All Things Wicked Read online

  The ritual symbol for home decorated it. The one after revealed a character for protection. So . . . she was among witches?

  It might work out in her favor. Then again, if they were aware of her power, it might not. It was a rare witch who refused the opportunity to become so much more powerful than their inherent magic allowed.

  Like Caleb.

  He’d never wanted her power.

  Just her body.

  She squashed that inner voice before it hit her heart, focusing instead on the stepping stone in front of her. Juliet hated her ability. Useless on its own, but she could be used. A perfect word. Used. Like a dishrag, or a puppet.

  Right, then. As usual, she’d have to stay on her toes and keep her mouth shut. And find Caleb.

  She didn’t have to travel far before the giant fronds opened into a clearing that took her breath away. Cliff walls rose high into the brilliant blue sky, surrounding a cove carved into the shape of an uneven crescent. To her left, a dock jutted out from the rocky ledge of the shore.

  Sunshine sparkled on water the color of cut green glass, so vivid and still that she was seized with an urge to see if she could walk on it. Not a ripple marred its surface, though a faint gray haze lingered over it.

  The smell of sulfur was stronger here, curling into her nose with its acrid afterburn.

  Juliet sidled out of the concealing foliage, tracing the same glassy path stones leading to a small house set at the point of one end of the semicircular bay. It was painted a darker green than the water, with a handful of mismatched windows set into its walls.

  They caught the sunshine, threw it back in a diamond sparkle and sent fingers of light dancing through a twisted mass of violet flowers hanging high over the house’s roof.

  Juliet scraped her hair back from her face with both hands and stared at the fairy-tale house with its fairy-tale purple bower. Had she gone crazy? Was she still somewhere in the depths of Old Seattle, aimlessly wandering around while her mind languished in this made-up haven?

  Had Caleb bled to death in her wake?

  The voices, muffled and indistinct, came from the house. People were arguing. She couldn’t make out the words, but she knew the cadence. Someone was angry.

  She hurried away from the concealing foliage, toward the house with its reinforced front stoop. One bare foot settled on the first step as one of the voices rose. Feminine. Furious.

  “That’s twice. We’re going on two times that you pulled this same bullshit on me—”

  “It wasn’t by choice.” The sound of Caleb’s voice rumbled through the barrier of plaster and wood and whatever else lay concealed by the paint. Juliet found herself splaying her fingers against the sun-warmed surface, as if she could feel him there.

  He wasn’t angry like the woman was. Her voice shook with it; his was quieter, calmer. As it usually was, she thought, grimacing.

  The woman laughed. It lashed. “You’re so full of it. How many times are you going to go sailing off into the dark?”

  “I told you—”

  “You’ve told me nothing.” Juliet flinched at the raw emotion in the single sentence, hesitated as it continued bitterly, “You go out of your way to tell me nothing. How many charms did you have to wear this time, huh? Did you find some flint? Is that why I couldn’t find you?”

  White flint, to sever bonds. Juliet flashed to the memory of the sharpened white stone as it fell to the carpet at Caleb’s feet. Who was this woman that she knew so much?

  What was she to Caleb?

  “It was better for you to think I was dead,” Caleb said.

  She snorted. “I knew you weren’t dead. You idiot, I always know. Were you ever planning to come back? Don’t lie to me,” she said, so quickly that Juliet knew she’d cut him off. “I taught you how to do that, remember? I’m not stupid, Caleb.”

  She rested her cheek against the wall. Their voices became rhythm and sound, muffled through paint and plaster.

  “Look, it was necessary,” Caleb said curtly. “Trust me, I didn’t have a whole hell of a lot of choices.”

  “If you say that one more time,” seethed the woman, “I swear to God, I’m going to hogtie you to a goddamned heater. It didn’t work for me, but maybe, just maybe it’ll work for you. And who the crap is the girl?”

  Juliet held her breath.

  “No, don’t,” she added bitterly. “I can already see the lie forming.”

  He said something too low for her to hear, but the woman made a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh. Footsteps thudded somewhere inside.

