The COMPLETE Witching Pen Series, Boxed Set (19 page)

It didn't sound so good when she put it that way. "It's not for eternity," he mumbled.

Oh, yes it is
, purred his cat.

"Why didn't you just ask her? And what about Amy? She just went along with it? She must have sensed something about you that was like her."

"I actually don't know about that," he said, feeling sad for some inexplicable reason. "Usually, a shapeshifter can sense another from a mile away, but with Amy … it was so vague … maybe she didn't know what she was … or is. As soon as I knew, I didn't let her out of my sight. I travelled all the way back here with her. From the way she was acting, I suspect she doesn't know she's a shifter. I was going to talk to her about it, but one thing after another happened and the opportunity never presented itself."

"Oh, my God!" exclaimed Elena. "This is awful!"

Pueblo cringed.

"She didn't even
know
what she was and you
bonded
with her?"

Elena was fuming.

Mary erupted into fits of laughter.

"Mary!" hissed Elena.

"I'm sorry," hiccupped Mary, as she tried and failed to hold her laughter in. "It's just … I
so
want to see Amy flay you alive when she finds out!" She descended into further hoots and guffaws.

"All right, everyone," Gwain cut in, still looking far too happy for Pueblo's liking.

Enjoyed that, did you? Fucking sadistic angels…

"Pueblo, it's my understanding that shifters naturally tend towards a handful of guises that come to them the most easily, is that correct?"

Pueblo nodded.

"A 'guise'," Gwain explained to everyone, "is the name given to a form that a shapeshifter uses." He turned back to Pueblo. "Do you have any idea what Amy's natural guises are?"

"I don't know for sure—"

Mary let out another howl beside him.

"Ooo, quick, better bond with her so you
can
be sure," threw in Elena.

"It wasn't like that," he growled, his face growing hot with anger.

Enough was enough. He stood up straight, all of his six feet and three inches – mostly made of muscle – dominating the kitchen. Concentrating on the heat in his face, he allowed it to spread, to engulf him within – it was one of the few times his cat never protested, instead taking a step back, giving the fire full reign.

Flames broke through the barrier of his dark coloured skin and leapt about half a metre from him. He had become a human fireball.

Elena squealed in surprise and jumped back.

He couldn't help but smirk a little. About time she realised that power did not begin and end with her.

However, just as quickly, she had her right arm extended, a spell flying out of her mouth, or at least it had started to, but Karl was there, catching her wrists and spinning her around.

"Chill out, honey," he heard him say.

"What? Karl…"

"Look at him. No, don't do anything. Just look at him. He's not moved. Elena he's just showing us something. Nothing is on fire." Then he turned to Pueblo, "Nothing's on fire, right?"

Pueblo smiled, but shook his head. "I control the flames and the heat. Nothing is burning."

He felt pressure on his arm. Mary had reached forward and placed a hand through the fire and onto his wrist, where she now gripped him.

Brave girl.

She was staring at him with a haunted expression on her face. He logged it to memory, thinking he'd ask her about it later. Amy was more important right now.

"When one shifter drinks the blood of another, he or she acquires the ability to shift into the same guises as the other," he explained, addressing his audience. "Amy now has the ability to turn into fire, and into a cat – a panther. Those are my only two guises – most shifters have more, but my demon-half is limiting in this way to my shifting abilities. What Amy's own guises are, I cannot know unless I drink her blood, or unless she tells me. Neither has happened. But I suspect there was a cat in her already, because my own has been deliriously happy since we bonded, and permanently restless since she's gone missing, as if it's lost a mate." He turned back to Mary. "So you were right in a sense. But it is only because of my demon-half that I feel the personality of my two guises so strongly. Shifters are usually human, with human senses. I doubt Amy would feel the calling of an animal mate."

There was that sadness again, heavily sitting on his chest. He pushed it away. His shifter half would not rule over him.

