Call Out

Chapter Twenty-Two

 

  Carmichael began to explain thaumaturgy and the difference between it and the natural abilities that we were all now familiar with. He, Ashe, Quinn, and Martine were all but talking over each other as they gave an impromptu lecture on spellcasting, and I’m sure it was all very important and endlessly fascinating, but I didn’t hear much of it. About two seconds into Carmichael’s spiel, London licked his lips just the same way he had in the vision he’d fed me earlier. Needless to say, my mind started filling in the missing pieces, imagining what happened next in that little scenario. I didn’t have enough mental capacity left over to process what the magical folk were yammering about.

  Sometime later, London turned to look at me and caught me staring. At least something of what I was thinking—daydreaming—must have shown on my face, because he gave me a smug little smile. And licked his lips again, the bastard.

  I’d had enough. Rolling off of the sofa and onto my feet, I stormed out of the room, going just a hair off-course to shove Quinn out of my way. It wasn’t his fault. None of this was the fault of anyone here, but I didn’t much care. All I cared about right now was venting a little—and letting London know I wasn’t exactly pleased with him.

  I guess he got the memo, because he walked into the bedroom about two seconds after I threw myself on the bed in a huff.

  “Elizabeth,” he began, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Shut up,” I said. “Just shut up.” I sat up and looked at him for a few seconds, then climbed off the bed. “And stay here.”

  I stepped back into the hallway, running almost at once into the very person I’d been going to look for. Dylan asked if I was okay, and I nodded and pointed toward her bedroom. I followed her inside and shut the door.

  “Condoms,” I snapped. “Now. And don’t even think about throwing the magic shit in my face. And if you’re running low, it’s your own damn fault for screwing 24-7.”

  Dylan tried, and failed, to raise an eyebrow at me. They both sort of wiggled around, and I felt my foul mood slip a little. “Sure you don’t need Midol instead?”

  “Shut your facehole,” I said, trying not to smile.

  She grinned and opened a drawer in her nightstand, coming up with a giant box of condoms. I didn’t even know you could buy them in bulk, but at least they weren’t flavored or anything. There are some things you don’t want to know about your best friend.

  “Quinn’s idea of a joke,” she explained. “Try not to use them all at once.”

  “Yeah, well. Just in case Ashe is right about the magical-Viagra thing, be ready to come hose us down in a couple of hours?”

  Dylan laughed and hugged me, and then I headed back into the bedroom. I closed and locked the door behind me and then turned to toss the massive box to London, who was still sitting exactly where I’d left him, as instructed. His eyes widened.

  “Not a word about magic,” I said. “Not one damned word.”

  “But—”

  “Dylan has instructions to check on us if we don’t surface in two hours,” I assured him. “It’ll be fine.”

  London nodded and put the box on the night stand. He looked as uncertain as a virgin on prom night. I thought it made him even more adorable.

  Smiling, I lay down on the bed and told him, “Come here,” holding my arm out in an invitation to cuddle. He snuggled against me, and for a long time we just lay in one another’s arms, indulging in the same sort of mostly innocent kisses and caresses we’d allowed ourselves the past couple of days.

  As the minutes passed, I began to realize that unless I wanted to still be cuddling when our two hours was up I was going to have to make the first move. I went for subtle, sliding my hand under his shirt and up the smooth plane of his body to run my fingers through the sparse hair on his chest.

  London’s breath caught, and he covered my hand with his. “I don’t think I can do this,” he whispered.

  I propped up on one elbow so I could look at him. “Performance anxiety?”

  The question surprised a shaky laugh out of London, but his expression turned serious again as he said, “I don’t want to take a chance on hurting you.”

  Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and counted to ten. I wasn’t sure yet that I could keep my temper, so I counted to ten again before speaking. “I’m not fragile, London. And we know what we’re getting into. I need this. We both do.” He opened his mouth to speak—probably to tell me again what a bad idea this was—and I laid a finger across his lips. “You know I’m right.”

  It was London’s turn to stay silent for a long moment. “Maybe,” he began, then paused. “I’ve learned more control. Over my powers. Maybe I can keep my shields up. I don’t know.”

  “No.”

  “No? No, I can’t keep my shields up?”

  “No, you’re not going to even try.” Again he started to speak, and again I stopped him with a touch. “You need to be able to let them down, to let go. I know you do.”

  “I can’t—” I cut off his protest, pressing my mouth to his in a lingering kiss.

  “Let go,” I murmured against his lips and kissed him again. And again.

  Time passed, though whether it was a minute or ten, I couldn’t say with any certainty. London pulled me down to lie against his chest, and I felt his heart pounding out its rhythm double-time. I wondered if anxiety or anticipation had his pulse racing.

  And then London let his shields down, and I had my answer.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I told him. I held London, kissed him, and murmured soothing words to him until finally, finally I felt his fear begin to recede.

