Kim Harrison - The Witch with No Name

Dizzy, I stumbled into the counter, hand to my middle, a sparkling, breathless pull shifting through me as if searching, looking under the puddling black smut on my aura for something. My eyes widened as I felt the searching intent wrap around my chi . . . and take me with it.

Stop! I thought as I yanked myself back, panicking as the alien sensation redoubled its effort, assaulting my soul with more demand. The drums fell back to my core, and I gasped as ancient rhythms beat out a punishment and my fear opened cracks for it to delve deeper.

Let me go! I screamed when the curse fastened on a different part of me. It was an attack, looking for something in me to trigger its full strength.

Get out! I demanded, but I couldn’t wrap my will around it. It was like smoke, evading me as if I wasn’t even there. I reached for a ley line, shocked when it slipped my grasp. It was damaged from a thousand years of earthquakes, and I didn’t have the knack of cradling it to me like those who lived on the coast did.

My pulse hammered. My knees gave way and I hit the floor as the curse dug in, using my own fear to protect it. The world tilted and jerked as it adjusted its grip like a shark on a fish. The drums thundered. My heart beat in time with it. I didn’t have what it needed to invoke, but pulse by pulse, it swallowed me further.

Groaning, I felt my palms hit the tile floor. For one instant, the drums and the thundering beat of the curse were contrary. My breath came in with a gasp, and I caught a glimpse of sun and blue tile. With it came the realization that I was caught in a rhythm-based curse. If I could find one tiny bit of separation, I could wedge it off. I had to make my pulse erratic, out of sync with the drums.

Terrified, I held my breath and huddled on the tile. My knees pressed to my chest, and I closed my eyes. My pulse had matched the drums, and the curse grew stronger. Panic was a white-hot wash, and my lungs burned. I had to shift my pulse. It was my only chance.

Let . . . go, the curse demanded as sparkles flashed before me and my lungs burned. I. Would. Not. Breathe.

And then . . . my thudding heart stuttered again, missing a beat.

It was enough.

With a snap, the curse’s hold on me broke. I gasped as if coming up from the ocean depths, sucking in the air as if it was heaven itself. My pulse raced. The drums were counter to my body rhythm—and they couldn’t find it again. My hands pushed on the cold mosaic tile, weak as I lay there and breathed. My head hurt, and I wanted to throw up.

“Rachel!”

It was Trent, and I groaned as he sat me up. His hands were hot, burning almost. “Not so fast,” I whispered, eyes still closed.

“My God,” he said as he sat on the floor and held me. “You’re ice cold. What happened? I felt it all the way downstairs!”

Shivering, I managed to crack my eyelids. “Nothing,” I croaked. “I didn’t do anything. I was cleaning the table. It felt like—” I was hyperventilating, and I stopped breathing to try to slow it down. “Something attacked me,” I said, then took a deep breath. I couldn’t help it, and I fell against him, cold and nauseated. “It was aimed at me. It was aimed at me, but not me.”

He was silent, and realizing I wasn’t making any sense, I forced my eyes open. I’m on the floor, I thought, then lifted a hand to touch his shoulder. It took a lot of effort.

“I’m okay,” I said, but he wouldn’t let me get up. “It was a curse. It never fully invoked. The invocation element was missing. I didn’t have it.”

Okay, that didn’t make much sense either, but it was hard to explain. Who makes a curse that needs something from the victim to invoke? A highly complex, person-specific charm? But then why hadn’t it found what it needed?

“The invocation element was missing?” he echoed, and I bobbed my head.

“It searched my mind, and when it didn’t find it, it tried to invoke anyway. I managed to beat it off. I don’t think I could have stopped it if it had found what it wanted.”

Trent’s brow furrowed. “Okay,” he said, arms going all the way around me. “No more spelling today,” he added, and my stomach lurched as he lifted me.

“Trent, I’m fine,” I protested, but it was all I could do to put my arms around his neck and hold on. “I’m telling you, I didn’t do anything.”

“And you haven’t had anything to eat today but half a waffle and a handful of chips.”

I looked over his shoulder at the dishes by the fireplace. It hadn’t been a real sit-down lunch, but there’d been a lot of calories in it, and it hadn’t been that long ago. “I ate more than that!” I said, making a little wiggle. “If you felt it, then it wasn’t anything I did.”

“Right.” Huffing, he started for the hallway. “We’re done for today.”

“Trent. I’m fine. Put me down.” I stiffened. Feeling it, he hesitated at the top of the stairs, his jaw tightening before swinging me down.

My feet hit the floor, and I staggered, hand going behind my back to prop myself up on the rail without him seeing. I held my breath, pulse thundering as the world swam and steadied. Maybe that curse had taken something from me after all. But I knew it hadn’t. I had just needed everything I had to fight it off. Trent looked mad, his hand ready to catch me. I thought of the dwindling daylight, then my queasy feeling. I couldn’t spell like this and get any usable results.

“Maybe we should turn on the news,” I said meekly.

Immediately Trent’s irate expression eased, telling me how hard it had been for him to stand there and wait for me to come to the same conclusion he had. I couldn’t help a tiny little smile. He cared, not only that I was okay, but that I made my own decisions even if he felt they were the wrong ones.

“Why are you smiling?” he grumbled as he followed me down the stairs, hovering almost.

“Because I love you, too,” I said, and he chuckled, the last of his anger vanishing.

My balance shifted as I stepped down for the next step, and I froze, unable to move as a sudden uproar exploded in my mind. I cowered, hands over my head. It was the collective. Something had happened in the ever-after. Thoughts of revenge and joy were a slurry of contrasts. Trent’s hand touched me, and like a knob twisting the focus, it swamped me.

I woke up at the bottom of the stairs. My elbow hurt, and I stared up at Trent as he held my head to his chest. He looked scared. I was too.

“Trent, what’s going on?” I warbled, and his expression hardened.

“I don’t know.” His eyes looked deep into mine until he was sure I was okay. “I’m carrying you to the couch. Don’t try to stop me.”

Fear kept me silent. The memory of being helpless sifted to the topmost of my thoughts, scaring me even more as he lurched upright with me. I knew how to be passive. I knew how to be still to preserve my strength. That didn’t mean I liked doing it. This too will pass, I thought, pinning my fraying calm to it. Something had happened. I was okay. But it might happen again.

Trent set me gently into the cushions. It felt different from this morning, and I pulled my knees to my chin, making room for him as he pointed the remote and turned on the TV.

A sitcom blared out, the laugh track sounding trite. Trent began flipping through the channels. My tension wound tighter, fear growing as I put distance between myself and both the attack and the outcry from the demon collective. I couldn’t have been the only one who’d felt it.

Trent paused at a news station. The woman was professionally charming, and the man flirted harmlessly as they discussed the new school format being implemented. “Nothing on ICTV,” he said, arm extended to change the channel.