Crown of Briars Page 4

  Zoe did her best not to let the full extent of her worry show on her face. “I thought you looked a bit off,” she said. Understatement of the year. “Did something bad happen?”

  Simon frowned. He seemed to realize he had accidentally brought the subject around to himself. “It’s not really important—” he started. But he cut himself off. He considered Zoe from across the booth. “…we’re not here because you’re upset, are we?” he observed.

  Zoe winced. “I guess I could work on my subtlety,” she admitted. “You look more than just a bit off. I was worried.”

  Simon laughed ruefully. He shook his head. “Well done,” he murmured. He reached back to run his fingers nervously through his hair. “I had a run-in with something powerful in Arcadia,” he admitted. “I knew it was going to hurt. I just… didn’t anticipate how much.” He went quiet, and that black aura bore down on him just a bit harder.

  Zoe pursed her lips. He was slipping away from the moment again. She feigned ignorance, tilting her head. “You’re hurt?” she asked. “How bad? Are you sure you should be walking around?”

  Simon blinked, drawn back to the conversation. “Oh,” he said. “I wasn’t hurt, um… physically. Arcadia is a world of ideas made real. There are things there that can harm you in the usual fashion, but more powerful creatures can attack your mind or soul directly. This one dredged up… some feelings that I thought I’d already put behind me. I suppose I was mistaken.” He paused, briefly silent. His hand drifted unconsciously toward his chest, where the center of that blackness hung at the end of the silver chain around his neck. “Some injuries are a bit harder to heal.”

  Zoe nodded slowly, trying to keep her eyes from fixing on that invisible point of misery. “So something hit you in the soul,” she said. “Really hard.” She hesitated. “That sounds like the sort of thing a witch might be able to help with, if they had the right speciality. Maybe a Virgo or a Scorpio.” She paused. Then, before she could stop herself, she added: “Scorpio would be better, I figure.”

  Simon gave her a curious look. “Well… yes,” he said. “You’re well-informed, Miss Zoe.”

  She shrugged uncomfortably. “You can’t work in an office like ours without picking up a few bits of information here and there,” she said. “Anyway… I know witches are rare, but it’s not an impossible idea?”

  Simon smiled ruefully. “About that…”

  Jérôme returned with their brownies and hot chocolate, and the two of them briefly quieted. It wasn’t exactly forbidden to talk about such things in front of oblivious mortals — most of them would brush off talk of magic and faeries as something from a game or a story — but there was always the risk that you’d end up cornered for the next hour by an enthusiastic mortal looking to join your ‘role-playing group.’

  As Jérôme headed off again, Zoe tucked a small bite of her brownie into her mouth. The fresh, gooey chocolate elicited a slight moan. “Oh, man. I have no idea how I'm not fat on this stuff. My world got so dangerous when they moved just a few blocks away from us.” She nodded toward Simon’s plate. “Eat up. I hear chocolate is good for the soul too.”

  Simon blinked behind his glasses. “Where did you hear that?” he said, confused.

  “Harry Potter,” Zoe admitted. “Still, it seems like it should be true, doesn’t it?”

  A faint smile flickered across Simon’s face. He dutifully took a nibble of his own brownie, and sighed in satisfaction. “You have a point,” he said. “This is certainly the best-tasting medicine I’ve ever had, if nothing else.”

  Again, the darkness in his aura ebbed just a bit, and Zoe thought: Shit. Harry Potter was right. Who knew?

  “So,” she encouraged. “You were saying — about finding a witch to help you out?”

  Simon paused halfway through another bite. “I’m not well-liked in the broader supernatural community,” he said. “I’ve made some friends locally, but most other people mistrust me on sight, for… obvious reasons.”

  Zoe raised her eyebrows. “You’re kidding,” she said flatly. “You mean because you’re a warlock?”

  Simon winced. “I can hardly blame people,” he said. “The general consensus is that warlocks sell their souls in return for power. And I would say that’s true for most.”