  As we moved from cuddling and kissing into serious foreplay, desire rose up to supplant the fear. The psychic reverb tried to kick in, but I was ready for it. I figured if I focused on another of the dozen emotions whirling through me then maybe I could minimize the Viagra-effect. I knew it was possible to get swept up in those other emotions as well, but they seemed less dangerous.

  Love and affection might have been less dangerous to us under the circumstances, but they’re more powerful than lust—and a helluva lot scarier. Even as I felt my own fear spike, I could sense the echo of it in London’s emotions. And then, I was alone in my head.

  I tried to push up so that I could see London’s face, but my arms were shaky. I managed to sit up somehow, and I brushed the hair back from his sweaty brow. He flinched at my touch.

  “Please don’t. Don’t touch me,” he stammered, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered back as tears blinded me.

  “Don’t,” London said, his voice a little stronger. “God, don’t cry.” He struggled to sit up and wrapped his arms around me. I felt tendrils of guilt and regret slip out around his shields and remembered what he’d once said about having a hard time keeping me out. I remembered too that touch made his empathy stronger.

  “Shit,” I said, sliding across the bed to put some distance between us. I wiped at my eyes. “I’m okay.”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “I know you need some space. It’s okay.”

  London drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, his face hidden in the circle of his arms. He looked defeated. Broken.

  “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

  London shook his head without lifting it. “This is so not your fault.” He looked up at me then. “Why?”

  “Why what?” I looked away, watching my hand smooth wrinkles out of the sheet.

  “Why me?” he asked, his voice hushed. “Why are you okay with…with all of this?”

  I made myself meet his eyes. “Honestly?” I gave him a wry little smile. “I have no idea.” I offered him my hand. He took it without hesitation and gave a little tug. I accepted the invitation and moved to sit beside him. He surprised me by lying back and pulling me down with him to cuddle.

  “You’ve gotten a lot better at getting your shields back up.”
br />   “Yup. Now if I could just keep them up.”

  “You’ll get there,” I assured him, snuggling closer so that I could press a kiss to his temple. “You’ll get there.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A knock on the bedroom door jerked me out of a light doze, and I snuggled closer to London.

  “Go away!” I called. “We’re naked!”

  “Bullshit,” was Ashe’s response from the other side of the door. “Open up.”

  “That’s what he said,” I mumbled as a dragged myself out of bed. I opened the door, expecting to be met with anger or at least consternation, but Ashe didn’t seem to be upset with me.

  “Come with me a minute,” he said. “No, not you, Stretch. You stay put.”

  I stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind me. “Is this where you bless me out for my stupid stunt?”

  “It’s where I should bless London out for his stupid stunt. But that can wait,” he answered as he led me down the hall to the bedroom he shared with Quinn.

  Peterson was sitting on one bed, his hands cupped at cross-angles, like a kid with a captive lightning bug. His eyes were closed, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. I ignored him and turned toward Ashe, but he moved past me to stand beside Peterson.

  The other agent opened his eyes and looked up at Ashe. “Seems fine, but there’s only one way to know for sure.”

  “Thanks, Ronnie,” Ashe said, reaching out to accept what looked like a necklace.

  I moved in for a closer look, recognizing the triangle shaped pendant at once for what it was. “Why do you have a Harry Potter necklace?”

  Peterson gave me a small, tired smile—the first I’d seen from him since he arrived at the safe house. “Quinn’s idea of a joke.”

  “I’m sensing a theme,” I said, more or less to myself.

  “Quinn likes his little jokes,” Peterson added.

  “I’m guessing the vegemite was him, too?”

  Peterson smiled at me again, a real smile this time, and I figured his secret agent dossier probably had “killer smile” listed as one of his superpowers. “Yeah, that was him. That and this here,” he said, indicating the pendant, “are pretty subtle for him.”

  “I get the vegemite thing, but the necklace?”

  “I wanted something I could make into an amulet, and he brought me this,” Ashe explained.

  “An amulet? Like an actual magical…thing?”

  Ashe shook his head and gave me a knowing look. “I could have sworn you were in the room during our thaumaturgy lesson earlier.”

  “Only physically,” I said. “I was a little distracted.”

  “I just bet you were.”

  “What did London do to you anyway?” Peterson asked.

  “That’s none of your concern,” Ashe interrupted.

  “No, it’s okay. I’ll tell you…on one condition.” Peterson hiked an eyebrow—man I hate people who can do that—and waited. “You have to give him hell about it.” I was rewarded with another of Peterson’s smiles and found myself smiling back at him. “Sex,” I said.

  Both of Peterson’s eyebrows shot up this time. “Like…porn?”

  “Only if the porn industry could make the stuff first person and interactive.”

  A look passed between Ashe and Peterson, and I didn’t much care for it. “What?” I asked, my tone more harsh than I had intended.

  “I’m out of this conversation,” Peterson said, pushing himself up from the bed. “I’m gonna go find Quinn.”

  Once he was gone, Ashe tried to distract me by handing me the necklace. “This is yours, princess.”

  I took the necklace, resisting the urge to thank Ashe since I still had no idea what I would be thanking him for. Instead I asked, “What just happened?”

