Witchful Thinking: A Jolie Wilkins Novel Page 5

  “It seems congratulations are in order,” she began while displaying my hand in the air for Pelham to see.

  Surprise was his only expression and he thumped Rand heartily on the back, beaming. “Balfour! You are a sly fox after all.” He hugged Rand, eyeing me. “You will have the loveliest bride in all the shires, old man.”

  Rand regarded me and nodded, his eyes deep pools of chocolate brown. “I am quite aware, Pel, I am quite aware.”

  The images began to fade away and the white light between my hands slowly died, until all that was left between them was air. I couldn’t help the smile on my face, but it was bittersweet.

  Two days had passed since the celebration, and now we (as in our entire legion) were stationed at Pelham Manor again to figure our next steps. It was like old times. Prior to the battle, the legion had been based at Rand’s English estate so that the soldiers could train with one another, sparring in practice for the battle. And now here we were again; it was like we’d come full circle.

  The reason Rand had wanted everyone to return to Pelham Manor was twofold. First, he wanted all of the creatures to have a say in what their futures would entail—and that would require lots of meetings. Second, we had to rebuild our army. Many creatures had died on the battlefield and needed to be reanimated, and it was easier to take roll when all the creatures were assembled in one area. As to the deceased, we had buried them on the battlefield of Culloden, knowing when the time came for me to reanimate them, their bodies would merely disappear, resurrecting themselves into live flesh and blood at my behest.

  As we sat around the expansive mahogany table in Rand’s dining room, I was proud. Proud of Rand, proud of our side, and proud of myself. We had fought and died alongside one another to protect ourselves and future generations. And now I could give back. It felt good to be able to do so—to offer the gift of life, or in my case, re-life.

  Because not all of the creatures stationed at Pelham Manor could fit into Rand’s dining room, each race had elected officials to represent their interests. Seated at the table were Rand and me, who represented all witches; Mathilda and Odran, who stood for the interests of the fae; Mercedes, representing herself; Trent, a were, who represented other shape shifters (and unfortunately for me also happened to be my ex-boyfriend); and Varick, who stood for the vampires. Varick was a master vampire and one of the oldest. He was also Sinjin’s employer.

  Employment in the vampire world was pretty different from a boss–employee relationship in the human world. For starters, an employer, such as Varick, was usually much older than his protégé and therefore much stronger. Although Varick wasn’t Sinjin’s creator, Sinjin had been assigned to the older and stronger vampire in order to train and learn. If Varick was ever killed, Sinjin would take his place.

  Speaking of Sinjin, he was still nowhere to be found, and as the days passed I became more and more worried. It was bizarre that he wasn’t in attendance, that he wasn’t at Varick’s side, especially when the two had always worked in such close proximity.

  “Have you heard from Sinjin?” I whispered to Varick, leaning into him so I wouldn’t pull any attention away from Rand, who was in the middle of an uninteresting discussion with Odran.

  “I have not,” Varick answered in a monotone. As stunningly sexy and attractive as Sinjin was, Varick was anything but. He had the look of a carrot—tall and skinny with pasty white skin and flaming orange hair. Still, he possessed the aura of power that seemed to accompany all vampires.

  “The last time I saw him was on the battlefield,” I began, feeling the worry eat away at my gut as I remembered the expressions of disbelief, anger, and sorrow in Sinjin’s eyes as I died right in front of him. “He watched me die, Varick, and then he just disappeared. And I haven’t seen or heard from him since.”

  “Neither have I,” Varick answered in the same indifferent voice.

  His apathy angered me. How could he be so callous, so uninterested, when he and Sinjin had worked together for hundreds of years? How could he care so little?

  “Aren’t you worried?” I demanded in a harsh voice. Varick turned his full attention to me, and something feral in his eyes warned me not to upset him. I had to swallow my trepidation. “I mean, aren’t you worried that maybe he’s in trouble?” If I’d been a dog, my tail would have been firmly planted between my legs as I circled Varick’s feet and begged for a good scratching right between the ears.

