Crown of Briars Page 13

  Dorian very rarely deigned to give advice. Even more rarely did he do so for free. Most people Zoe knew would have shut their mouths, listened closely, and thanked him for the privilege.

  But then… she wasn’t entirely certain that Jasmine was wrong. Dorian had grown used to a certain level of respect from the supernatural community; he saw the world through that lens, whether he realized it or not. By comparison, Zoe had spent the last few years being laughed off and dismissed by every self-important creature that had ever crossed her path, simply because she seemed to be mortal. She had magic up her sleeve, of course… but even on her best day, Zoe realized, she would never have wanted to measure herself against Jasmine Basak. The foul-mouthed detective had more steel in her soul than most witches… and a startling, unhesitating capacity for violence, when something convinced her it was necessary.

  Zoe wasn’t sure she’d bet on Jasmine outright, between the two. But she was pretty sure that on the day that the seigneur finally went too far, Jasmine Basak was going to surprise him.

  “I’m getting out here,” Jasmine said bluntly. “Thanks for the ride.” As the car slowed, she glanced toward Zoe. “Is she gonna be all right?”

  “She’ll be fine,” Simon said. There was an odd hardness in his voice as he said it. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  Jasmine nodded. She pushed her way out of the car. If the detective then slammed the door behind her just a little bit harder than necessary, Zoe wasn’t sure that she blamed her.

  Simon took a long, deep breath. “I’m grating on her somehow, aren’t I?” he asked. The question was addressed to Dorian. “That’s why I had to leave while she did her spell.”

  Dorian didn’t contradict him. “Zoe has always disliked crowds, and strong displays of emotion.” It was the sort of technical bullshit non-answer that allowed him to pretend that he didn’t know why.

  Simon let out his breath. Zoe watched as he tried again to tame the storm in his aura. “I would walk,” he said. “But I’m… concerned.” He paused, as his agitation slipped away from him once again. “You know why.”

  “I suspect,” Dorian replied blithely. “There is a world of difference between guessing and knowing.”

  “The obfuscation spell was better this time,” Simon said. “I didn’t notice a thing until Zoe got rid of it.” His aura calmed somewhat. He had chosen helpless despair over anger. “…the first time, there was still a smudge. I know the feel of that magic. It’s the same. The same person.”

  “The timing of your affections has been most inopportune, Simon,” Dorian observed dryly. “In case it needs saying directly, I am most displeased that your past may have become a threat to my—” He paused, struggling for a moment. “…employee.”

  Simon’s aura dropped more deeply into anguish. “J’avoue,” he mumbled, in soft agreement. He managed to sound so absolutely wretched on the word that Zoe forced herself to speak again.

  “Not… your past,” Zoe managed hoarsely. “Not… just yours.”

  Simon looked at her sharply. Confusion flickered across his eyes. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean by that,” he said apologetically. Zoe struggled upright, fighting through a desperate spiritual malaise.

  She breathed in sharply. “Malcolm.”

  The name hit Simon like a thunderbolt. He stared at her. “…what?”

  Dorian glanced at him, his brow knitted. “Who is Malcolm?” he asked.

  Simon instinctively opened his mouth to respond… and flinched in sudden pain. A ripple of warning wracked his aura as his promise took its toll. “Oh — tabarnak,” he swore harshly. “Um. I can’t… say.”

  Dorian frowned deeply. “You can’t?” he murmured. “Or… you can’t?”

  “You will have to suspect again, I’m afraid,” Simon managed faintly. He pressed his hand to his heart, rubbing lightly at his chest.

  “And does this knowledge give you enough direction to handle the problem?” Dorian asked.

  Simon closed his eyes tightly. “No. It does not. But it is quite a step forward.” A strange mixture of hope and guilt rose within him. His heavy, terrible question had finally been answered… but Simon would hate himself for feeling relieved at such an awful time. Zoe deeply wished he would allow himself the moment — but instead, he shoved it down, avoiding it. “Zoe will need to remain behind wards tonight. I would prefer mine. Hers are impressive, but my power is not of the appropriate nature to strengthen them.”

