling lighter.
Marnie stared at him, her gray eyes massive. “Did you just laugh? I can’t remember the last time I heard you do such a thing! You grunt at me and occasionally smile, but never a laugh. A real Jack laugh, out in the wild! I can’t believe it. As rare as an albino tiger.”
He shrugged the comment off, eager to climb into his new bed, which took some doing, it was so large. It came with its own set of built-in stairs that were almost too small for his large feet. He flopped onto the bed, rolling in a dark gray comforter that was soft as silk and probably equally as expensive. Influenced by Marnie’s childlike exuberance, he climbed to his feet and jumped on the mattress.
“What if you break it?” Marnie warned.
“You’ll buy me a new one.” He jumped higher.
“You’re right. I would.” She climbed up and jumped alongside him, higher and higher, until Jack’s head clipped one of the ceiling beams. In a fit of giggles, Marnie collapsed onto the mattress.
He rubbed his head where it stung, certain he’d have an ugly knot there later. Her mirth dissolved into snorts and hiccups. Jack trod on her leg playfully to make her quit, but it only made matters worse.
Giving up, Jack plopped down beside her. Lying on his back, he rolled this way and that, admiring the way the mattress hugged his spine. He’d sleep like a baby on the thing. Then he glanced at the new pillows, counting two of them. He imagined Kye lying next to him, her snow hair a splash of white across that pillow, covered in nothing but the soft sheets . . .
“Jack . . .”
He didn’t like the look in Marnie’s eye. It made the corners of his mouth curve down. “If you want to hug me again, don’t. For my birthday, keep your hands to yourself.”
“It’s not that.” She rolled onto her side, facing him, propped on her elbow. “You know how when I’m very upset, you seem to sense it? Like when I’m having bad dreams. You know when I need you. I assume it’s our bond growing. You sense my distress, right?”
“I do,” he said cautiously.
She bit her lip. “For me, apparently, I sense when you’re happy. Very happy. Very satisfied—”
He groaned. “Good God, we are not talking about this!”
Marnie patted the comforter, smoothing out a wrinkle. “But it’s true . . . ? You and Kye?”
Staring at the ceiling, heat thriving in his cheeks, he fought against his smile and lost. “Yes.”
“And she’s still . . . I mean, the two of you are still . . . ?”
“Yes.”
Marnie sat up. “I want to meet her!”
“No.” The muscles in his arms tightened.
She pouted at him. “Why the hell not?”
“No. Just no, and I don’t owe you an explanation, so don’t even try it. Put your lip away and jump on this bed with me some more.”
Chapter 10 (Marnie)
Marnie knew he’d arrive eventually and that when he did, he’d bring trouble. It happened early in the evening. The sun still dominated the sky outside the broad windows in the drawing room. Master Guy Young had shocked her with his short stature and unthreatening appearance. This rumored violent man stood no taller than her chin, with graying hair somewhere between dark blonde or light brown. His pallor made him appear frail. The lines on his face suggested middle age, and he had the short mustache of a military gent. An expensive felt hat rested in his lap. Marnie wanted to put her cigarette out on it.
Constable Alec sat on the sofa beside him, as tidy as always and sipping a steaming cup of tea. Marnie nursed the cigarette she’d rolled herself under Guy’s watchful, judgmental indigo gaze. He accepted the cup of tea she offered, holding it awkwardly, never tasting it.
Master Guy had given her just enough notice by wire to allow her to prepare accordingly. The pale purple bodice of her dress suited a Sophia and hugged the natural dips and curves of her body. She had to fight against the urge to jerk the neckline up.
Three watchmen crowded behind the master’s sofa, casting glances at the burly warrior witch leaning against the threshold. Based on their thick boots and the weight of their tunics, they had traveled from Stejin with Master Guy Young. Their boots were lined with fleece—much too warm for the island. Their hands hovered near their revolvers which they carried at their hips instead of in a shoulder holster as Alec did.
Marnie cleared her throat and stole their attention. “Jack is not the most dangerous person in this room, gentlemen,” she said evenly. “Keep your hands off your firearms in my home, and I won’t have to show you why.”
Their eyes widened. They plucked uncomfortably at their crimson stoles, sharing meaningful looks with each other. Slowly, they dropped their hands from their revolvers. The rumbly grunt that came out of Jack was probably a chuckle, if Marnie was a betting person.
Alec’s laughter was much more obvious. He stirred his tea, looking relaxed, unaffected by the mounting tension in the room.
Jack hovered by the archway, his impressive arms folded over a striped shirt and suspenders because she had insisted they make a more professional impression. No shoes—Marnie lost that battle—blue eyes glaring a warning around the room.
“Can I offer you some other refreshment, Master Young? You seem disinterested in your tea.” Marnie had never excelled at playing pretend. Her recent efforts at politics had softened her to it somewhat, but she’d never find it a natural state of being. She motioned to the clockwork cart that stood alongside her, loaded with the capital’s finest wines, fruits, and cheeses.
Guy crossed his leg over his knee. “I think we can dispense with the pretext of civility, don’t you? Have you seen my wife, Becker? Because I have it on good authority that you have.”
