Crown of Briars Page 10

  Simon sighed. He settled his chin on top of her head. “Arcadia steals memories,” he said. “If you have no faerie blood and no warlock’s pact, you’re unlikely to remember much. But… that’s how you ended up here?” She nodded mutely. “But if you’re certain that Malcolm is dead, then…” Zoe felt him close his eyes in sudden understanding. “Ah. The ritual he used. You want it to be forgotten.”

  “It has to be,” Zoe whispered fiercely. “If people knew it was possible… god only knows what would happen. Malcolm told me all his ideas. Vampires with Witchsight. Artificial warlocks. Witches with more than one sort of magic. It’s got to die.”

  “Zoe.” Simon leaned back from her — he tilted her face up toward him, serious. “I understand. It’s a horrible possibility.” Those green eyes held hers. “I won’t tell anyone. You know that I won’t. I can’t.”

  Zoe nodded slowly. Simon reached out to wipe at her tears. “You aren’t a terrible person,” he said softly. “You didn’t know what he was offering. You did what you could.” He cupped her cheek with his hand. “I don’t hate you. It’s all right.”

  Something released in her chest at the words. Zoe crumpled in relief, a sob hitching in her throat. Simon held her tightly; she saw a flash of something very ugly go through his aura, though he tried to shove it down.

  “…that man is very lucky he’s already dead,” Simon muttered.

  He held her for a long time — long after the shivers had finally subsided. By the time they did, Zoe felt oddly light in the soul… though physically, she was utterly wrung out.

  Simon slowly leaned her back into the couch, tucking the blankets around her more firmly. He leaned down to press his lips to the top of her hair. The gesture took an extra moment to register. Zoe blinked blearily, but he had already pushed back to his feet.

  “We’ll both need something to eat,” Simon said, running a hand back through his hair. He’d done an admirable job finding them some breakfast before Jasmine had shown up, but Zoe knew that his cupboards were a bit bare, given his frequent jaunts to Arcadia. He shot her a wry smile. “I’ll order in. I would offer to fight you honorably for the bill, but I’m quite certain that Monsieur Moreau has your pocketbook with him. You will simply have to fight another day.”

  Zoe groaned through a last, lingering sniffle. “You’re a damned cheater,” she informed him hoarsely.

  Simon laughed. “I know you learned from a lawyer,” he said. “But you seem to forget who I keep company with, myself.” He scooped his phone neatly from the table in front of them. “If you don’t learn to cheat against faeries, you’re certainly not going to win.”

  “I prefer not to play games with faeries when I can help it,” Zoe admitted.

  “Ah. The other popular strategy — don’t play.” Simon nodded sagely. “I accept your gracious admission of defeat.”

  Zoe narrowed her eyes. “Oh, now hold on—” she started. But she saw the flicker of careful ease in his aura, and she realized once again that Simon had subtly deflected the awkwardness in the air between them.

  Well. That wasn’t going to do this time.

  Zoe pushed to her feet, the blanket still tucked around her shoulders. Simon blinked — she saw a hint of worry go through him as she moved, but he didn’t try to stop her.

  Slowly — tiredly — she leaned herself against his arm, holding his eyes with a serious gaze. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For everything. I don’t know if I could ever say that enough.”

  Simon slid his hand around her elbow, subtly supporting her weight. He hesitated. “I should say the same. I can’t begin to understand what you did last night… but I feel more at peace than I have been in years.”

  Zoe knitted her brow. The chain around his neck was gone, she realized. Simon had finally shed the weight of his guilt, both literally and figuratively.

  She chewed on her lower lip. “Simo— uh, sorry. This is awkward. I’m not really sure what to call you, now that’s off the table.”

  Simon’s mouth twitched ruefully. “I’ll get used to it,” he said. “It’s not bad, just… odd.”

  Zoe nodded slowly. “Okay. Then… I’ve got to ask you a really important question, Simon.”

  The warlock frowned. She saw him steel himself against another serious conversation. “All right. Is this something we ought to sit down for?”

