Snapdragons Page 2

  Read those last two sentences again. Let them sink in.

  Now you know why you don’t have any memories beyond the day before the attack. I couldn’t live with them. Believe me, you wouldn’t be able to either, so don’t try to break the spell.

  Yes, it’s a spell. That’s the how. Always loved knowing the ‘how’ of things, didn’t you? Or is it didn’t I? It’s weird to be talking to myself.

  What’s left for you to do is to decide what to do with the rest of your life. I can’t help you there, because obviously, if I knew, I wouldn’t be doing this spell. I’m getting a ticket for the first bus out of New York. Trust me—trust yourself—when I tell you not to come back.

  Find a job, get new friends, start a new life. Stay away from vamps and Special Enforcers. And most of all, do not try to remember.

  Rhea

  At last, Peter folded the letter back up and placed it on the table between them. Rhea reached for it right away, her hands still shaking a little. She had unfolded, read and re-folded again that piece of paper so many times in the past two weeks that the paper seemed ready to fall apart along the creases. Almost reverently, she slipped it back in her purse. She never went anywhere without it, sometimes slipping her hand inside her bag to touch it and assure herself it was really there and she wasn’t caught in a too-vivid nightmare.

  Across from her, Peter took a sip of coffee. It had to be tepid by now. The waitress, probably too busy, had not been back to refill their cups. Rhea remembered he had always liked his coffee strong and dark, with no milk or sugar. In her first years at the agency, she had brought him back a cup every time she had gone to the deli down the street for lunch. He used to smile when he thanked her, which never failed to make her flush, and Carol and Paul would—

  The realization was sharp, painful as a punch to the gut, as it always was. Carol and Paul were gone, along with everyone from the agency, everyone she had cared about. She closed her eyes rather than allow tears to rise yet again.

  “And you’re certain you wrote this letter?”

  Peter’s voice was like a safe line, familiar and welcome despite its slight hint of incredulity. In a world she still didn’t recognize, it was the one thing she felt she could cling to. She opened her eyes again to find that he was observing her, his arms now crossed on the table. His eyes seemed to shine under the bright lights of the diner, and the few silver threads in his hair seemed more apparent than they had been at the store.

  “As certain as I can be, considering. I’ve tried writing the letter over, and I could superpose the two almost perfectly.”

  He shook his head in what looked like disbelief. Rhea’s stomach lurched unpleasantly. She hadn’t told anyone about her past since arriving in Miami, and he was the only person who had ever read the letter. She needed him to see that it was true. Then, maybe, she would stop hoping that she would wake up soon and find herself back in New York.

  “It is my handwriting,” she insisted, almost begging him to believe her.

  A muscle twitched in his jaw and pulled at the few fine lines at the corner of his mouth. He had aged gracefully, and he still looked like the same strong man she had once known.

  “All right, let’s assume you wrote this,” he said, still sounding a little skeptical. “What I don’t understand is this. The agency was about to eliminate the Kavanagh clan when I left. That was more than five years ago.”

  Rhea looked down at those words, sliding a little on her chair. Unfortunately, her teacup was empty, and would not help her suddenly dry throat.

  “I know.” She could still feel the remnants of the panic that had taken hold of her when she had realized that five years had vanished from her life. “I guess… I guess I held on as long as I could before erasing my memories. Or maybe it took me that long to learn how.”

  She had always had a talent for magic. Carol used to say there were few things she wouldn’t be able to do if she put her mind and heart to it; that was why she had taken her on as an apprentice, after all. Rhea clenched her teeth at the thought of her old friend. The two of them had held the safest jobs of the agency, rarely having to deal with vampires first-hand. They had revoked invitations given to vampires to enter a home and supported the Special Enforcers with minor spells. Magic hadn’t saved Carol in the end, though, and it had only offered Rhea broken pieces with which to rebuild her life.