  “In trouble?” Varick responded with a chuckle that revealed anything but humor. Nope, Varick was someone you didn’t cross. It was like he was just aching to rip out your throat. But he also had to know that messing with me wasn’t a good idea—not with Rand and Mercedes in the room. One lunge at me and they’d open up a can of whoop-ass on Varick faster than he could say “bloodsucker.”

  “Isn’t it kind of crappy that you’re so nonchalant about the fact that Sinjin is MIA?” I asked, feeling stronger in my own skin.

  “And perhaps you would care to enlighten me as to why you are so interested?” Varick retorted in the same monotone that grated on my nerves.

  “Sinjin is my friend,” I replied with narrowed eyes. “And I care about my friends. If he’s in trouble, I want to know.”

  Varick raised both brows as if he didn’t quite believe the whole “Sinjin is my friend” story. I held my tongue but didn’t look away. Finally, Varick realized I wasn’t about to admit anything else, and he dropped his patronizing expression.

  “Sinclair is not in trouble. He is most probably causing it.”

  Yeah, I had to concur with him on that one. Sinjin was a troublemaker, if nothing else. I leaned back in my seat and sighed, hoping the nervous energy in my stomach would dissipate. But I didn’t imagine it would until Sinjin was actually standing in front of me, in his usual attire of black on black, with that flirty smile I’d come to know so well. Only then could I assure myself he was okay.

  “I can feel him in my veins,” Varick whispered, leaning closer to me. The cold of his body pierced my skin, making me shiver. I resisted the urge to pull away because if anything, that’s what he wanted me to do. He glanced down at the goose bumps that were now covering my forearm and smiled in sincere amusement. It was obvious that he enjoyed his immense power.

  “But—” I was ready to argue that if Sinjin was okay, he’d be sitting around this table probably playing footsie with me while I attempted to rebuff his advances.

  “Set aside your concerns,” Varick interrupted, shaking his head as if to say the conversation was over.

  Hmm … jerk though Varick obviously was, his words brought me some sort of relief. The more I thought about the fact that Varick could feel Sinjin in his veins, the better I felt. That meant Sinjin was alive … well, as alive as a vampire could be. Yet if Sinjin was alive, why wasn’t he here at Varick’s side? Was Varick irritated by Sinjin’s absence? Would he hurt him?

  I glanced at Varick again, trying to decide if anything seemed amiss about him. He definitely appeared to be irritated, but that was probably the result of my interrogation. Besides, Varick seemed perpetually vexed—as if living for hundreds of years gave him little or no patience for dealing with people like me.

  “Have you created a list of all of the creatures who are in need of Jolie’s talent?” Mathilda suddenly piped up, her eyes traveling around the table. They settled on me and she frowned, probably annoyed at the fact that I’d been carrying on my own conversation with Varick rather than paying attention.

  “We are in the process,” Rand answered succinctly. “We’ve filled a ledger with the names of the survivors and are comparing it with the original list of all of the soldiers in our legion, making note of those who cannot be accounted for.”

  “And we were careful to collect a piece of clothing from everyone so it will be easier for me to bring them back,” I added, hoping it might seem like I’d been involved in the conversation all along.

  In order for me to reanimate the dead, I have to touch something that belong
ed to the deceased—either a piece of clothing or something that was in some way connected to the person. Up until now, I had actually only ever reanimated two people. My first was Bella’s father, Jack, and that had been a mere accident.

  When Bella and Rand were on significantly better terms than they are now, she hired Rand to solve the mystery of who killed her father back in Chicago in 1922. So Rand began searching for a witch powerful enough to help him cast a spell that would re-create the scene of Bella’s father’s death. That’s how he found me.

  After he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, we flew to Chicago, to what had once been Bella’s father’s home. In conducting the spell, I managed not only to find out who had murdered him—his wife—but to reanimate him.

  Later, I found out that Bella, upon finding her father alive again, had promptly killed him … Yeah, that had been my first hint that she was a complete nut job. Once she knew about my secret talent, she became desperate to control and possess my abilities and would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. She had even kidnapped me; if not for Sinjin, who betrayed her and helped me escape, who knows where I’d be now?