  Zoe shook her head. “Nah, it’s fine. Just…” She narrowed her eyes at him. “If my French were awful. I mean, not just bad, but terrible… would that bother you?”

  Simon’s shoulders relaxed. He laughed at the absurdity of the question. “Oh… tarbarnak,” he breathed, relieved. “No. I assure you, I have heard every terrible accent under the sun. If you managed to surpass my worst students, I would be obliged to be impressed instead of horrified.”

  Zoe nodded to herself. Well. That was that.

  Before she could think too hard about the idea, she tucked her arms around his neck and leaned up onto her toes.

  Simon caught her weight instinctively, settling his hands at her waist. He blinked, utterly confused by the sudden turn the situation had taken — just before Zoe pressed her lips very firmly to his.

  The first time that Simon had walked into her world, Zoe had forgotten how to breathe. She still remembered the way her stomach had dropped out — the impossible struggle, as her mind attempted to make sense of the man that had brought the summer with him into Dorian’s office. That soft smile on his face — the distant scent of rain and lilies, and the sheer, overwhelming feeling of his kindness — had been etched into her memory forever.

  You were the first beautiful thing I ever saw with my stolen sight, she thought. Until I saw you, I thought that everything it ever showed me would be ugly and terrible. I thought that was what I deserved.

  Kissing Simon was like kissing sunlight. The aches in her body and soul melted away before the feeling of him. His lips were soft and warm; the heat of his body soaked into her, and she knew instinctively that she would never be able to get enough of it, no matter how close she was to him. This tiny, daring taste of him had only sharpened her awareness of the deep, abiding need that he had inspired within her.

  Don’t let go, she prayed. Let me be right, please.

  There was shock — perfect astonishment — flooding through him. It changed quickly, as a riot of emotions flickered across the edges of his aura, too quickly to catch.

  A flare of pure, desperate desire won that brief battle. Simon tugged Zoe closer against him. One of his arms cinched tighter around her waist; his other hand reached up to tangle in her hair, angling her mouth so that he could kiss her more deeply. Zoe willingly parted her lips for him, flicking her tongue against his with a soft, encouraging moan.

  Simon’s strange aura and bright green eyes might have marked him as otherworldly… but he tasted all too real. There was still a hint of lavender on his tongue from the tea they’d had earlier. Zoe became aware that she’d gone lightheaded again, as her body complained at the sudden excitement, but she didn’t care. Simon’s constant, careful balance of emotion had fled for once; he was all heat and light now, burning against her like a bonfire. The tiny sliver of possessiveness she’d seen before was back, but it ran far deeper than she’d first imagined. The shock of it turned the tables on Zoe for a moment as she came to grips with the fact that the kind, humble warlock she’d come to know could even feel that level of ownership over another human being.

  It was tempered, of course — folded in with affection, and gratitude, and something so warm and gentle and perfect that Zoe didn’t dare to try and name it for fear that it might disappear if she did.

  Zoe wavered again, and she groaned, annoyed at her body’s limitations. Simon broke away with what seemed like great effort. The hand in her hair dropped back to her waist to steady her, much to her disappointment.

  “I should…” His voice was tight, carefully leashed. Zoe saw him grapple with the fire in his aura, forcing it under control. “You’re
still hurt. And… stuck here. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  Zoe let out a louder groan. “Oh my god,” she said. “That’s what’s been stopping you? I thought I was going crazy.” She closed her eyes, breathing in sharply. “I kissed you. Worry about yourself.”

  Simon’s fingers trailed lightly up her jaw. Zoe’s eyes fluttered closed, and she moaned at the touch. His lips dipped down to follow, and she let out a gasp as he nipped at the skin there.

  “I don’t feel very polite right now,” he muttered. “I should care about that more than I do.”

  Zoe reached up to run her fingers through his hair, reveling in the freedom of the gesture. “I’m not a faerie, Simon,” she said. “Please, be impolite.”

