Dylan's Witch: 10 (Supernatural Bonds) (17 page)

There’d only been the one obscure reference, in that very last book. Maybe she was wrong…

She wasn’t wrong. There was no disagreement in the type of demon lords summoned by use of the blade. Every source referenced the high lords, those so powerful few humans could either reach them where they resided deep in the dark realms or successfully pull them through a portal created by a spell-working.

Arioc had come of his own volition. To satisfy his curiosity perhaps. To amuse himself. To explore or set some far-reaching plan in motion. She could attribute any and all of them as his motive.

He’d given her a piece of his name, enough of it to use. Barely.

Her debt to him would be called tonight. She knew it, and yet there was no avoiding it.

Lucifer’s Blade was tied to a portal. Sacrificial death opened that portal.

She went directly to her casting room upon arriving home. She lit incense and candles. The ritual involved in her preparations calmed her.

She paused to find her center before offering the necessary blood to call upon Arioc.

He shimmered into existence, beautiful and deadly.

“This is a surprise,” he said, a purr in his voice as he glided forward, circling like a large cat. “You’ve been with your human policeman. Did he fail to please?”

“Lucifer’s Blade.”

Arioc halted behind her so she couldn’t read his expression. “What of it?”

“Is it a focus point for creating a portal?”

“Why do you ask?”

“There’s been a sacrificial murder.”

“Hmmm. Interesting. But surely you didn’t call me simply to verify a bit of the arcane. Your kind has always known it was a summoning blade.”

Soft lips brushed across her ear. “Did he disappoint, Seraphine? Are you now ready to let me demonstrate what I can do for you?”

“It’s said a human who cuts himself on the athame creates a binding to the dark realm. To the blade itself? The portal? Or does that human become Gressil’s to claim?”

“Tedious questions, Seraphine.” And his intonation was like the touch of a knife along her spine. “What you really wish to know is how Lucifer’s Blade affects humans. It kills them, in one manner or another.”

She couldn’t suppress a shiver. He moved to stand in front of her, eyes hooded. Features carved into arrogant lines. “Your fear is an intoxicating bouquet. When I was far younger and weaker than I am now, I would have made a feast of it and not been sated until I’d devoured all of you.”

He took a strand of her hair. It curled like fire around his fingers. “Your policeman has done the unthinkable, though humans are well known for it. He cut himself handling Lucifer’s Blade.”

Was she so obvious? Or had he known from the very beginning?

“Yes.”

“It would be unwise to let it be known what you’ve learned about the blade. But I will offer you a bargain. Find it and inform me of its location and your debt to me, as it exists in this moment, will be considered paid in full. Take possession of it, and I will assist you in unbinding your human from the portal.”

She had no choice, even if Dylan never accepted that supernatural law had to trump human law in this, Lucifer’s Blade needed to disappear. It couldn’t be surrendered to the police as evidence to convict the guilty.

A nod indicated acceptance of Arioc’s terms. He lowered his hand, its slow retreat making her hair lick over his skin.

“Now I believe I’d enjoy being outside under your night sky. Perhaps I’ll even insist on a stroll.”

She stepped away from him, breaking the physical contact. This was part of their existing bargain, promises and magical binding serving as leash even if it was very much like taking a lethal, predatory cat for a walk.

* * * * *

Jealousy clawed through Dylan’s gut at seeing Seraphine with another man. “Son of a bitch!” he cursed when the blond turned to face her, stroked the back of his hand across her cheek in an unmistakable caress and she didn’t react except to stand, eyes seemingly locked to her lover’s.

Fuck
, payback was hell, even if he deserved this.

“Fuck!” He jerked the ring off his finger and tossed it onto the floor.

Its absence howled through him. He gritted his teeth and pulled into the next driveway, backed and turned, driving in the opposite direction, though it didn’t stop him from watching until she disappeared from the rearview mirror.

He didn’t need her. Yeah, he wanted her. No surprise there.

He’d had a thing for redheads since the first time he’d stumbled on his father’s porn stash. He’d been easy pickings for that first redheaded witch.

Jacqueline
. He forced himself to acknowledge her name.