  “Perhaps she would be better off further away from you,” Dorian speculated, in a perfectly neutral tone. “Perhaps in that case, she would be no target at all.”

  Simon pressed his lips together, unable to answer. Wearily, Zoe spared him the pain. “I’m a target,” she rasped. “My wards… aren’t best.”

  Malcolm was a Scorpio — his tradecraft would afford him special insight into another Scorpio’s wards. Worse… he had taught her almost everything she knew about magic in the first place. The idea of pitting a master against his own student’s wards seemed laughable.

  Simon’s magic, by comparison, would be utterly alien to her old mentor. Dark, secretive magic did not fare well against warmth and blazing light.

  If Zoe was being completely honest with herself… she needed that light right now in more ways than one. A dull, distant part of her had almost given up completely, when she’d realized that Malcolm wasn’t dead after all. That part of her still whispered terrible things. That she ought to give up, stop fighting entirely. If Malcolm got his hands on her again, he would almost certainly pick up where he’d left off, experimenting to see what other power he could give her.

  The game was proof of that — it had been a test of her magic that she couldn’t refuse to pass. Malcolm wanted to know that she was still strong… that he could use her and her magic as an appropriate stand-in for himself, to see what was possible.

  She couldn’t be the reason for another person’s death. Not again. Not ever.

  A cold, cowardly part of her wanted to end it all before Malcolm could make that happen. But Zoe knew what that would do to Simon — to Dorian. For once, Dorian’s cool, blank aura was no help; she supposed that he loved her, but perhaps he didn’t. There was no proof of it in his soul that she could see. Perhaps, she could convince herself, he would be fine without her. Surely, La Voûte would carry on, conducting his business as usual.

  There was no such denial in the face of Simon’s emotions. Even his awful, smothering grief was still a reminder of what death could do to people. Like a painful splinter under her skin, he would keep her from giving in until she could find the strength to walk herself back out of this awful, nihilistic place.

  Dorian leaned back into his seat. He was displeased, she knew. There was no mark of it on his aura, but it was written all over his posture. “Bon,” he muttered. “She’ll stay with you. I shall spend tonight calling in favors, though. By tomorrow, I will have other arrangements.”

  Simon remained silent. Zoe knew that he had little to no intention of handing her off to someone else. A tiny, uncharitable part of her wondered whether Simon knew that she was his best chance at vengeance. As long as she was nearby, his wife’s murderer was bound to walk straight into his sights.

  But no — that wasn’t Simon. The greater part of her knew that. Simon felt anger. He was capable of hurting people, when it was necessary to protect others. But however hurt and bewildered he was, he wasn’t capable of cold, premeditated murder. Neither was he capable of dangling someone out like bait to achieve his ends — he was certainly nothing like Jean Belmont.

  Simon wanted to prevent history from repeating itself. That was his true and only aim.

  The realization sparked the dying embers of Zoe’s resolve.

  Get your shit together. Malcolm is your ghost. He’s taken enough from Simon already.

  Zoe struggled into a stiff upright posture. “Dinner first,” she managed. “And… I need to find some fucking iron.”

  A little over an hour lat
er, Dorian helped Zoe up the stairs to Simon’s loft. The warlock himself had carefully kept his distance all through their short dinner — a sad necessity, but one which had given Zoe a bit more time to compose herself.

  A handful of carefully-crafted iron anchors clinked in a wooden box in her coat pocket. They’d stopped at Zoe’s condo only briefly enough for her to give Dorian a few directions. He’d come back down with Zoe’s phone charger and a bag of fresh clothing — finally — as well as the iron that Zoe needed to perform her spells.

  Not that I’m gonna have the strength back to cast much of anything for a while, she thought wearily. Zoe wasn’t sure yet how she was going to get over that problem, but she figured having the iron was still better than not having it.

  Simon unlocked the door for them; Zoe watched as the fiery golden lines around the door parted for him when he entered. They were tied to an oak arrow that hung above the doorway; Zoe deeply suspected that it had been carved from a tree within the Briars itself. A hearth fire would have been a better anchor for Sagittarius wards, but the idea of keeping an open flame going in your home all day was a little less popular these days than it had been in previous eras. Zoe had personally foregone the traditional sheep’s blood runes on the door to her condo for similar reasons.