  “Visions,” the woman spat. “It’s always the same with you. You forced me out of the game again, and all you can do is sit there and tell me you had to. Had to. You stupid, moronic, holier-than-thou, macho— Don’t!” she snapped, so suddenly that Juliet jerked away from the wall.

  “What’s wrong?” Caleb asked, and his voice seemed nearer. Louder. “You’re hiding something from me.”

  “Oh, can I join the fucking club, then?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “What,” the woman said, amusement sharp in her tone, “you can’t see it?”

  Juliet looked up at the violet flowers and held her breath.

  “That’s not my gift, and you know it.” Caleb’s reply was much calmer than Juliet felt, with her heart pounding in her chest. Should she be here? Should she be listening to this?

  What if they were lovers?

  The thought caused a knot in her throat that ached to swallow. It coiled an answering throb through her temples. Slowly, cautiously, she eased her foot off the stoop.

  Somewhere inside, ceramic clattered.

  “Damn. She’s awake,” the woman said. “Go get her before she runs.”

  Juliet jerked back, turned. She made it two steps toward the side of the house before the door slammed open behind her, and she froze with her hand braced against the wall.

  “Juliet.”

  Her name. One word. It fisted in her gut like a curse.

  A bloody benediction.

  She turned slowly, but no amount of fortification could shield her from the shock of seeing him. Caleb’s eyes pinned hers, trapped her in a field of blue, but it wasn’t his gaze that made her gasp. “Your face!”

  He took the two steps to the ground with ease. There wasn’t a hint of pain, not a wince or whisper of discomfort. His features were stern, but unmarred save for the scars. No bruises. No cuts. Just the healed fissures climbing his jaw.

  His faintly twisted lip quirked. Self-deprecation. “We were lucky enough to find a healer. Can you travel?”

  Behind him, a blond woman braced her arms on either side of the doorframe and glared. Her brown eyes glittered in her fine, pixie face, though her skin seemed too pale. Faintly clammy. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she said firmly. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “I can,” Juliet said, her gaze darting between them both. “Where—”

  “Get your things. Let’s go.” Caleb ignored the woman. “We aren’t safe here.” The woman stepped onto the porch. “We’re leaving,” he added over his shoulder.

  “Over my dead body.”

  Juliet shook her head, amused and bewildered and feeling too much like she’d just stepped into a minefield. “I don’t know where my things are.”

  “Jess,” Caleb warned.

  “Cale,” the woman mimicked in the same tone, her grip white-knuckled on the frame. “You want to throw down? I’ll kick your ass. I’ve been getting lessons.”

  Juliet’s gaze snapped to the woman, took in the tumbled waves of her golden hair. The high cheekbones and her fine, straight nose, almost identical to Caleb’s. Her features were daintier, with a delicate definition that Caleb lacked, and the eye color was different, but there could be no mistake.

  She’d never met Jessica Leigh. But coming face-to-face with the witch Curio had wanted to sacrifice was a kick to her already bruised conscience.

  She covered her mouth with both hands. “You’re the
seer,” she groaned through her fingers. “Oh, my God.”

  The woman flipped her a crooked smile, ignoring her brother. “Don’t call me that,” she said. “My name’s Jessie. And don’t worry about it. Caleb tells me you weren’t among the party trying to kill us.”

  She wasn’t, no. The day the Coven of the Unbinding had gone up in flames, the day they’d captured the seer, Juliet had been gone. Afterward she’d thought Jessica Leigh—the witch who could see the present—was dead.

  Then again, she’d thought the same of Caleb, the witch who could see the future.

  Had the seer worked with her brother to destroy her coven?

  Who else had lived that she now thought dead? Curio?

  Delia?

  Juliet straightened, her shoulders going rigid as Caleb reached for her arm. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed, and he froze. His palm hovered for a half second before he shook his head, fingers locking around her forearm.

  Juliet wrenched at it, but his grip was implacable. “Who else is alive, Caleb?” she demanded, rounding on him.

  He took a step back, surprise flickering through his eyes. “What?”

