Blood of the Wicked (19 page)

Chapter Twenty

B
y some sort of silently mutual consent, they didn’t speak about the circumstances that had brought them to the trench. Silas had gone quiet as they walked back to the cottage, and Jessie didn’t pry.

If she pried, then he’d feel obliged to ask questions. If he asked questions, she’d have to lie.

Which meant he’d know she lied.

Which meant more questions, and more answers he wouldn’t like. Wouldn’t, actually, tolerate.

So she’d let it be, and silence had turned into gasps of wonder and delight as Matilda led them around to the back of the small house. There, surrounding cobbles made of smooth, glassy rock, a riot of wild, rainbow color spilled from every available nook and cranny.

“I don’t know what they are,” Matilda said in her no-nonsense tone, “but they grow easily here and don’t require too much to keep them.” Despite her careless ease, her eyes sparkled with pride as Jessie moved from bucket to basin to wooden crate, touching and smelling each colorful bloom.

Silas fingered one with the edge of one finger. “It looks,” he said thoughtfully, “like a hibiscus. Sort of.” He glanced at Matilda. “I wonder if the environment brought some sort of progressive evolution.”

Jessie eyed him, planting one hand on her hips. “Why, Agent Smith,” she drawled, amusement welling up in a laughing lilt. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sounded just like a fancy educated boy.”

Color rose in his cheeks, stained his hard features red, and Jessie had to turn away before the emotion squeezing her throat spilled out. “Your garden is beautiful,” she told Matilda, proud of herself for managing to sound casual. To keep the sensation, that dark, unstoppable sensation of falling down a deep, dark hole, at bay. “You must work so hard.”

“Thank you, dear.” The woman waved a hand at the table arranged in the middle of the glassy porch. “Everything we’re eating comes from it, and the fish is fresh.”

Silas was the last to sit, and he studied the fare laid out with what Jessie thought looked like approval. “You catch fish from the trench?” he asked.

Matilda grinned. “What else do you think I’d be doing out there? Waiting for folks to fall into my river?”

“We’re glad you were there,” Jessie said earnestly. “It was such good timing, I can’t—Oh.” She reached for the first plate as her stomach growled in alarming desperation. “It smells incredible.”

And it was, although both Silas and Jessie looked askance at some of the vegetables Matilda served them. Still, Silas apparently could eat anything, and the first bite of what looked like purple radishes and tasted like something entirely different had Jessie’s eyebrows winging up in surprise.

Matilda laughed, shoulders shaking, when Silas crunched down on something soft and caught the hard pip squarely between his teeth. Juice spurted everywhere, spattering over the table and the front of his shirt. Jessie helped mop it up between fits of giggles.

But like everything else, it couldn’t last.

Before long, dinner was over, and Jessie helped Matilda clear the table while Silas remained outside. Matilda scraped seed pits and peels into a bin of organic compost, but her eyes leveled on Jessie. “It’s time you come up with a plan, baby girl.”

Jessie’s good mood deflated. It left her tired. More than a little reluctant. “I know,” she murmured. “I wish we could stay forever.”

“I wish you could, too,” Matilda said, “but the world will go on spinning without you if you stayed. That’s not a good thing,” she added, reading the spark of inane hope Jessie knew lit her eyes.

She sighed. “I guess.”

“I
know
,” Matilda corrected, and nodded back toward the garden that blossomed behind the back wall. “That man wouldn’t do well here. Not now. If you asked, he’d stay, and it’d eat him up inside. Choke everything right out of him like kudzu wrapped around an old oak.”

“I know,” Jessie said. She touched the thin scabs at her throat, tracing the light seam of raised, healing skin, and closed her eyes. “Damn it. I do know that. Silas eats, sleeps, dreams about his job. What he sees as his responsibility. But it’s going to kill him one day.”

Matilda set the plates on the counter. They clinked delicately.

“I think,” Jessie said, pitching her voice low, “that he’s hoping it will.”

“It’s a choice.” The older witch turned, taking Jessie’s hands in her own. She placed them palm to palm, folded her hands around both, and looked down into her eyes. “There’s a lot of lies between you. Any fool can see it. You can’t shape anything but failure on lies.”

Jessie cringed. “If I tell him anything—”

“He’ll do his duty,” Matilda agreed. “That man will always choose responsibility. Blessing and curse. You’ll have to act soon.” She squeezed Jessie’s hands, let her go. “So let’s go make plans, then.”