  “Please come inside,” Simon said to Dorian dutifully. The words marked the lawyer as welcome within the wards and allowed him to enter, with Zoe still leaning on his arm.

  Dorian helped her out of her coat, and settled her onto the edge of the bed. As Zoe leaned heavily into one of the pillows, Dorian flickered a glance toward Simon. His grey eyes sharpened. What came out of his mouth was not what Zoe was expecting, however.

  “You’re a good man,” Dorian said. “I like you. I cannot say that for many people.”

  Simon blinked. Confusion flashed again within him. “Er… thank you,” he said.

  Dorian shrugged. “I have been trying to think more and react less. Your problems are not of your own making. I should not blame you for them. I never did, before now.” He ruffled Zoe’s hair again absently. “I will still do everything in my power to remove Zoe from this mess. But when it is done… I have no grudge with you. Quite the opposite.”

  Zoe groaned, and buried her face further into the pillow. Was this the equivalent of Dorian giving his blessing? If so, it was incredibly embarrassing.

  Well. At least he isn’t looking for a shotgun.

  Simon laughed. It was the first positive sound he’d made in hours. “Well,” he said. “I do wish that I could return the compliment. But I am not certain I have ever thought of you as a good person. Worthy of respect for other reasons, perhaps.”

  Dorian nodded. “I am not a good person,” he confirmed. “I would have questioned your judgement if you’d tried to accuse me of it.” He rebuttoned the top of his coat, and glanced at Zoe. “I will be back tomorrow. Stay in bed this time, please.”

  “Mmf,” Zoe mumbled. The sound was vaguely affirmative.

  As the door shut behind Dorian, a silence settled in.

  Slowly, Zoe became aware of Simon watching her. He had leaned himself against the door, arms crossed in discomfort. She knew that he was hesitant to approach and potentially distress her… but there was an itch in his aura that told her just how much he wanted to hold her.

  “I’ll deal,” she said, answering the unspoken question.

  Simon ate up the distance between them in a few long steps. Zoe sighed as his arms settled around her — as upset as he was, the touch inspired a bone-deep sense of relief in both of them that spread like balm into her soul. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to his chest, soaking in his warm presence.

  I was right. I needed this.

  Simon pressed his lips to her hair. “We will sort this out,” he murmured to her. “I promise.”

  A thread of discomfort flickered through her at that. Zoe slitted her eyes back open. “This isn’t your problem,” she said. “You know that, don’t you?”

  Simon paused. His anger spiked. It had an aim now — she knew that it was pointed at Malcolm, wherever he might be. “It is absolutely my problem,” he replied. “It has been for years.”

  Zoe shook her head. “I helped him,” she said. “You get that? I contributed to all of this. I thought he was dead, that I was off the hook. But what if I’d made sure, Simon? I could have made certain, but instead I hid. I let this happen, and if you get hurt fixing it—”

  “Stop,” he said. “Stop.” His hands pressed to her face, and she found herself forced to meet his eyes. Simon’s anger kicked up into a bright fury, and her mind stuttered — she closed her eyes, desperate, but it did no good against her Witchsight. “Why do you think you’re here, Zoe? Why do you think I’m protecting you? Don’t look away. Tell me.”

  Zoe pressed her lips together. Her mind jangled in confusion. Simon’s aura was burning again, too bright for words. But that anger was suddenly righteous and clean — focused like an arrow. She shrank beneath the flare of it, feeling small and unworthy. “I don’t… I don’t know,” she whispered. But a dark, feeble part of her did know. There was a secret worry in her heart, but it was too terrible to say out loud.

  “You are not taking advantage of me,” Simon told her. Zoe froze at the words: they were a perfect condemnation of the dark voice in her heart. “You did not fool me into caring for you. You still believe that this is your fault, that what he did made you a terrible person. And if you are a terrible person, then it naturally follows that everyone who cares for you has been deceived into thinking you are better than you are.”