  Peter’s fingers were now tapping rhythmically on the table. She dared to look back up at his face. His expression showed his puzzlement. She wished she could have known if he truly believed her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and as his features softened into a mix of pity and sadness, Rhea found she could breathe more easily. “It must have been hard to start from scratch. How long have you been in town?”

  “Just two weeks. And yes, it’s been difficult.”

  She swallowed hard, pushing away at the same time how similar the experience was to her arrival to New York—alone, lost, until she had found a job she could enjoy and a friend to lean on. She tried to smile at Peter.

  “I’m glad I was wrong when I said everybody I cared about was dead, though.”

  He blinked twice before answering her smile in kind. When he did, Rhea could have wept with joy. For the first time since she had awakened in that bus, she could feel the warmth of hope curling around her, warming her. She was still warm when she went home, Peter’s business card, with his address and phone number, resting in her purse with the letter. She wasn’t alone anymore.

  * * * *

  Her chocolate dessert forgotten in front of her, Rhea looked at Peter in awe.

  “You mean you find treasures?”

  He shrugged and sat back in the booth. “There’s more trying than finding to it, but yeah, that’s the goal.”

  Fascinated, she pushed the dessert away and leaned forward over the narrow diner table. She had been a little disappointed when he had told her he wasn’t a Special Enforcer anymore. She had always thought he was the best at the agency, his failure to stake Kaelin notwithstanding. Of course, she had never been too objective where Peter was concerned.

  “How do you do it?” she asked, unconsciously dropping her voice to a whisper. “Magic?”

  “My part, yes. But my partners do extensive research on sunken vessels before that.”

  Arms spread on each side of him on the back of the bench, he would have been the picture of relaxation, if not for repeated glances through the window on his right. She frowned and tried to follow his eyes to see what he was looking at, but darkness had fallen on the street and even with the streetlights, she only saw shadows. Focusing on him again, she tried to imagine what his job could be like. More interesting than her own, she was sure, and she couldn’t help saying as much.

  “It can be,” he said, nodding. “But it can also be very frustrating. This case I’m working on right now… The galleon is called the Boca de Dragón. Let’s just say I’ll make your boss rich before I’m done!”

  She looked down at her slice of cake and picked up her abandoned spoon, thinking. She had heard what Angelo had suggested to Peter two days earlier. She doubted that spell would help if Peter’s current project were as difficult as he said.

  “Have you tried a spell with Solomon’s seal oil? You’ve got good instincts, that’d help develop them. Maybe with some heliotrope powder too and—” She blushed when she looked up and noticed he was grinning. “Feel free to tell me it’s none of my business any time, now.”

  Peter chuckled. “No, do continue. You always were cute when you babbled. And that sounds interesting. Heliotrope powder, you said? I use the oil, I hadn’t thought of using the powder. You think you could show me?”

  Her blushing increased. She couldn’t believe Peter wanted her help. She was just an apprentice. “I’d be glad to, but I’m not that good, you know.”

  He looked unconvinced even as he said: “We’ll see. Are you done?” He pointed at her dessert.

  Part of her wanted to claim she wasn
’t, just so they could spend a few more minutes together, but in truth, she was full. Peter had been taking her to this diner every other night for the past week, and while the food was simple, it was also delicious.

  “I’m done. And this time, it’s my treat. I—”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He stood, and before she could stop him, was already at the counter and paying their check.

  “Thank you,” she said when she followed. “But next time, it’ll be on me.”

  Angelo wasn’t giving her much, but she could pay her part. The last thing she wanted was for Peter to think she was taking advantage of him. Peter didn’t reply, and merely smiled as held the door for her.

  “It’s getting late,” he said, looking around them in the deserted street. “Do you want me to walk you home?”

  Again, she was torn. She appreciated his offer, and she wished she could have accepted it in order to spend a little while longer with him. At the same time, though, she didn’t want him to look down at her when he saw where she lived. The building was clean, warm and quiet, but she doubted he would see past the walls covered in graffiti.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, smiling gratefully. “Thanks for everything.”