Silas waited in the garden, standing on the edge of the cobbled patio. He watched the sky darken in increments, frowning. “I know it’s cold topside,” he mused thoughtfully. “But it’s as warm as a Florida beach here. It’s damned surreal.”

Jessie nodded, folding her legs into the chair and tucking the long, soft skirt in around her feet. “It’s heavenly.”

“Thank you both,” Matilda said, pleasure and amusement in her tone. “I gather it’s damned surreal in heaven, too.”

A smile touched Silas’s lips, and Jessie watched it slide into his foggy eyes as he came back to the table. But he didn’t sit. “Matilda, we owe you one.”

The witch smiled. “You do,” she said. “And I’ll tell you what you can do to repay me.”

Jessie tilted her head. She said nothing, watching witch and witch hunter.

“Don’t,” Matilda said firmly, raising both thin hands, “tell a soul about this place. Ever.” Her eyes intently bored into Silas’s, level and unwavering. More than a match for the warrior’s soul in him.

Hell, Jessie was pretty sure the witch would be a match for any god who crossed the boundary of her cliffs.

Silas nodded slowly. “Done,” he promised. “You’ve carved out an amazing home for yourself. And alone. That’s something.”

Matilda smiled. It softened the regal lines of her face, gentled her gaze. “Good. Now, when did you plan to leave?”

Jessie opened her mouth, but Silas cut her off. “Immediately,” he said, and flicked her an apologetic glance. She shut her mouth again.

That was that, wasn’t it? Hell, she half expected the answer. There went her man, she thought in bitter humor. The call of duty.

Matilda nodded, as if she, too, expected the timetable. “Good. Jessie, I’m terribly sorry to say you’ll have to wear your own clothes when you leave.”

Jessie smoothed her hands over the beautiful colors, unable to help a sudden wash of longing. “I understand,” she said softly.

Silas came around the table, stood behind her. His warm, callused hands settled at her shoulders, and Jessie’s eyes closed.

“Silas, will your people be looking for you?”

Behind her, Silas’s voice rumbled an affirmative.

“Good,” Matilda said. “I’ll take you downriver, about a mile from here. That should be far enough, and it’s not too hard to say you rode the current all the way down.”

“We appreciate everything.” Silas rubbed Jessie’s shoulders in small, soothing circles. Her heart in her throat, she opened her eyes and found Matilda watching her.

Jessie smiled. Knew it for the grim little line it was, but hell, she tried.

The older witch nodded, as if reading the answer she needed in Jessie’s face. “Then let me get my boat shoes,” she said, rising. “Silas, we’ll meet you at the dock.”

Jessie unfolded from the chair. She turned under Silas’s fingers, pressed the palm of her right hand over the warm expanse of his chest. His heart beat solidly against it. Hers kicked. “Before we go,” she said softly.

Something swam behind his eyes, something fluid and wary. But he touched a finger to her lips. Let it slide, gently, to her bottom lip. Quickly, before she could think around the sudden surge of heat, of fractured awareness, he replaced his finger with his lips.

Warm, firm, oh, so gentle, Silas kissed her like he knew what she’d meant to say. Like he didn’t want to hear it.

Didn’t know how.

Jessie’s fingers curled into his shirt as she mentally kicked herself. Of course it wasn’t good-bye. Of course he didn’t know anything more than what she’d shared.

Of course
, she thought as she poured every bit of herself into that kiss. Into him. She drew back. Forced an easy smile to her sweetly seduced lips. “Idiot,” she said lightly. Only she knew that it came on the heels of a declaration she’d never make.

Silas tucked her hair behind her ear with a finger. “I’ll be sorry to see that skirt go.”

She tried to say something, anything. Tried to respond with the same lighthearted, flirty ease, but it caught on her throat. Before he could see the tears in her eyes, ask her about it, she stepped out of his reach and turned away.

Hot tears slid over her cheeks before she managed to get inside.

Silently Matilda helped her dress in her worn, ratty clothes. She braided Jessie’s hair, wrapped it with a long strip of ribbon, and Jessie let her.

Let her take over while her tears burned a path out from her heart. Her soul.

In the end, Matilda slid a long leather cord around Jessie’s neck, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’re strong, my dear. When you’re ready to make your choice, you’ll follow through.”