  Against what she strongly suspected to be the last shreds of his better judgement, Simon hauled her up against him and walked her the short distance it took to deposit her on his bed. Zoe forced herself up slowly, reaching out to drag him between her legs — but Simon pushed her back onto the bed, gently but firmly. Admittedly, some of her dizziness calmed itself at the resting position. The weight of his body settled more firmly against her, and Zoe sighed in pure satisfaction, winding her arms around his back.

  His lips descended to her collarbone, where the neckline of his shirt had left it exposed. His tongue flicked out to taste her skin, and Zoe whimpered encouragingly. That possessiveness flared again, and he groaned.

  “You’re wearing my shirt.” It was an admission, the way that he said it. “I wasn’t expecting it to affect me so much.”

  Zoe grinned, deliriously pleased by the confession. “I like it,” she said. “Maybe I’ll keep it.”

  Simon’s lips curved up against her skin. “What if I wanted to take it off you?” he asked.

  Zoe shivered at the thought. Breathless anticipation had begun to heat her body, buzzing through her from head to slowly-curling toes. “I don’t like it anymore,” she breathed. “You can get rid of it.”

  Simon’s phone rang.

  There was a long, drawn-out moment between them.

  Zoe closed her eyes, and tried to be a responsible adult. “…it could be important,” she mumbled reluctantly.

  “It could,” Simon agreed, though he sounded equally displeased by the possibility.

  The phone rang again.

  Simon took a long breath — then, with impossible composure, he pushed himself away from her. Zoe didn’t bother to suppress the groan of disappointment that slipped out as he headed for the phone.

  “Bonjour-hello?” It was the same standard, slurred-language greeting that half of the city routinely used to answer the phone. Somehow, he managed a perfectly even tone on the words.

  Zoe couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation — but an odd feeling went down her spine when Simon turned to walk toward her with the phone. That desire in his aura had banked abruptly, replaced with wariness.

  “It’s for you,” he told her quietly. “The detective.”

  Zoe took the phone from him, trying to force her body back under control as she tucked it against her ear. “Uh… yes? Jaz, is that you?”

  “It’s me,” Jasmine’s voice came over the phone. She sounded grim. “I’m on my personal line. Guess whose body just dropped into my lap?”

  Zoe let out a slow, relieved breath. “Oh. Uh… does she have pointy teeth?”

  “Yeah. But it doesn’t look like the leeches got her. I don’t know what killed her, to be perfectly honest.” Jasmine brooded on that. “I think I might want a more knowledgeable set of eyes on this body.”

  Chapter 8

  “I’m still not sure you should be walking around like this,” Simon sighed.

  Snow fell around them lightly, crunching underfoot. The sun had just settled itself behind the horizon, though its pinkish-red light still wavered across the city. The poor warlock was bundled head-to-toe against the weather, and for once, Zoe knew exactly how he felt — her body was still low enough on blood that she was having difficulty retaining her own heat. Simon had been kind enough to lend her a spare coat, as hers was currently languishing in a trash bin somewhere; similarly, his soft green scarf was wound a few extra times around her neck.

  Zoe hitched up the edge of the scarf again, where it had come a bit undone. “I agreed to stay indoors until Vivienne was found. She’s been found.”

  “I’m not suggesting you should spend your life indoors,” Simon said, with a hint of exasperation. “I just meant that you could use a bit more rest. It’s only been one day, Zoe. Normal people take a bit longer than that to recover, when they nearly die.”

  Zoe considered shooting him another sardonic reply at that… but she saw the very real worry in his aura, and decided to give him a pass. “Jaz thinks there’s something up. If there is, I’m the best person to notice it. I’d rather be sure this whole thing has been put to rest for good. I promise I wouldn’t be out here right now making myself miserable if I thought someone else was a better fit for the job.”

  A stray gust of icy wind sneaked beneath her coat, and she shivered in spite of herself. Simon tucked his arm around her, though the gesture was only so helpful against the chill. The idea of it warmed her anyway, and a stupid smile slipped out before she could help it. Zoe’s mind should have been focused on the matter at hand, but it drifted instantly to the delicious feeling of Simon’s lips on her skin, his body pressing her down into the bed…

  A faint spike of desire next to her informed her that she wasn’t the only one still stuck on that point. The confirmation was deeply satisfying. Zoe fully intended to make sure that Simon was able to think of very little else after tonight. Business first, she reminded herself forcibly.