Christ. Old pain and guilt flooded in, layering over the raw places at seeing Seraphine with the blond.

It suppressed the jealousy and sliced through his guts and heart as he remembered what it’d been like to have Heather walk in when he’d been pounding away, fucking the witch as if his life depended on it.

He rubbed his chest, forcing the memories back. This was for the best, he told himself, same as he’d done then.

He didn’t stop to retrieve the ring on the passenger-side floor though he felt guilty because of it being a gift from Aislinn, handcrafted by her and given to him because she wanted him to find his heartmate.

What total bullshit. Like all the rest of it.

Like most of it
, he qualified, aware of the charm against his skin and unwilling to take it off.

His phone rang just as he pulled into the parking spot in front of his apartment. A glance and he frowned at seeing the call was from Mettes.

He cut the engine but didn’t get out of the car as he answered by asking, “How was the blonde?”

“Your loss, my gain.”

The image of Seraphine had blood rushing south. Not a chance in hell Mettes had found anything better with a badge bunny. “You calling to kiss and tell about your adventures in the land of silicone?”

“Freeman is in the hospital.”

Dylan straightened on a surge of adrenaline. Everything in the periphery disappeared. “What happened?”

“Doctors don’t know. He missed his check-in. Backup went in and found him comatose.”

“Drugs? Poison?”

“Nothing that pops on any of the tests they’ve run. No sign of force. No sign of intake, willing or otherwise. Based on the condition they found him in, the doctors think he dropped at about the same time Booker was killed.”

“Good reason to look at rival dealers.” Though even saying it, it didn’t ring true for Dylan. Booker’s murder was heat of the moment and involved a woman.

Mettes’ sudden tension hummed through the line and Dylan’s pulse skittered. It was all the warning he got before Mettes said, “Word is that you and your partner consulted with a witch on the Vorhaus and Harper cases. I want an intro.”

Everything inside Dylan rebelled, and not just at putting Mettes, with his surfer looks, together with Seraphine. He forced himself to confront the deeper dread. “You can’t seriously think the voodoo doll had something to do with this.”

“Does it matter? At the end of the day, I want to know I did everything I could for Freeman, and if that mean getting into bed with a witch, I’ll do it.”

Fuck no he wouldn’t. Not Seraphine.

Dylan’s gut roiled. His hand tightened on the phone.

There was no turning down Mettes’ request, but damned if he wasn’t going to be there when he put it to Seraphine. “I’ll call her.” And if this took her away from the blond, all the better.

“I’ll stand by. Any place she’s willing to meet me, I’ll be there.”

She answered breathless and sent a burn of jealousy through him. “Voodoo dolls, any experience with them?”

He felt her surprise, heard a touch of pleasure in her voice when she said, “Some. Why?”

“Another cop wants to talk to you about them. Can you meet at that twenty-four hour coffee shop on Ashford and Broad?”

Away from temptation.

Liar. Only moving across the country
might
be far enough for that to happen.

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. See you there in a few minutes.”

He relayed the message to Mettes.

Fuck, what was he getting himself into?

He dropped the phone on the passenger seat. His gaze caught on the ring on the floor.

The urge to pick it up and put it on was strong. Christ, not just
on
, but on his wedding band finger. That feeling hadn’t dissipated since the day he’d opened the velvet bag Aislinn gave him and dropped the damn ring into his palm.

He balled his fist, refusing to pick it up even when he got to the coffee shop and saw Mettes was already there with Seraphine.

Seraphine’s heart tumbled in her chest at seeing Dylan. It had to mean something that he’d come rather than just passing her phone number to Matthew.

The vice cop laughed. “I should have figured it out when he declined all other offers. He’s been fighting the good fight to stay single but he’s going down, same as all the other cops in Homicide.”

She hoped so. Oh how she hoped so.

Warmth flooded her chest. Her gaze returned to Matthew and she couldn’t help answering his smile with one of her own.

“I see you two have already met,” Dylan said as he sat to her left, an underlying growl in his voice that strengthened the hope she’d felt even before Matthew’s comment.