"Your family hate you, don't they?" asked Mary, her voice sounding as heavy as his heart felt.

"It is unusual to find a Dessec demon, who is half-human. I am the only one who is also a shifter. The Dessec have the ability to bend time, to change history if they have to, which they almost never do as it makes the future so unpredictable. But they do all this from afar, as Gatekeepers of Time. They cannot travel within it. I am the only Dessec demon born who can time travel, as well as bend time – some strange consequence of being both Dessec and shifter I assume. My father was a rogue shaman from a far off land; he had long since turned away from serving his own people. He used shapeshifting as a way to trick my tribe, and take what did not belong to him. I was the product of that trickery … and my very presence reminds them of it every day."

There. He'd said it. Everything he was going to, anyway. Funny how the fire element always had him loosening up, throwing caution to the wind. Then he remembered that he had been all flames just before he'd offered Amy his blood.

Elena's words came back to him:
why didn't you just ask her?
 

Self-loathing coursed through him. He was no better than his father. Why
hadn't
he just asked her? Because the flames had mushed his brain that's why … and ignited another more basic part of his anatomy. Yes, the elegant-looking, blonde, fiery-tempered witch had pushed all the right buttons in
that
respect.

Like father, like son, then.

Suddenly feeling deflated, he extinguished his fire and sat back down on his chair.

"So, there you are. Shall we go pay the Brujii a visit now?"

Chapter Two

Paul's fingers drummed on the dining table as he put another fork of steak and kidney pie into his mouth, his eyes firmly glued to the newspaper that lay on his right. Elizabeth sat to his left – in silence.

Well, isn't this just peachy. And who the hell eats steak and kidney pie for
lunch?

She swore the thurump, thurump of his fingertips was getting louder.

I'm going to go insane. I need other people around me –
now.

"Paul?"

"Hmmm?" He looked up from his paper and smiled. It reached his soft, brown eyes. She instantly felt guilty.

"Erm…"

Jump right in, sweetie, let's see how far you can push this…

"I need to get out."

Blunt. Well done.

"I mean … I need more. People. I need to talk to people, and integrate. Surely, integrating with others would be good for me right now?"

His smile didn't budge. "Of course."

Relief rushed through her and she reached across the table and took his left hand in hers. "Thank you. I haven't seen anyone else for a week now, and I need help to remember things, about me, about us." She ignored the way her stomach curled a little at the mention of 'us'. It wasn't his fault she couldn't remember anything about him. He'd been nothing but kind and helpful. He'd saved her from suicide for God's sake. "You know, if there's a way I can remember how I felt about you…"

The sentence trailed off, revealing so much more than words could. He was her husband, and she didn't remember him, she didn't love him – or at least, she didn't remember if she did or not – and she didn't want him. But she was willing to try, because this must be awful for him. To be honest, at this stage, she was willing to agree to anything to get the hell away from these four walls – she was starting to know every crack and stain by heart.

"The bus comes by tomorrow. It's Wednesday – market day. We can spend the day in town, and I'll show you around. It'll be a nice thing for us to do before I go back to work next week." He was actually starting to sound a little excited and she found herself getting caught up in it, although she baulked slightly at the thought of him away at work, and her left alone … here … trapped all by herself with no one to talk to. Not that Paul was much of a talker.

"Yes, that would be great!" she smiled. "Do you think we could get me some new clothes?"

He frowned. "What's wrong with the clothes you've got?"

"Er … all the clothes are just a little…"
ugly
… "uncomfortable. I was hoping, maybe, a nice pair of jeans?"

"Jeans?" Good lord, he sounded appalled. "Cotton slacks would be cheaper."

Slacks were trousers, right?
"Okay, then, slacks – that would be great. Warmer then the dresses and skirts," she threw in, hoping that fact might appeal to his practical side.

"All right then, yes." He leaned over and pecked her on the lips. "Whatever makes you happy, Elizabeth." And he sounded like he meant that.