  “Who else is alive that I thought dead? Curio?” Her fist jerked, trapped in his hold. “My sister?”

  His gaze flicked over her shoulder, then back. “I killed Curio myself,” he said flatly. “He’s dead.”

  She couldn’t deal with this. “Where am I?” she demanded. Her head pounded.

  On the porch, Jessie leaned against the back of a worn wooden rocking chair. “You’re safe,” she said. Despite her pallor, she smiled reassuringly as she added, “Naomi healed you both, for what good that’ll do.” The look she shot Caleb crackled.

  He ignored her, staring at Juliet with fixed intensity. “Trust me,” he said, so seriously that she had to laugh.

  Laughter would only have choked her. “What happened?” she demanded instead. “Why am I here?”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I don’t know.”

  “Bull,” she shot back.

  Jessie snorted. “He was out cold when we found you guys,” she offered, resting her chin on her folded arms. “You both were. There was a charred body about ten feet away and a whole lot of blood. Some of it my little brother’s.”

  Despite herself, Juliet’s eyes trailed over Caleb’s shoulders. His chest, covered in a threadbare T-shirt.

  “He’s fine,” Jessie added, more astutely that Juliet was comfortable with. “He’d been shot in the back, though.” She arched a fine eyebrow. “Your doing?”

  “No,” Caleb answered flatly, his grip tight on Juliet’s arm. She tugged at it, but her attention wasn’t on him, or the byplay between the siblings. She wracked her memory, frowning.

  All she could recollect was pain. Pressure.

  The certainty that Caleb would die.

  “Did you save us?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah. As much as my brother pisses me off,” Jessie answered, her smile tired, “I love him. As soon as I got the message”—the word held a depth of meaning that Juliet found puzzling—“Naomi and I went looking.”

  “Message?”

  Caleb pointed at his sister as she hesitated. “Okay, that’s it. Why the hell are you so pale?” he demanded.

  “Staying up all night worrying is hell on a girl’s complexion. You were practically dead on your—” Jessie straightened abruptly, shading her eyes as she stared at something beyond them. Her smile faded. “Oh, shit.”

  They all turned as a splash echoed out in the lagoon. A boat glided over the green water, manned by a woman with magenta-streaked hair and a face full of silver piercings that caught the light, returning it in a flurry of bright color. The line of her too-full mouth was tense.

  She guided the canoe to the dock, but it was the man forging through knee-deep water that seized Juliet’s attention. He was big, broad-shouldered, and heavily muscled. His close-cropped dark hair matched the thick eyebrows furrowed over eyes narrowed into slits as he pushed toward the house at a pace that promised violence.

  Caleb’s grip tightened over her forearm. Juliet winced. “You’re hurting—” It broke on a gasp as he jerked her behind him, so suddenly that she stumbled, forced to grab the back of his shirt for balance. His muscles bunched under her touch, rock hard and leashed in rigid anticipation.

  The action placed him squarely between her and the man with murder in his scowl.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded.

  Caleb said nothing.

  Jessie leaned over the rocking chair. “Silas, don’t you dare!”

  The big man ignored her. Ignored Juliet, who could only stare, frozen in place, as he seized Caleb by the collar and landed a punch that cracked like a gunshot across the crescent canyon.

  His shirt ripped out of her hands as Caleb slammed into the side of the house. Windowpanes rattled, something crashed to the floor inside, and Jessie swore fiercely as she tripped over the stairs. She hit the ground so fast that Juliet spun, torn.

  The woman’s fingers dug into the packed earth. As she shuddered, Juliet knelt, wrapping a supportive arm around her shoulders. “Are you all right?”

  Jessie grabbed her shirt, fingers digging into Juliet’s ribs. Her face was paler, almost yellow, but her mouth twisted into a hard, angry line. “Naomi!”

  “On it.” The extraordinarily tall woman with Asian features breezed past them to hook an arm around Silas’s raised fist. She locked her legs as the momentum of the trapped punch wrenched her shoulder. “Smith! Come on, I just fixed him.”