  The only other person I’d reanimated was Trent, my werewolf ex. And sometimes I doubt that decision. Well, I shouldn’t say that because it isn’t nice, but what I can say is that he turned out to be a player in every sense of the word. Although his antics never broke my heart—which firmly belonged to Rand—I wouldn’t say I was fond of the werewolf … at all.

  Are you all right, Jolie? Rand’s voice penetrated my thoughts.

  I glanced up in surprise to find him looking at Odran, clearly in the midst of another conversation. I’ve never understood how he could multi-task so well.

  Yeah, I’m fine, why?

  It looked as if Varick was upsetting you. Perhaps you’d care to sit beside me?

  When he looked over at me, I just shook my head and offered him a sincere smile. I’m okay. Thanks for looking out for me, though.

  He nodded but didn’t smile. His gaze was piercing, as if he were reading my mind with just the intensity of his stare.

  I would prefer to have you beside me.

  I arched a brow, trying to decide if he was flirting with me. And why is that?

  I do not care for vampires, and besides … His voice trailed off, probably because he was trying to pay attention to whatever Odran was saying.

  Besides, what? I prompted.

  I quite like the way you smell.

  I laughed and shook my head as I stood up and walked around the long table, taking the empty seat beside him. I noticed a few people staring at me, probably wondering why I’d suddenly burst out laughing when no one was talking to me, but I couldn’t be bothered to care. If Rand wanted to smell me, who was I to stop him? Rand didn’t take any notice of me when I settled in next to him, continuing his role of chairing the meeting.

  “And what do you propose we do with Bella?” he asked.

  Bella was currently being restrained in one of the guest rooms at Pelham Manor. Mathilda and Mercedes had cast a spell that kept her imprisoned, and Rand kept two guards stationed outside her door twenty-four/seven. Overkill anyone?

  Before I knew it, the feel of Rand’s hand was warm on my thigh. At first he just laid it there, but after a few seconds he began stroking, stopping at my knee and then coming back up.

  Ah, so you were really after a cheap thrill? I thought. Although my tone might have sounded level and in control, my heart was pounding through my ears.

  His chuckle pealed through my mind. I hadn’t intended to touch you but I can’t stop myself.

  Why do I have a feeling this was your plan all along?

  Would you prefer I stop?

  Hell, no, I didn’t want him to stop.

  No.

  Then stop complaining.

  I’m not complaining.

  A wide smile overcame him even though he was looking at Trent, whose conversation had something to do with Bella. When Trent saw Rand’s bizarre expression, he stopped talking and turned to face Odran, confusion etched in his eyes.

  Pay attention to the conversation. I grasped Rand’s hand, which was still massaging my thigh. You’re scaring everyone around the table.

  I’m having difficulty focusing on anything but your body.

  A shudder vibrated through me at his words, and the errant thought that Mercedes might be overhearing us crossed my mind. But I honestly didn’t even care. Instead my entire body was tuned to Rand’s hand as it began to inch its way back up my thigh. He squeezed me gently and I nearly jumped out of my seat.

  “Aye, we shouldna allow ’er ta live,” Odran said, nodding in agreement with Trent’s last comment—which, by the sound of it, had something to do with killing Bella. For all I cared, they could have been talking about aliens abducting Bella. No, my only interest was the current program titled “Jolie Is Finally Getting Some Action.”

  “I don’t think we should kill her,” Rand argued. I was surprised he was still paying attention.

  “She will never be our ally,” Varick announced.

  “But is that any reason to kill her?” Rand countered.

  “I don’t think we should kill her either,” I concurred in a voice that sounded breathy and hurried. No one glanced at me, though, so I figured the secret that Rand’s hand was now at the North Pole was still mine to keep.

  “This can be resolved at a later date,” Mercedes interrupted. “For now, I believe we should concentrate on rebuilding our army.”

