Darkness & Discovery (The Bespelled Trilogy #2) (5 page)

“What exactly are you
doing?” Joey wanted to know. The huge kitchen was completely trashed, pots and
pans and food and dishes covering every available surface.

“I’m cooking.
Obviously,” Augustine said. “That was supposed to be bacon. So were those,” he
said, waving his hand at a bunch of shriveled black planks lining the counter.

“Why are you cooking?
And why the hell are you in Bryn’s house?” Joey demanded.

“I’m here because Bryn
needs my help, and I’m trying to get him to eat something. But I clearly don’t
know what I’m doing.” He laced his fingers together and ran his hands over his
hair, pushing messy blonde wisps back from his forehead. “It’s good you’re
here, actually. Though I wish I’d known you were coming. Lu, could you help me?
He might eat a BLT. If I can stop destroying the bacon. And figure out what the
L and T stand for.”

“And, what? Because I’m
a girl, you assume I know how to cook?” I wanted to know.

He sighed in
exasperation and said, “No, I think you know how to cook because you’re a
human
,
and you
eat
.”

“Ok. But I’m also a
vegetarian, and have never cooked bacon in my life,” I told him.

“Man, you guys are
helpless,” Joey exclaimed as he looked around and grabbed a clean frying pan.
“It helps not to turn the heat as high as it’ll go, Gus,” he said to Augustine as
he adjusted a burner. “And I need you to explain why you’re in Bryn’s house
trying to feed him. Because last I heard, he hates your guts.”

“He still hates my
guts. But I’m here, as I said, because he needs me right now. Philippe dumped
him right before Christmas, and Bryn’s been in an alcohol-fueled funk ever
since. He keeps refusing to eat, but I’m not giving up.” The concern in
Augustine’s big blue eyes looked genuine.

“Why on earth would
Philippe dump him? Those two were totally in love. Did you do something to
break them up?” Joey wanted to know.

“Why do you assume
everything is always my fault?” Augustine asked, hands on his hips like a
petulant child.

“Because everything is
always your fault,” Joey said, laying a few strips of bacon in the pan. “And do
you really not know that the L and T stand for lettuce and tomato? See if you
can find some. And toast a couple slices of bread, if you think you can manage
that without burning the house down.”

“I can’t, actually. I
ruined the toaster,” Augustine admitted.

“How is that even possible?”
Joey asked, finding a loaf of bread himself and turning on the oven.

“I tried to make a
grilled cheese sandwich in it. It caught on fire. I had to toss it out in the
backyard to keep from burning the house down.”

Joey rolled his eyes
and put a couple slices of bread in the oven as Alastair and I took seats at
the breakfast bar to get out of their way.

“Is there some reason
you’re dressed like a deranged Christmas elf?” I asked.

Augustine sighed
dramatically. “The pajamas are Bryn’s, of course. I’ve been here for three
days. I wasn’t going to go home for any of my things and leave him unattended.”

“So, did Bryn actually
call you when Philippe left?” I asked Augustine.

“Yes.”

“Why would he do that?”

“To cuss me out,” he
said.

“Because the breakup was
somehow your fault?” Joey asked.

“Not…directly,”
Augustine said. He produced a big head of lettuce from the fridge and said,
“What should I do with this?”

“I have a suggestion,”
Joey muttered, turning the bacon over in the skillet.

“Tear off a few leaves
and wash them, then shake them out and set them to dry. Do you really not know
that?” I asked Augustine.

He looked at me
levelly. “Do you know how many centuries it’s been since I’ve had a reason to
be around food? And even then, I had people to cook for me, I didn’t do it
myself.” I raised an eyebrow at him and he went and did as I said.

I glanced at Alastair.
He’d remained silent since we got here, his eyes never leaving Augustine. And
after initially staring at Alastair in horror, it seemed Augustine was now doing
the opposite, trying to avoid looking at his progeny at all costs. He was
concentrating on slicing a tomato at the moment, using a ceramic plate as a
cutting board and pretty much totally botching the job.