“Yes. Matthew just finished telling me a little bit about what’s happened to Philip.”

She saw the flex of muscle in Dylan’s jaw at hearing her refer to the other men by their first names. And though she didn’t want him to be jealous, she was honest enough with herself to acknowledge that it pleased her to discover the possessive way he’d claimed her extended outside the bedroom.

“Can you disrupt the hex if there is one?” Matthew asked, drawing her attention back to him.

“It would help if I had the doll.”

He grimaced, and though they were the only three customers in the coffee shop, he looked around before pushing the folded sweatshirt he’d placed on the table toward her. Color stained his face. “I thought you might.” He shot a glance at Dylan. “Don’t ask.”

Seraphine opened the sweatshirt to reveal the doll. She heard Dylan’s breath catch and a muttered, “Son of a bitch.”

It was no crude doll, and by his reaction, Seraphine thought the likeness to Philip Freeman must be very close. She lifted the doll, glad it was contained in an evidence bag.

“Anything?” Matthew asked.

“It’s not actually a voodoo doll though it serves the same purpose. See the sigils, the symbols?”

Matthew leaned in for a closer look while Dylan leaned back, putting more distance between him and the supernatural. She didn’t let it discourage her.

He was here. He’d confided in her about being cut by Lucifer’s Blade. He wore the charm she’d activated and strengthened.

“The symbols focus a spell, a curse directed at your friend.”

Matthew’s expression hardened. “It’s live?”

“Yes.” Her gift allowed her to know it, and know more as well. “Whoever made this doll isn’t yet powerful. It might have taken months before Philip showed signs of being affected, and then it would be like a slow illness.”

“A lot of bad things could happen to a street dealer by then,” Matthew said.

“Yes, so a safeguard was built into the spell, possibly to serve as a reputation builder though I can’t be certain of it. If the person who commissioned the doll died, it would boost the strength of the curse significantly.”

“Explaining why Freeman dropped into a coma when Booker was murdered.”

“Yes.”

“Can you break the spell?”

“Yes.”

Matthew’s phone vibrated on the table. He glanced at it, expression saying it was a call he should take. Instead he asked, “What do you need?”

She looked at Dylan. His arms were across his chest, his body telegraphing resistance and denial. She noticed the absence of the ring then, as though in taking it off, he could pretend the connection between them didn’t exist.

Pain slashed through her. She countered it.

He’s here, and this is a chance for him to be part of what I do. To see me. To accept that this is who I am too.

“Go ahead and take the call,” she told Matthew. “If it means you need to leave, Dylan can help me gather what I need.” And when they were done, they’d part company, unless he indicated a desire to be with her.

A nod and Matthew lifted the phone to his ear, stood at hearing what the caller had to say. “I’m at Broad and Ashford, heading your way.”

When the call ended he said, “This is coming out of my own pocket. Just let me know what I owe you.”

She shook her head. “There’s no charge for this.”

His expression hardened. “Could you find whoever made the doll?”

“Not easily.” She reached out and laid her hand against his. “Don’t judge the maker guilty without a trial. We don’t know what they were told about Philip.”

He came around the table, leaned down and hugged her. “How long?”

“If I get the things I need, I’ll do the ceremony at dawn.”

“And before Freeman is okay?”

“
If
the curse is the reason he’s comatose, sometime before the following dawn.”

“Thanks,” he said, giving her a second tight hug before leaving.

“Does he have a girlfriend?” she asked as she watched Matthew get into his car.

Son of a bitch!
“A different one every night,” Dylan said, biting off the question that would normally have followed,
Why, do you want to audition
, and substituting a different one. “Where to?” And he fucking couldn’t believe he was involving himself in this.

She turned green eyes on him and he only barely restrained himself from grabbing fistfuls of silky red hair and jerking her lips to his. Jesus, his dick should be shriveled instead of pumped up and ready to go.

Keep your hands to yourself. Keep this professional.
He’d managed to walk away from her once today, intending to stay that way—and look what had happened when he couldn’t.

Who the fuck was the blond? Only he didn’t ask. He repeated himself. “Where to? You said you needed things, what are they?”