  Zoe brooded on that. She couldn’t fault his point. It took a certain sort of crazy to indebt yourself to a faerie lord and their whims — or maybe a certain sort of desperate. Either way, being on-call for the sort of being that flipped out over a party invitation and cursed a whole city wasn’t likely to make people trust you any more. The rest of what he’d said sunk in then, and she frowned. “True for most?” she said. “Not for you?”

  Simon sipped at his hot chocolate for a long moment. She could see him thinking, weighing how much he wanted to say. He must have decided that he trusted her, though — because he spoke again, even more quietly. “The Lady of Briars isn’t what she used to be,” he said. “She’s been… infected, I suppose, with a tiny sliver of humanity. It’s been very difficult for her. I feel a kind of responsibility for her, er… it’s gotten quite complicated. But I agreed to a very conditional warlock’s pact in order to help her through it.”

  Zoe felt her eyes go wide. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting Simon to tell her — maybe that he’d pacted in order to save an innocent puppy stuck up a tree, or something similarly ridiculous. But a faerie lord gone human? Even if it was only a sliver of humanity, as he said, the idea was unprecedented.

  “Did—” She lowered her voice. “Did you tell Dorian?” It was barely a whisper.

  Simon was silent for a long moment. Finally, he said: “Yes. With her permission. It was a secret worthy of substantial payment. And the Lady would pay any price, I think, for the question that I asked.” His eyes went distant again. “We both would.”

  A question that even Dorian can’t answer.

  Zoe bit down on her lip.

  I promised Dorian I wouldn’t trade him for the information. And I’m not allowed to ask this kind of thing of a client in the office…

  But we’re not in the office.

  It was the slimmest of technicalities. To ask would still be dangerous, and horribly impolite.

  But it wasn’t forbidden, was it?

  Simon was looking at her strangely, and she knew that the conflict must have been evident on her face. “You don’t have to tell me,” Zoe said slowly. “And… and I really shouldn’t ask.” She swallowed. “What answer are you looking for, Simon? Is… is it something I could help you with?”

  The warlock stared at her for a long moment. Dark grief curled around the chain at his neck. Zoe felt her certainty waver almost instantly, in the face of that look. “Never mind. Just — I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

  Simon reached out to take her hand. “It’s all right,” he said. “I know you mean well. And… I know what it means for you to ask.” He shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, Miss Zoe, I really do. But I think… it’s probably best if I don’t go down this path. It would be very easy for me to fall back into obsessing over this again, especially in my current state. It’s part of why I had to take a step back and ask La Voûte to look for answers instead.” He smiled ruefully. “I found my way out of this feeling once already. I can do it again if I have to.”

  Zoe glanced away, unable to meet his eyes. The words were understanding, and more than she likely deserved. But some part of her couldn’t help hearing the rest of what he hadn’t said. If a faerie lord can’t find the answer, and La Voûte can’t find the answer, then you certainly can’t find it.

  And why would he have any reason to think differently? As far as Simon knew, Zoe’s most valuable skill was making appointments. He probably thought she was aiming to get into something far over her head — maybe even something that could get her hurt.

  Zoe swallowed. For the first time since meeting Dorian, she wanted to tell someone the truth. Not all of it — not even most of it. But maybe just enoug
h. Would it be so bad for just one person to know what she was? Surely, Simon could keep a secret.

  It won’t stay that way, a voice whispered at the back of her head. Secrets don’t stop at just one. No one can ever know what Malcolm taught you — what he gave you. If you let the wrong thing slip, and the Lady of Briars finds out…

  Zoe pressed her lips together. “…you deserve better, is all,” she said finally. She tightened her hand on his. “I wish I could just… fix whatever it is. I know that might sound silly.”

  I can’t. I’m sorry, Simon.

  “It’s not silly.” Simon reached across the table to nudge her chin upward. Zoe caught his eyes again; there was real gratitude in them. Zoe found herself frozen in place, as though he’d struck her through the heart. There was a flicker of something else in his aura now — something she’d never seen before. It was soft and gentle, like so much of the rest of him… but she had no name for it, and her mind struggled with the unfamiliarity. All she knew was that it had hit her right in the center of her chest, and utterly stolen her breath.