Jessie hefted the smoky obsidian hanging from the cord. Swirls of gold-tinged black hovered under its raw surface, facets within facets. Shadows within glass.

It warmed under her touch.

“Keep it safe.” Matilda took the rock from her fingers, slid it neatly under Jessie’s camisole, and zipped up the battered neoprene jacket. Jessie felt it heavy against her breasts, warm and solid. “There now,” the other witch said. “No one the wiser.”

On impulse, Jessie threw her arms around the woman. “Thank you,” she said. “Just being here, just this long—”

Matilda flattened one hand against Jessie’s back, wrapped the other around the back of her head. “You alone,” she said in Jessie’s ear, “may speak of this sanctuary. Use it well.”

Jessie’s eyes widened, but the woman withdrew, said nothing more as she led the way to the dock. Silas waited by the boat. Jessie took his outstretched hand, let him help her into the metal canoe.

As he settled in behind her, her back to his chest, his strong thighs bracketing her hips, the stone at her breast warmed to burning over her heart.

Yeah
, she thought, resting her head against Silas’s shoulder. The fading light turned to night.
Yeah, I know.

T
he boat was silent as it glided through the current.

Silas did nothing to break the quiet, simply held Jessie against his chest, his chin on the top of her head, and watched the cliff walls fade into the inky gloom of the trench.

When it came time to drop them off, Matilda briefly cupped his face in both hands, pressed a kiss to both cheeks. Her mouth was dry, firm, against his whiskered jaw.

Then he slid into icy water and all thought, all breath, sucked out of his lungs. Waiting until Jessie was in beside him, he took her hand, held it firmly as he swam through the current that sucked them relentlessly downriver.

After what seemed like an eternity, Silas’s feet scraped on rock. He found the edge of the cliff shelf with relief. Shifting his hold on Jessie’s icy hand, he hauled her closer to the ledge. “Up,” he shouted.

He couldn’t see her well enough to know if she heard, but slowly, every motion shaking with cold and effort, she dug her booted feet into his hip, his shoulder. Nudged his ribs, which made him lock his jaw against the pained words he didn’t want her to hear.

She didn’t have to know how badly he hurt.

Finally her weight was gone. Within the space of seconds, he felt her fingers clasp tight around his wrist and pull. It took more effort than he liked, but with her help and pure force of stubborn pride, Silas managed to get out of the water.

Shivering, teeth chattering, he got to his feet and thrust his hands blindly in front of him. Darkness filled his vision, so thick he couldn’t see anything more than the vaguest outline of Jessie’s body as she wrapped her arms tightly around herself.

“J-Jes-sus,” she chattered.

Silas caught her by the shoulders. “Come on,” he said, hoarse from effort and cold. It seemed a lifetime away that he’d made love to her in a heated pool. Now, freezing in the cold and damp, he guided her farther back from the lip.

She fumbled in her pocket as she staggered beside him. “Here.” With effort, she managed to get the zipper of her pocket open, retrieved the comm unit he’d given her before they’d gone over the edge.

In that moment, Silas could have happily kissed her mouth, her feet, and the cold, rocky ground she sprawled on. He sank to his haunches beside her. “You’re amazing,” he said. Rough, tender, he pressed his mouth to her temple. “Amazing.”

“Ha.” But her voice, breathy with cold, warmed. “You say that
now.
” Jessie huddled against the trench wall, her eyes bottomless in the faint light of the comm’s small screen.

Silas checked over it quickly. “I was hoping that jacket was more than just show. Everything’s working.” And, he noticed, plenty of calls, but no messages. Ignoring the alerts, he jimmied out the small earphone and, with monumental focus, managed to clip it to his ear.

“Wake me,” Jessie said wearily, resting her chin on her huddled knees, “when the rescue party gets here. I want to kiss one of them.”

He jammed half-numb fingers against the keypad. “No kissing anyone,” he said, but his attention was already on the call. “Come on,” he muttered. “Answer the goddamned—”

“How long’s it been since your last confession?”

The voice on the line finished the work the goddamned frozen river started. Silas stilled. Closed his eyes. “Jonas,” he said quietly. Suddenly too many words clambered for purchase in his throat, too damned tight with tension, but he clenched his teeth on all of them.

What could he say to the man he’d ruined for life?