"Paul … did I have a nickname?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, was I always Elizabeth? I'm thinking 'Liz' would feel more comfortable."

"But Elizabeth is a beautiful name – so feminine…"

"How about, Lizzie, then. I like Lizzie." To-the-point, fun and bouncy – for some reason that sounded more like her.

"You never had a nickname…"

"Please, could you try to call me Lizzie? It sounds so much better in my head, and anything that helps me to feel more relaxed may help me remember…"

He sighed.

She wondered if she was breaking his heart with her amnesia. Fuck it.

"All right … Lizzie."

Okay, so it did sound strange on his tongue, but still better in her head. She beamed at him her gratitude and leaned in to return his earlier kiss. This time, however, he cupped her face, keeping her from moving back again, and deepened their kiss.

She froze, not knowing quite what else to do.

His hand trailed down the side of her neck, so lightly it was almost a tickle. His tongue parted her lips and slipped between them.

Stunned, she let it. This was the most intimate they had been, and the most forward he had been since he'd brought her back here. They hadn't even shared a bedroom – he'd been understanding enough to let her have her own space.

So give a little back, Lizzie,
said the traitorous voice in her head. Guilt. She knew it was borne of guilt for the position she'd landed him in, but she gave in to it none the less, and let him invade her mouth.

Relaxing into the kiss, she tried to grasp at any familiarity that she could – there was none. It wasn't an unpleasant kiss – quite nice, actually – but it was cool and soft. Something in her wished it was hot and hard. Still, it was better than she'd imagined it would be … maybe there was hope for them after all.

She couldn't ignore the little sigh of pleasure that came from him, and reverberated through her. Despite her reservations, she tingled a little with delight. It felt good to know that there was something she could contribute, something she could give back for all his help, something that could heal the sadness he was no doubt feeling … not that she had any intention of having pity sex, but it signalled the beginning of a needed trust that had been missing: if she could feel this, then there was something between them after all, and her life wasn't one big lie.

Finally, he released her and pulled back. His eyes shone with happiness and it almost tore her apart. Her cheeks felt wet – she realised it was from her own tears. "I wish—"

"Shhhh," said Paul, running a thumb along her bottom lip. "I know, and it's all right. We're going to be fine, Lizzie, you'll see. You'll remember. It's all going to work out."

He sounded so sure. Her heart flared with hope … even as somewhere deep inside her, an insistent growling warned her to run for her life.

~*~

"Oh. My. God," complained Elena, as she slapped her arm yet again. "Why couldn't the Brujii have picked a less swampy place to live? I'm getting bitten alive."

Pueblo and Elena had just teleported themselves and Karl to the Amazon Rainforest.

"Because the Brujii are masters of magic, and this is the most magical place on the planet. Just conjure yourself some kind of mosquito shield."

"We've just teleported halfway around the world – I'll be magically useless for hours."

"It didn't take Amy long to regain her abilities after coming to find me."

"Well," muttered Elena, "teleportation is not my strong point."

"What
is
your strong point?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you could
both
retract your claws I'd be grateful – I'm not sure angels are immune to migraines."

The three of them fell into a heavy silence.

It was pitch black here – sometime before dawn, at a guess. Luckily, Pueblo's fiery shifting self was lighting the way for them all.

And keeping those bloodsuckers away from my
own
skin
, he thought with a little smile of triumph.

"So, how do you know where to find the Brujii?" asked Karl.

Pueblo shrugged. "I'm a demon. Demons can track other demons' territories, sometimes by instinct, sometimes by scent, and," he pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket, "sometimes by following directions."

Karl laughed. "Glad to hear it."

"We're not far."

"What are you going to tell them?" asked Elena.

"The truth. For the most part, demons actually like the truth – it's humans that get all worked up over it." He stole a glance at the witch. "Humans have trouble processing truth, because they can't accept that there can be both one ultimate truth, as well as individual truths that are different to each person."

"And demons can?"