  Caleb watched dispassionately, blood and mucus streaming from his nose. It edged his mouth, set in a fine line that mirrored his sister’s.

  Silas tried to shake Naomi off. “You can fix him again,” he growled, his gaze locked on Caleb.

  Naomi grunted, twisting the larger man’s arm behind him with effort. She hooked his other arm at the elbow and hauled him awkwardly backward.

  The man wrenched at her grip, his face red, teeth bared. “You murdering bastard,” he said, his voice like thunder. “Let me go, I’ll beat his fucking—”

  Naomi kicked at his knee as he jerked one arm free. The man grunted, face going white. “Don’t say I never do nothing for your princess,” she told the top of his head.

  He cursed.

  Juliet’s confusion flipped to sudden alarm as Jessie’s eyes fluttered. “Not,” the woman murmured, “good.”

  “Caleb!” Juliet cried.

  The seer turned to deadweight in her arms, and Jessie buckled, pitching to the ground in a tangle of gold hair and flailing limbs.

  In the space of a single second, chaos flattened to frozen, brutal silence. Then it exploded. Naomi let Silas go, locked an ankle around his legs, and swept his feet out from under him.

  The man hit the ground swearing. Juliet cradled Jessie’s head, stared helplessly as Caleb blotted at the blood streaming from his nose and yelled something lost in the fury of Silas’s angry orders.

  He surged away from the wall, tripped as Silas grabbed his ankle and wrenched him off-balance. He sprawled on his ass, furious.

  In the disorder, Naomi calmly knelt by Jessie and laid two fingers against the woman’s throat. She flicked Juliet a glance, her eyes impossibly trapped between blue and purple in color.

  “Who’re you again?”

  “Juliet,” she replied, taken aback.

  “Can you help me get her inside, Juliet?”

  “What about—”

  “Let ’em kill each other.” She heaved the unconscious blond into her arms. “Right now, I need a little common fucking sense.”

  Chapter Eight

  Parker Adams, New Seattle Mission director, slowly laid her fingertips against the scarred surface of her borrowed desk and struggled to keep her features impassive. “With all due respect,” she began, then forced herself to bite her tongue as the woman in front of her raised one imperious hand.

  “As you know, the Holy Order of St. Dominic requires a certain lev
el of competency from each of its core foundations,” the woman said. Her tone oozed disdain. “The latest audits are beginning to show a disturbing pattern. Turnover, betrayal, and neglect.”

  The director’s spine straightened. “With,” she repeated, icy precision, “all due respect, Mrs.”—she glanced at the digital readout in front of her—“Parrish, I think that if you take the time to look over the New Seattle Mission’s docket, you’ll find that our percentile of success meets or exceeds every minimum requirement laid out by Mission protocol.”

  The woman smiled.

  A headache threatened. Earlier this morning, Parker had been foolish enough to think that today might actually have turned into a good day. One team was out in the field on a mission that had every probability of ending in success, and the typical office emergencies had been kept to a minimum.

  To be fair, she realized that her own office was run too smoothly to have many emergencies, and the lower city offices still didn’t trust her enough to risk bothering her with their own.

  But for now, she’d take it. The betrayal of their last Mission director had hit them all where it hurt. A year’s worth of hard work and longer hours hadn’t quite smoothed over the chasm David Peterson had caused.

  Still, there was some small success.

  Which had been shredded the instant she had received a summons and arrived at the mid-low headquarters to find this pale, diminutive woman tearing into her missionaries.

  They’d all stood to attention, staring at a spot just over the woman’s head, but Parker could only imagine how many verbal daggers the woman had flung with authority.

  No one spoke to her missionaries that way.

  Except her.

  Parker had icily ordered the missionaries back to their desks, hoping to spare them any more venom from the sharp-tongued Mrs. Parrish. Now, she found herself fighting a headache as she went toe to toe with a woman whose authority, as far as the digital readout could tell her, went as high as Sector Three. Exactly two clearance levels higher than her own.

  Damn and blast.