Augustine sliced into
his finger and swore vividly, dropping the knife with a clatter. And Alastair
was at his side in an instant, taking Augustine’s hand and pressing a clean
towel to the wound as he asked, “You ok?”

“Oh God,” Augustine
murmured, pulling his hand away and turning his back on Alastair. “Don’t be
nice to me. I can’t bear it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I hate myself
for what I did to you,” Augustine said quietly. “And I hate that it actually
worked
.
You’ve forgotten how much you despise me, and I feel guilty as hell about it,
Alastair.”

“As if you’re capable
of guilt,” Joey muttered, pulling the pan off the stove.

“Look, I need to get
back to Bryn. He’s been unsupervised for almost half an hour. So can we save
the discussion about my alleged lack of remorse for later?” Augustine asked,
pulling the towel off his hand. The cut had healed completely, and he washed
his hands quickly as Joey sliced another tomato and assembled the sandwich expertly.

We all cued up to climb
the back staircase to Bryn’s third floor bedroom, and Augustine said, “Be
forewarned. We’re going to find one of two people up there. Either manic Bryn, destroying
everything in a blind rage, or depressed Bryn, slumped in bed and crying. I
don’t know which is worse, actually.”

An agonized cry
reverberated through the house just then, and every window shattered outward
like an explosion had gone off. Everyone in our group flinched and ducked,
except for Augustine, who merely sighed. Apparently, he was used to it. Almost
immediately, solid glass replaced all the broken windows, some sort of
automatic repair spell undoing the damage. “Some combination of the two, that’s
actually the worst. Damn it,” Augustine muttered, and hurried up the stairs
ahead of us.

Bryn sat on the floor
in the very center of his bedroom, dressed in ripped flannel pajamas, hugging
his knees to his chest. The space around him was clear in a perfect circle, as
if a whirlwind had swept out the center of the room. And pushed up against
every wall was unidentifiable detritus five feet high, smashed and mangled bits
of things that at one time may have been furniture.

“Aw, Brynnie,”
Augustine said softly, dropping to his knees beside the warlock. “Did you tear
apart your entire mattress? We’re going to have to move you to one of the guestrooms
now. Which you told me not to let you do, because you didn’t want to destroy
those rooms as well.”

“Thought you left,”
Bryn rasped, his Welsh accent thick. “Thought you went home and left me here.”

“No, love,” Augustine
said gently, scooping the warlock up in his arms. “I wouldn’t do that. I was
just trying to make you some food. And you know what a terrible cook I am, so
it took longer than I intended.”

“Told you I didn’t want
to eat anything,” Bryn murmured as Augustine carried him out the door on the
far side of the bedroom.

“I know. But I want you
to try anyway. And your friends are here, Bryn. I’m going to tuck you into one
of the guestrooms, and then they’ll say hi. Ok?”

“I haven’t got any
friends,” Bryn mumbled. “None except for Allie and Joey and Luna, and they’re
off in the wilds of Oregon somewhere.”

“They’re here, love,”
Augustine said as he carried Bryn into the plum-colored bedroom we’d stayed in
last time we were here.

“Did you call them?”

“No. You know they
would never take my call.” Augustine pulled back the duvet and gingerly set
Bryn down on the mattress before covering him up.

“Your own fault, that,”
Bryn muttered.

“I know, love.
Everything always is,” Augustine told him softly. “Now look, here’s Joey. And
he made you a sandwich. How about if you take a little bite?”

Joey sat on the edge of
the mattress with the plate in his lap. “Hi Bryn. You really should try the
sandwich. It’s not nearly as disgusting as the one Gus was trying to make.”

Alastair went around to
the far side of the bed and pulled off his boots, then climbed on top of the covers
and slung an arm over his friend. “Hey, mate,” Allie said. “Can’t say I’m a big
fan of the redecorating you’ve done in your bedroom.”