  Zoe forced her eyes open. Simon’s ire was so visible now that she wondered if she would have seen it in his aura, even without her enhanced Witchsight. “I am not a fool,” he said. “You have not conned me. I care for you, and I want you here with me.”

  Zoe stared at him. Her heart beat harder in her chest. “…I don’t deserve that,” she whispered hoarsely. “What have I done to deserve that, Simon?”

  He sighed in exasperation. “You have been working for La Voûte for far too long. Love and friendship are not business transactions, Zoe.” He threaded his fingers through her hair. “The first time that I met you, I liked the way that you looked at me. No one has ever looked at me like that before — I don’t think that anyone else ever will. I liked your smile. You made me feel better about myself when I was with you. You see how shallow that is? You were kind to my ego, and I decided that I liked you for it.”

  His green eyes burned into hers. “That is where it began, but that does not have to be where it ends. C’est le temps que tu as perdu pour ta rose qui rend ta rose importante. Sometimes it is truly that simple, do you understand? I liked you for foolish reasons. But after that, I wasted my time on you, and you wasted your time on me, and that is enough. I will never have those memories with anyone else. You are irreplaceable because of that.”

  Zoe stared at him. That deep possessiveness of his was back, flaring through his anger. She’d thought that it controlled him, but that wasn’t the case at all — he acknowledged it, embraced it, in a way that most people weren’t honest enough with themselves to do.

  “You want to believe that you are responsible for Malcolm,” Simon told her, “because the alternative frightens you. If you are not responsible for him, it is because you were a victim, and you were helpless, and you might well be helpless again. But you are a victim, Zoe. You can be strong, and you can still be a victim.” His fingers trembled in her hair. “I am a victim too. You understand that? He took precious things from me. I lost my control to him, and I will never be the same. I want to help you because if I do that, then perhaps I can believe that there will be help for me as well, the next time that I need it.”

  Zoe couldn’t look away. The raw, honest fire in him was awful and beautiful, all at once. She thought her heart might be breaking, but she wasn’t sure, because it didn’t feel altogether like a bad thing. How are you like this? she wanted to ask. How can I be m
ore like this?

  “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly. He let her go as though she’d burned him. “I’m overwhelming you. I should have waited—”

  Zoe threw her arms around his neck. This time, when she pressed her lips to his, he kissed her back instantly, desperately. He was overwhelming. He was enough to fill up the empty places inside her. His anger for her, his belief in her, burned away at that awful little darkness in her heart.

  “I love you,” she mumbled into him. “That’s crazy, and I’m crazy, but I won’t apologize, it’s your own damn fault—”

  Simon kissed her harder — so hard that for a second, she couldn’t breathe. Instead, she tasted the dizzying colors of soft, sweet possessiveness, mixed with desperate hunger. There was an ache to him that Zoe instinctively knew she could fix. She molded herself against him, dug her fingers into his soft hair, urging him on. He pressed her beneath him, and she moaned into his mouth.

  His hands slipped beneath the borrowed shirt she still wore, wandering over the heated skin of her stomach. Zoe gasped, her muscles clenching at the sudden, intimate touch. She arched into his caress, wordlessly begging for more. Then, his fingers skimmed the lower swell of one breast, and she thought she might just die of need — his need and hers, all bottled up together inside her.

  Zoe reached down to encourage him, grasping his hand in hers and guiding it unmistakably upward. He palmed her breast, brushing his thumb across the slowly-stiffening tip, and she whimpered into his mouth. More, she wanted to beg, but he was still kissing her so hard that the word was lost between them. Every flick of his tongue against hers sent shivers down her spine. Slowly, he began to rub the pad of his thumb against her nipple. Each movement sent a new twinge down her body, toward the heat at her core.

  Her head was deliciously light, but her hands itched with the desire to touch him back. Zoe tugged impatiently at the edge of Simon’s shirt — but she’d forgotten her wrist in the heat of the moment. A sharp pain lanced through her injury, and she flinched. Simon released her quickly, reaching down to grab her hand with a gentle warning. He took a moment to set aside his glasses — already faintly askew, Zoe noted with satisfaction — then tugged the offending piece of clothing up over his head for her.