  He took her hand and squeezed it. “My pleasure, Rhea. I’ll see you soon.”

  She kept his not-quite promise in her mind as she started down the street with a spring to her steps that hadn’t been there earlier. Back in New York, Peter had always been nice to her, but he had also treated her like a kid sister, never truly looking at her as an adult. To be the focus of his attention was a heady experience.

  She knew she ought not to think too much of it; Peter was probably a little sorry for what had happened to her, nothing more. Still, she couldn’t help seeing more in his smiles, his dinner invitations, and the small comments about how her hair looked better like this, shorter and with red highlights she didn’t remember putting there. He had even called her cute tonight. She wished she had dared to use the credit card she'd found in her wallet, so far only pulled out to buy a few working clothes when she first arrived. If she had sexier clothes to wear, maybe having dinner together would turn into proper dates, and then who knew what—

  Steps coming closer behind her pulled her out of her thoughts with a jolt. She was in a narrow back alley just a block from her apartment, and the lighting was very poor. Throat tight, she froze. The steps stopped as well. She looked back in the darkness, and was almost relieved to find a woman about thirty yards behind her. She couldn’t quite distinguish her face, but her cocktail dress seemed quite out of place in the alley, enough so that Rhea wondered if the woman was lost, maybe. Some streets in this neighborhood could feel like a maze, as she had discovered in her first days in town.

  “Hello? Can I help you?”

  The woman came closer with slow steps that brought her, little by little, into the pool of light dispensed by a streetlight between them

  “You can, yes, Rhea. Stay away from Peter. I’ve waited too long for him to lose him to a child now.”

  A bead of cold sweat slithered down Rhea’s back. She knew that woman—that vampire. She was Kaelin, the vampire for whom Peter had given up his Special Enforcer career along with his life in New York. Her portrait had been pinned on the agency wall for weeks, along with pictures of her Sire and his other Childer and minions. There had been a tag at the bottom of her picture. Confirmed killer, execute on sight. Rhea hadn’t known until that moment that Kaelin was in Miami too.

  Rhea’s heartbeat raced, her blood echoing like rolling thunder in her ears. Without knowing why, she raised her hand, palm up in front of her. Flames appeared out of nowhere, dancing at her fingertips, casting light through the alley yet radiating no heat. A few yards in front of her, Kaelin stopped. A vicious smile bloomed on her face.

  “Back to the same tricks, I see. I knew the sweet kid act was just a façade.”

  Rhea blinked, and the flames faltered in her hand for a second. “What—”

  But already Kaelin was gone, disappearing in the shadows.

  Still shaken, Rhea looked at her hand, where the flames still danced. She had no idea how she had done this, and no idea how to stop it. As she stared at the fire, she could see, through its flickering tendrils, a burning building and flashing lights, could hear through its faint crackling shouts and cries for help. Her fear returned in a flash, now tenfold what she had experienced in front of Kaelin. She clenched her hand reflexively in a fist and the fire vanished. The burning building and shouting, however, remained with her long after she had returned home and gone to bed, trembling.

  * * * *

  Four thirty-two. Only two hours and twenty-eight minutes to go. Twenty-seven, now. Rhea sighed and wrapped yet another tiny jar in a protective cocoon of bubble wrap before setting it aside on the table on the side of the back room.

  In her mind, the flames she had accidentally caused the previous day were still burning. They had burned all night, turning everything and everyone around her to ashes every time she closed her eyes. She was always a little surprised, when she opened them again, to discover that everything was unmarked.

  She wished she had someone she could talk to. She wished she wasn’t so scared of Kaelin, more scared than she had ever been of a vampire before. She wished—

  “Well?” Angelo’s voice boomed behind her. “Aren’t you done yet?”