  “We’ll try to keep things short,” Simon observed. “You still need some solid food.”

  Zoe’s stomach rumbled at that, and she sighed. “No disagreements here.”

  Jasmine had instructed them to meet her at the cemetery on Mount Royal, which wasn’t a terribly small place. But Zoe was surprised to see the dark-haired detective standing just outside the tall stone gates, waiting for them. Jasmine’s face had been overtaken by a dark thundercloud; her shoulders were tight, and her arms were folded across her chest.

  “Jaz?” Zoe said, perplexed. She rubbed at her arms as they approached. “I thought this was your crime scene. What are you doing out here?”

  Jasmine’s icy look could have frozen the St. Lawrence River. “I’ve been kicked out,” she said, her voice frosty. “The leeches showed up, and suddenly her death has been ruled to be exposure to the cold. My services are no longer needed.” Her eyes narrowed murderously. “He’s there with them. Monseigneur de la Marde.”

  Simon cleared his throat at the insult, slightly discomfited at hearing the powerful vampire described as such — but he had the good sense not to try and school Jasmine on her manners just then. Zoe shifted on her feet. “Jaz,” she said. “I didn’t call them, I swear—”

  “I know you didn’t. They showed way too quick for that.” Jasmine flexed her fingers against the cold, her eyes burning with rage. “L’osti de trou d’cul has my department in his pocket. He bought people above my paygrade.”

  Simon closed his eyes, breathing in. Zoe cringed. For someone used to navigating painfully polite faerie politics, Jasmine Basak was probably a rude, ongoing shock to the senses. Normally, Zoe appreciated that about her; Jasmine had an incredibly creative way with French vulgarities when she put her mind to it, and it was refreshingly satisfying to hear her go off on someone who deserved it.

  “I might still be able to get in,” Zoe told her. “Monseigneur knows the situation concerns me. I think he made a big deal out of apologizing to Dorian, so it’d probably look bad on him if he turned me away.”

  Jasmine considered her with what little calm she could muster. “You think you can find something worthwhile?” she asked.

  Zoe blinked. Oops. Time to backtrack. “I’ve got Simon with me,” she said, as though that explained things. Jasm
ine nodded at that, shooting a sideways glance toward the warlock. Technically, it was the truth. Simon was with her. Jasmine didn’t need to know that Zoe would actually be doing the bulk of the investigation, between them.

  If anyone appreciated the value of a good evasion, it was Simon Leclair. He smiled reassuringly. “We shall see what we can find,” he said. “Thank you for the call.”

  Jasmine jerked her head toward the inside of the cemetery. “All yours, faerie boy,” she said gruffly.

  There was still a uniformed SPVM officer at the scene, though the rest of the city’s official presence seemed now to be clearing out. At first, Zoe thought that the cop might be trouble for her and Simon, as he moved to intercept them — but long before he’d come within speaking distance, he hesitated as though someone has spoken in his ear. Zoe’s enhanced Witchsight caught a wisp of what looked like bloody mist just next to him, but it dissipated too quickly for her to examine it too closely.

  Zoe ducked her head as they passed the cop, discomfited by the image. People in Montreal liked to joke about how much of the city might be in the pocket of organized crime, but it somehow bothered her more to know that vampires had secured the same sort of influence.

  There was a small group of people gathered next to a great stone cross, flanked on either side by tall, angelic statues. Certainly, no one would have mistaken them for cops — they were far too well-dressed, for one. The police union might have been aggressive, but hand-tailored coats remained well outside of the municipal budget. Moreover, there was a kind of unnatural stillness to the men and women in front of the statues that normal human beings simply couldn’t attain; vampires often gave themselves away when they forgot to concentrate on mimicking such simple things as breathing and a pulse.