  I don’t deserve that, she thought guiltily.

  “Thank you for caring, Zoe,” he said. “I don’t have many friends these days. I think… maybe I know why I ended up at your office today. Maybe I found the person I was really hoping to find.”

  The pitch blackness in his aura had lifted, lightening to a less heinous-looking grey instead. Zoe knitted her brow. What did I do? she wondered. I don’t know what I did to cause that.

  Simon’s fingers left her chin, and she found herself able to breathe again. Something inside her had shifted out of place, though, and she knew somehow that it wasn’t going to shift back again.

  Zoe found herself savoring every last moment over chocolate, for reasons which weren’t entirely clear to her. At some point, she realized that they’d long since finished off their impromptu dessert, and lingered much longer than she’d intended. If Simon was worried over the time, he didn’t show it in the least — but eventually, she admitted to herself that it would probably be polite to let Jérôme start cleaning up the table.

  She caught herself looking past Simon’s shoulder at the darkness beyond the restaurant window. Later meant darker, she realized belatedly. A hint of uneasiness flickered through her at that. Scorpio weren’t supposed to be scared of the darkness. They were the darkness. But however much Zoe’s soul might have craved the night, her body still remembered to shiver and seize up when it came. Bad things had happened to her in the dark.

  “Zoe?”

  She glanced back at Simon, brow knitted. That was the second time he’d forgotten to use the Miss. The sound of him saying her name so casually set off a delighted spike of confusion inside her, battering back at the fear in her chest. “Sorry,” she said, smiling. “My brain was somewhere else just now.”

  “I said I’m headed to the nearest metro. I could walk with you, if you’re going in that direction as well.”

  The irrational fear that had tightened in her chest eased off just a bit at the offer. Zoe chuckled nervously. “Sure, thanks. I mean… I should probably keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t turn into a popsicle.”

  Simon tugged his coat back around his shoulders with a sigh. “If only I didn’t love Montreal so much,” he said. “I could move somewhere nice and sunny instead.”

  As he moved for the door, Zoe noticed that he’d left a few bills on the table. She scowled. “Hey,” she said, shoving to her feet. “I didn’t realize we were playing that game. You did not just sneak the bill from me.”

  Simon grinned. She’d always thought he had an angel’s smile, but there was an added mischievous cast to it now. “You looked away,” he said. “You’ll have to be more cut-throat next time.”

  Zoe blinked. Next time? The words put a stupid smile on her face before she could stop it. She hustled her coat back on, covering her mouth with a scarf. “You shouldn’t have started that with me,” she informed him. “I’ll eat you for breakfast. I work for a lawyer — I learned from the best.”

  “In which case, I look forward to being beaten by the best.” Simon held the door for her once again; this time, she saw a humor in his face that suggested he was doing it on purpose.

  Zoe’s heart flip-flopped in her chest. Stop that! she told it. You stop that right now!

  The last thing — the very last thing that she needed — was to end up infatuated with one of Dorian’s clients. She’d already crossed a million lines tonight, but god damn it, there had to be some kind of limit!

  Simon fell into step next to her as they headed away from the chocolaterie. Zoe tugged up her scarf again to hide her burning face.

  The night was cold, but for once there was very little wind. Snow fell without sound, muffling the whole world so that the few people on the street felt a need to keep the quiet. They walked in companionable silence for a bit, and Zoe admitted to herself that it was a nice feeling. As soothing as it could be to walk in the shadow of Dorian’s total non-aura, it was pleasant having Simon next to her when she didn’t feel pressured to fight through the distraction of her Witchsight to come up with something to say. Being near him was like basking in the warmth of a fire, or laying out in the sun. Simon had a rare certainty about him; he always knew who he was and what he believed in. All those worried glances and careful words of his were for everyone else’s benefit, as he searched for the right way to accomplish what he wanted.