  Ashe took a deep breath and let it out. “The way you described that sending London did, it indicates that his magic might be even stronger than we suspected.”

  “Oh,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

  “Which means it’s a good thing I finally got off my arrogant ass and got some help with that amulet.”

  I held the necklace up. “What is it?”

  Ashe leaned a hip against the dresser. “If one of us practitioners knows how to do it, we can put a little bit of our magic into an item—like that one. It only works with some types of magic, so—for instance—Martine couldn’t make an amulet that would ward off a sending.”

  “Okay.” I looked at the necklace for a moment as my mind worked. “Your shields.”

  “Exactly,” Ashe said with a smile. “I’ve been working on this since we got here. As close as you are to London—and as close as you tend to be in a physical sense—you end up catching most of the fallout when he loses control. And you’re too damned stubborn to back off, so I figured I better find a way to protect you.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “You should have had it today, when the psycho bitch attacked him. But I’ve never made one of these before—never needed to—and even though I wasn’t making much headway, I wouldn’t ask for help.”

  “But you got it done,” I said, closing my hand around the necklace.

  “After the attack today, I broke down and asked for help. Peterson told me what I was doing wrong, and after that it was so damn easy I felt like…well, like the world’s biggest asshole, to tell the truth. Like I said, you should have had this before now.”

  “At least I’ll have it if, or when, the next attack comes,” I pointed out.

  Ashe gave me one of his sideways grins. “I have a feeling you’ll put it to use before then.”

  And then it hit me—the attack wasn’t the only thing that had prodded Ashe into getting the amulet made, and protection wasn’t the only thing it would give me. This tiny shard of cheap metal would put me a step closer to a normal relationship with London. Not that any relationship with him could be normal, but this would help.

  On impulse, I hugged Ashe, and to my surprise he hugged me back.

  “Thank you.” I felt I should say something more, but words failed me. “Thank you,” I said again.

  “You’re welcome, princess,” Ashe replied as he stepped out of the hug. He took the amulet from me and fastened it around my neck. “There. It suits you.”

  I laughed, the gravity of the moment broken. “Guess I should go try it out.”

  Ashe smiled and shook his head. “Trouble for sure.”

  I followed him out of the bedroom and—to my surprise—down the hall to the room I shared with London. Ashe strode into our room without even a cursory knock, and I followed. He pushed the door closed with his foot as he turned to face London.

  “Drop your shields.”

  London sat up with a sigh and leaned back against the headboard. He looked from Ashe to me and back again and then leaned back against the headboard. A few seconds later Ashe moved his head in an abbreviated nod and turned his attention to me.

  “Anything?” he asked.

  I concentrated for a moment just to be sure, and then shook my head. “Not a thing,” I answered, surprised when it came out as a whisper.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” Ashe said. “I might actually have gotten it right.”

  “Might?”

  “Proximity counts, Elizabeth,” Ashe said, nodding his head toward London.

  I swallowed hard and forced myself to take the few steps between the door and the bed. Still nothing. I reached out and took London’s hand, watching emotions I couldn’t name flit across his face.

  Emotions I couldn’t name. Glory hallelujah.

  I lifted my hand to stroke London’s cheek, to smooth along his jawline. I had never wanted to kiss him as much as I did right then—maybe not even while I was under the effects of our combined emotions. I forced myself to look over my shoulder at Ashe.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  Ashe flashed me a smile, and I beamed back at him.

  “What’s going on?” London asked.

  I held up the little triangul
ar pendant. “It’s an amulet. A shield. Ashe made it for me.”

  London reached out to touch the necklace, a look of wonder on his face. His fingers brushed the metal, and he snatched them back.

  “Everything okay?” Ashe asked.

  “Yup,” London replied, taking the amulet in his hand. “Just didn’t know what to expect. It’s fine now.”

  “Good.”

  “What to expect?” I asked.

  London looked up at me and gave me a small smile. “I can feel the magic in it. It’s a little weird.” He touched my cheek and added, “Not bad, just weird. And I’m guessing it means no more second-hand torture?”

  I didn’t answer, instead I asked, “Can you still tell what I’m feeling?” I wasn’t sure if he’d felt my worry or seen it on my face, and I needed to know.

  “No. I’m back to having to guess.”

  “Good.” I held his hand to my cheek.

  “Thank you,” London said to Ashe. “Thank you for looking after her.”

  “Yeah, well, Elizabeth doesn’t seem to have a very strong sense of self-preservation. Someone’s got to save her from herself.”

  I saw a mischievous grin spread across London’s face and had only a split-second to wonder what he was about to say before he said it.

  “That’s very fatherly of you,” he told Ashe.

  Ashe made a sound of disgust. “I’m not that old,” he said, opening the door and stepping out into the hall, “and I’m sure as hell not too old to beat your ass and take your woman.”

  “In your dreams,” London replied.

  “Sometimes, Stretch,” Ashe said, as he pulled the door closed. “Sometimes”.