  Startled, she dropped the glass bottle she had just picked up. It shattered on the floor in front of her workspace and she gasped at the sight of the precious powder spilled on the dirty tiles and her sneakers.

  “Idiotic girl!” he shouted, glowering. “Are you trying to ruin my business?” He grabbed her arm to shake her, his hold so tight that it hurt. “After I take you off the street, this is how you repay me? Do you have any—”

  One second, Rhea was in pain, too scared to think or to say a word in her own defense. The next, something settled on her, dark, heavy and powerful. A loud buzzing noise in her ears obliterated everything, and light flared around her, so bright she had to close her eyes. When she opened them again, the buzzing and oppressing presence were gone. Angelo was slumped against the wall on her left, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. She froze, certain for a second that he was dead, but a low moan proved her wrong. He blinked and looked up at her. His eyes widened and filled with fear.

  No, this wasn’t fear, she realized, starting to shake. This was pure terror.

  She didn’t think. She ran. She barely had enough presence of mind left to grab her purse as she fled the store. Her own blood beating hard in her ears, she kept running until the stitch in her side became too painful and she had to stop. She struggled to catch her breath as she looked around her and tried to orient herself. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t know what had happened in the store, or why Angelo had looked at her as though she had been the devil incarnate. She didn’t know—

  But she knew who would.

  She fumbled in her purse for the tiny, precious card and ran a finger over Peter’s name. Above the address and phone number, two lines in italics announced: “Localization spells for missing persons and objects, vampire disinvite spells, and all magical help you may need”. She certainly could use all the help she could get.

  Looking around, she tried to recognize the names of the streets, but it didn’t help. She didn’t know where his street was. She stopped someone and asked for directions. Twenty-five minutes later, she was knocking on his door. Strangely enough, Peter looked like he had just gotten out of bed. He was wearing sweats and a t-shirt, his feet were bare and his hair stuck out at odd angles, as though he had just run a hand through it.

  “Rhea? Is something wrong?”

  She swallowed heavily and tried to smile. “I…I’m sorry to bother you. I just didn’t know where else…”

  Her voice broke down into a dry sob when he opened the door wider, inviting her in.

  “You’re shakin
g. What happened?”

  He took her arm, but as light as his touch was she couldn’t help flinching when he brushed on the spot where Angelo’s hand had closed so tight.

  Once she had sat down on his sofa, but still hadn’t said a word, he repeated, “What happened?”

  She didn’t know where to start. “Could I have a glass of water please?” she asked, trying to give herself time.

  Peter gave her a searching look before he nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. Clasping her hands together, Rhea looked around her, recognizing Peter everywhere she looked. The overflowing bookshelves reflected his dislike for technology; the map on the coffee table in front of her, half covered in jars and bags of ingredients, his messiness. The crossbow on the wall was a reminder that he had been a Special Enforcer.

  “There you go.”

  She started at the quiet words, so much so that Peter frowned at her. Unable to meet his eyes, she dropped her gaze as she muttered a word of thanks and accepted the glass he was handing her. The water was cool and soothing; she drank it in big gulps, quickly emptying the glass. She would have asked for more but Peter had sat across from her in an armchair, his body leaning toward her.

  “Now,” he said on a firm but gentle tone. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I don’t know what happened,” she said, shaking her head. “He scared me so much, and then I was mad…”

  Her hands shook, threatening to drop the glass. She placed it on the map on the coffee table and buried her hands between her knees.

  “Who scared you, Rhea?” Peter prodded gently.

  “Angelo.” Somehow, having pronounced this simple word made it easier to continue, and truly explain. “I was working and he startled me. I dropped something, it broke, and he started shouting at me. And then he grabbed me…” She closed her right hand over her arm to show Peter. “He hurt me. And then…” She gulped. “I did magic on him. Threw him against the wall. But I don’t know how!” She watched him pleadingly; she couldn’t stand the idea that he might think she had done it on purpose. “What’s wrong with me, Peter?”