  None of it was wasted. Simon had effortlessly guided the evening through a hundred moments that should have been awkward or misunderstood. Only now, looking back, could Zoe see how he’d nudged things to defuse her unease.

  It had helped her keep her head around him, in spite of the ever-present distractions of her Witchsight. For once, she hadn’t acted like an idiot just trying to stave off the way he overwhelmed her senses.

  Maybe there was hope for her yet.

  A loud scream jolted her abruptly from her musings. Zoe froze. Old memories surged back, persistent and unwelcome. Her body shut down for a moment as her mind cast around frantically, searching for the source of the sound. Where was the fear? Where was the pain—

  Another scream followed the first. This one cut off into a drunken laugh. There was a moment of disconnect while her brain tried to make sense of it all.

  A small group of college boys was ambling down the other side of the street. They seemed to be taking turns screaming down one of their friends as he tried to talk at them in a more reasonable tone of voice. Each time the sober (and exasperated) young man opened his mouth, another of his wavering comrades would do their best to drown him out with a blood-curdling scream.

  Zoe realized she was staring. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Use your magic! her instincts urged her. No, hide! No, don’t move! Don’t catch the wrong attention!

  Simon’s hands cupped her face, forcing her toward him. A glow lit the air between them, flickering into a soft golden light. Where it touched her, she felt his confidence suffuse her, warming up the places where her blood had run cold.

  It was his magic: Simon’s magic, and not the Lady’s. It promised safety, protection. Nothing will hurt you, it said. I won’t let it happen.

  Simon’s eyes held hers — vivid green and steady. Zoe sucked in a breath, dazed. His hands were warm, in spite of the cold. She reached out shaking hands, clinging to his coat on pure instinct. Simon was steady. He was strong enough to hold them both up, for the moment.

  Slowly — very slowly — the paralyzing fear ebbed away. Zoe wavered on her feet, drained by its absence. Simon dropped his hands from her face, catching her against him.

  Being in his arms was surreal. That warm, blissful aura of his enfolded her entirely, blinding her Witchsight to the rest of the world. This close to Simon, there was nothing else to worry about. Zoe surrendered herself to the feeling, tucking her head into his chest and breathing in the aroma of fresh rain and distant lilies. Simon pressed his hand gently to the back of her head, holding her t
here. For the first time, beneath the smell of the Briars, she caught a hint of the warlock himself; a clean, male scent that comforted in a different way.

  There was nothing like it in the world. Nothing. All of the hundreds of little distractions — the throbbing pressure of the people and streets and lingering emotions around her — had utterly disappeared. For just a second, drowning in everything that Simon was, the world felt…

  Quiet.

  That protectiveness of Simon’s was at the forefront, driven forward by the spell he’d just cast. It was difficult to cast a spell of emotion without keenly feeling that emotion yourself. Simon wanted to protect people; it was part of who he was at his core.

  But there was a new tinge to that protectiveness. Almost too quick to follow, she saw a touch of possession. Simon hadn’t decided to protect Zoe because of who he was.

  He had done it because of who she was to him.

  Friends, she thought to herself, dazed. We’re friends. That’s why.

  Slowly, Zoe raised her face from his chest. Simon glanced down at her. He had put a good deal of effort into making his face unreadable… but Zoe didn’t need to read his face. He was worried, confused, thoughtful. Already putting pieces together, reading old trauma out of her reaction.

  “I’m sorry,” she rasped. “I, um…” She tugged back from him, but Simon surprised her by tightening his grip on her waist, holding her where she was for an extra moment.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he said. The words held worlds of meaning that even Zoe couldn’t entirely parse. A flicker of anger rippled through him — aimless, casting about for a target. It faded quickly as he refocused his attention. “Take a second. I’ve got you.”

  Zoe nodded slowly. Part of her wanted to explain, to warn him that if she took a second, she might take forever. That she’d spent years building up her courage to go outside, to stop looking over her shoulder every few seconds. That until he’d held her like that, she hadn’t realized how tired she was, and how deeply she suddenly craved staying there, in the one place that she’d ever really felt safe.