Bryn sighed and said,
his voice thin, “I’ve always liked this room. Shame I’m going to do the same
thing in here.”

I sat down on the
mattress beside Joey and got my first good look at Bryn. His normally slightly
olive skin was alarmingly pale, dark circles under his brown eyes, his cheeks
hollow and his dark brown hair a spiked and matted mess. He caught sight of me
then and said, “Hello, Luna. Oh God, you’re wearing Elizabeth’s necklace. You
lot really have no idea how to stay out of trouble.”

“Who’s Elizabeth?” I
asked, my hand reaching automatically for the silver and opal pendant around my
neck.

And Bryn frowned and said,
“She’s Alastair’s wife.”

Chapter
Four

Ok, I had to have heard that wrong.

There was no way Bryn
said what I thought he did. No way Alastair could have a wife.

Could he?

I looked at Alastair,
who was utterly stunned, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide as satellite
dishes. Beside me, Joey muttered, “Oh my God,” under his breath. And then he
cleared his throat and said a little too cheerfully, “Here, Bryn. Try the
sandwich. It’s a BLT. We had to tell Gus what the L and T stood for.”

He passed the plate to
Augustine, who tore off a little piece of bacon and offered it to Bryn. The
warlock accepted it with his long, slender fingers and actually put it in his
mouth. Augustine sagged visibly with relief.

After just a few bites
Bryn said he was full and rolled onto his side, his back to Augustine. Alastair
draped an arm protectively over his friend’s shoulders as Bryn rested his head
against Alastair’s chest, and the warlock sighed quietly and tried to doze.
Augustine got up and went downstairs, and once he was gone, Joey curled up at
the foot of the bed like a cat, obviously exhausted, and let his eyes slide
shut.

I stood up, and
Alastair looked at me with heartbreak in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know,”
he whispered.

I nodded and whispered
back, “I know. Get some rest. We’ll talk later.” Then I went to the kitchen to
find Augustine.

He was putting food
back into the refrigerator – including cans and boxes that belonged in the
cupboard. He knew the moment I entered the room, of course, and asked without
turning around, “How’s Alastair been?”

“Good. He’s healed
completely after having nearly all his blood drained. Speaking of which, we
haven’t seen or heard anything from Margaret, have you?”

“No, and I’ve been looking
for her, because she may try something again,” Augustine said. “Her little
revenge fantasy didn’t really pan out, and Meg’s no quitter.” A few days ago, Alastair
had been abducted by his sister Margaret, who had intended to murder him in
front of Augustine. She was a vampire as well, deeply evil and jealous of their
mutual maker’s obsession with her brother. “So, what brings you to San
Francisco? Are you finally on Jin’s trail?”

“We will be soon. We
left Ashland abruptly because the Order showed up.”

“The Order! How on
earth did they find him there, of all places?”

I shrugged and said,
“Well, you found him there. How hard could it be?”

Augustine grinned a
little at that. “I was following him. And I had a lot of men at my disposal at
that point.” He rolled back the sleeves of his pajama top as he added, “So
you’re right that it wasn’t that hard for me. But who knows how the Order found
him.”

“They were questioning the
werewolf pack you’d hired.”

“Ah. So, like
everything else, it’s my fault. I must have attracted too much attention when I
was in Ashland, and they caught wind of it.”

“Are they really bad
news?”

“Of all Alastair’s
numerous enemies, they’re by far the most deadly. They’re incredibly strong,
thanks to their angel blood, and highly trained. And they work as a unit,
making it even more difficult to defeat them.”

“Why are they after
Allie?”

 “The Order decided
long ago that it’s their divine calling to kill all vampires. And Alastair’s at
the top of their hit list because of his strength and uniqueness, and the fact
that he’s a vampire with knowledge of the world of the nephilim.” He’d been
gathering pots and pans and dishes as he spoke, piling them beside the sink.

“Ah.”

“So, I know you’re
dying to ask about Elizabeth. And I’ll tell you what little I know, on one
condition.”