  Rand nodded and began drumming the fingers of his other hand against the wood table. I noticed that his hand had relaxed and was no longer massaging or squeezing my leg. He was fully focused on the conversation. Bummer, but it had been fun while it lasted.

  “Once the ledger of names is confirmed, we can begin bringing our dead soldiers back,” Rand said, offering me a smile.

  Mercedes nodded and turned to me. “I will assist you.”

  Ah, yes, I had momentarily forgotten about the little fact that Mercedes could reanimate the dead—a talent she’d demonstrated when she so artfully brought me back to life. Between the two of us, I hoped the task would be expedited. Even though I hadn’t seen the tally, I had a feeling there were many creatures in need of our … abilities. And it wasn’t like bringing back the dead was easy. It took intense concentration and it sometimes didn’t work on the first, second, or even third attempt. So depending on how many dead there were, Mercedes and I were about to be very busy.

  “We must rebuild the legion quickly,” Mercedes continued, as if she’d been reading my mind. “Jolie’s role as Queen will soon require her complete attention.”

  I could see Rand’s lips tighten. “As far as I understand it, Jolie hasn’t decided if she wants to be Queen.”

  “It is her fate,” Mercedes said simply, meeting his gaze. Her eyes were just as piercingly defiant.

  “I believe the prophetess, Rand,” Mathilda said in her bell-like cadence. “The child is gifted, you have known that from the beginning.”

  Rand nodded. “Yes, Jolie is gifted, and yes, I trust her entirely, but that’s not to say I believe in fate. No, I believe in the freedom of choice. As Jolie’s protector, I insist she be given the right to choose.”

  “If it is ordained,” Odran started, “it cannoot be denied.”

  Rand stood up and slapped his palms loudly on the table before him, leaning forward. “This is another subject that won’t be resolved today.” He paused for a moment or two and then added, “I think we’ve discussed enough.”

  At Rand’s less-than-subtle indication that the meeting was over, everyone stood and started for the door.

  “Jolie, can you stay for a minute?” Rand asked me. As I turned around to face him, he smiled encouragingly, as if to say it would be a pleasant conversation. Hmm, half of me had been hoping I was in trouble—I could use a good old-fashioned spanking over his knees.

  I nodded, resuming my place at the table. “Am I in trouble?” I asked
with a smile.

  He returned it. “It depends. Do you want to be in trouble?”

  So he was still flirting with me. That was a good sign. “What’s my punishment?”

  He chuckled and shook his head, dropping the charade. Instead he approached me and set both his hands on my shoulders, massaging them with his strong fingers. “I wanted to talk to you about when you traveled back to 1878.”

  I nodded and felt my stomach rise up into my throat. I was suddenly suffused with panic. It was at that moment that I decided what Rand didn’t know about us bonding wouldn’t hurt him. We weren’t bonded now and that was all that mattered. It was better not to rehash the past, better not to tell him I was the reason for his brush with death.

  “Where should I start?” I asked with trepidation in my voice.

  He stopped massaging my shoulders and took the seat next to me, reaching for my left hand. He looked it over, no doubt taking in the fact that I was still wearing his mother’s ring. “You said I gave this ring to you?”

  I nodded while fingering the band, then slid it off my finger. I probably shouldn’t be wearing it—not when things were still at an impasse between us, or at the very least undecided. “Do you want it back?”

  He wrapped his fingers around mine and pushed the ring back onto my finger. “No,” he said, curling my fingers back into my palm. “If anyone should wear it, it’s you.” I didn’t even have time to digest that statement before he was off on another. “And if I gave it to you, it belongs to you now.”

  “Thanks,” I said, feeling heat in my cheeks.

  “What was it like traveling to the past and meeting Pelham and me? And Christine?”

  Besides Mercedes, Christine had been my only friend.

  “It was surreal. At first the only people who were nice to me were Mercedes, Pelham, and Christine.”

  “And how about me?”

  I regarded him with a frown but couldn’t keep my smile to myself. “You were less than nice. Rude, argumentative, and surly might be a better description.”