“Very well, then. Yes, I’ve seen your wife and all that you did to her. No, I won’t be divulging her current whereabouts. She’s earned her peace away from you.”
“What happened between me and my wife is no business of yours, and should you refuse to—”
“No.”
His eyes popped from his head slightly. “I beg your pardon?”
Marnie leaned forward, forgetting to care about the low neckline. “I said no. Try again, this time without threats.”
His mouth shrank into a tight ball beneath the scruff of his mustache. The cup in his hand rattled, sloshing a drop of tea. “I won’t be talked down to like a—”
“No.” Marnie blew a cloud of smoke into his face. Coughing, he swatted the fog away. “Try again, this time without dictating to me. You’ll get nowhere with that.”
“Who do you think you are?” As he spoke his voice rose and his cheeks went pink. “So the papers have printed your name a few times. What’s that matter? The crown lets you apprentice for them, seeking political glory from the lowborn everyday man, but that’s no excuse for you to act so misguided, like you actually have any authority here. You’re nothing more than a pretty Mary with too much money and not enough sense. I’m a master of Stejin. I’ll have the location of my wife before I leave here today, or you’ll suffer the consequences, regardless of your last name and that badge on your bosom.”
“You think I’m misguided?” Marnie put her cigarette out in his teacup. She met his eyes straight on. They were murderous. Her lips curled in response. “If I wanted to, I could stop your heart beating in your chest. Right now. The constable could do nothing about it—don’t bother looking at him. Neither could your watchmen. Yet, here you sit, antagonizing me . . . Now, that seems misguided.”
Master Young had the good sense to look uncomfortable. He glanced at the constable. Alec said nothing, watching Marnie curiously.
“Clearly, talking sensibly with you is a waste of time,” Guy said, loosening his blue master’s stole like it was suddenly too tight. “I’m prepared to go over your head.” He removed a gilded acorn from his trouser pocket and held it aloft, chest puffed. “I’ve a palace summons—took me weeks to get my hands on one of these. My meeting with His Majesty is scheduled for later this evening, and I’ll have satisfaction!”
Marnie threw back her head, laughter tumbling out of her.
Master Young looked affronted. “This is no laughing matter! You’ll see! I’ll tell His Majesty about how you’ve threatened me with your magic unless you beg my forgiveness now! It could be the gallows for you—what’s so goddamned funny?!”
Even Jack chortled in a throaty way more growl than mirth. Alec hid his smile behind his teacup.
Marnie wiped her eyes. “I’ve just remembered that you’re not from the island and don’t know Bran—Lord LaFontaine. Tell you what, Master Young, I’ll come with you. I’ll use my own summons.” She pulled the golden pen from a pocket in her skirts. “With mine we won’t have to wait until this evening. You can share your troubles with His Majesty, and if he orders me to divulge the whereabouts of your wife, well, then I’ll have no choice, will I? He’s the emperor, after all.”
“It’s decided, then. We go now.” The master rose to his feet, clapping his felt hat over his head, then he scrambled for the exit. The trio of watchmen dogged his steps.
Jack lurched forward to follow her.
“I’ll be all right,” she said on her way out, touching his arm. He nodded, hanging back in the drawing room.
Alec met Marnie in the foyer.
“I’ve got to know,” he said softly, “could you really stop his heart in his chest?”
Grinning, she lowered her voice. “Of course I could. I’d have to borrow your revolver though first.”
Chuckling, Alec placed his peaked hat over his hair. “I don’t have a summons, but you’ll be in good hands, I think, Sophia.”
“Alec?”
He looked back at her, a hand on the doorknob.
“Did you come to my house at his behest or—”
“For you. I wanted to make sure he didn’t cross any lines.” His pearly smile showed all of his teeth. “I had forgotten you don’t need someone like me to look after you. He was certainly no bear demon, was he?” He winked. “Once again, I admire your ferocity, Sophia Becker.”
“I appreciate that you came, all the same. And please, call me Marnie. You’ve earned it. You’re one of the good ones, you know.”
With a meaningful nod, he departed.
They traveled to the palace in separate motorcars. Marnie’s was permitted entrance through the gate. Master Young, a stranger to the guards, was forced to exit his car and walk. His summons did not allow his watchmen to accompany him. The protestors made it difficult to cross from his car to the entrance. Marnie waited for him by the palace stairs, cheeks sore from cackling. He was pushed and tossed and accosted by the crowd. She held her breath trying to stop the hiccups.
Finally, he made it inside looking the worse for wear, disheveled and keyed-up. Marnie kissed her thumb and pressed it to her forehead, humbling herself before walking up the stone steps of the palace. The lit braziers added to the balmy heat. Master Young whined about not wanting to be left alone with some reckless witch, and eventually Blade Guards flanked him at his insistence. Marnie led the way.
They found Bran in the courtyard, seated on the pearl furniture with Raif, the Blade Guard Captain, and a crowd of other men—law philosophers, judging by their black robes. The master didn’t have the good sense to appear worried yet, she noted, even when the captain greeted her with all the warmth of a dear friend, pale blue eyes glittering. Guy, he gave a cold once over before he found a nearby corner to play a formidable, ginger-haired statue in.
