Jenn Bennett - Banishing the Dark

“Yes,” Lon said impatiently.

“By that logic, we can assume the only reason she didn’t know about the baby already was because I didn’t—not when she was tapping into my dreams.” I sat up in the lounge chair. “She doesn’t have some all-seeing omnipotent power, Lon. She could only see inside my head. Like you, when you’re transmutated. Or . . . maybe more like Arturo.”

“Memories.”

“Exactly. So if I don’t know I’m pregnant, neither will she.”

“But you do.”

“But you know a way to change that.”

Lon sat up, brows drawn together. His eyes flicked back and forth between mine. Then his face fell. “The book of memory spells.”

“Yes.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Why?” I challenged. “You’ve tried two of those spells, and they both worked. You retrieved my lost memories from childhood, and you wiped Riley Cooper’s memories.”

“That was a permanent wipe.”

“But there were other spells. Temporary ones. Think about it, Lon. You could remove my memory of the baby just until we have a chance to track down the PI or fly down to Florida or whatever we need to do to stop my mother.”

“Those spells are hundreds of years old. What if it wipes your memories for months?”

“Well, you did say the baby’s healthy.”

“It is, but—”

“And you said you wouldn’t let me do this alone.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Which means you’d be with me, so you could stop me from doing anything that would put the baby in danger.”

“But—”

“And it can’t last forever. Spell or no spell, I think I’ll eventually figure out something’s up when my stomach starts ballooning. Hell, if you’re afraid I won’t remember, you can just tell me about it.”

He lifted his chin in reluctant acknowledgment. But he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Memory spells are tricky, and you’ve just recovered from major trauma. You had multiple concussions. I could fuck something up. Turn you into a vegetable.”

“If we’re weighing risks, better that than endanger the baby. Plus, you said that I healed myself—miracle, remember?” I tried to smile, but neither of us was in the mood for humor. Something else crossed my mind. “Maybe the reason I didn’t remember I was pregnant until I saw the threads in my hand was that my body was trying to protect the baby from me.”

He made a small, miserable noise and pushed himself off the chaise. I watched him pace the length of the patio, bare feet arching beneath the hems of his jeans. When he made it to the deck, he leaned against the railing and stood there for several minutes, looking out at the dark, glittering ocean. Thinking.

I was thinking, too.

I didn’t want to be wrong about this. But when I considered other options—not doing anything, trying to hide myself with portable magick, summoning unknown Æthyric demons until I could barter with one who was brave enough to take out my mother in the Æthyr—it still seemed like our best shot.

Dare was gone, so Jupe would be safe if we had to leave him in the Holidays’ care until we sorted this out. And surely if the shrimp inside me weathered a brutal beating, it could tolerate a little more magick.

Surely?

I wondered if the baby had a halo and what color it would be—a thought that nearly sent me into another fit of weeping. Jesus. We had to do something, or the moment my mom reconnected with me, she’d know everything. I might be a natural at lying to other people, but I was total shit at lying to myself.

Over the next few hours, Lon and I talked circles around the problem. We talked until he refused to say another word about it. He poked around the internet looking for information on Wildeye. Made us breakfast. Cleaned up. And as I waited for sunrise, staring at the TV, a golden glow fell over my arm. I glanced up to find Lon standing in front of me. That I hadn’t noticed him transmutating probably said a lot about where my thoughts were.

“You haven’t changed your mind,” he said.

I shook my head.

He reached down, and I placed my hand in his. Flaming light danced around his spiraled horns as he sighed.

“Let’s do it now,” he said in a weary voice. “Before I lose my nerve.”

My head pounded something fierce. I squinted into warm, strong sunlight and blinked until my eyes adjusted. Living room. Stack-stone fireplace, leather sectional sofa, glossy wood floors, black-and-white photographs of a curly-haired toddler.

Lon Butler’s home.

What the hell was I doing here?

I groaned, struggling to remember as I pushed a fuzzy gray blanket away and stood. It was quiet. All I could hear was the muffled tick of a clock on the mantel telling me it was two in the afternoon and the distant sound of the surf pounding against the rocks below the cliffs. Was no one home?

Jupe would be in school or on his way home with the Holidays. Lon would be . . . ?

A sharp feeling akin to déjà vu hit me. I knew this house well. I’d been staying here, but I couldn’t remember why. A flood of fuzzy memories floated in and out of my aching head. Father Carrow introducing me to Lon. Lon saving me from my parents in San Diego. Lon introducing me to Ambrose Dare. Me killing Dare. Waking up in the hospital. Waking a month later in Lon’s bed with the sigil painted on the ceiling. Talking to Arturo about the PI in L.A.

All these solid memories, but everything else around them was as soft and weightless as packing peanuts. Just like this house. So familiar but foreign. It felt as if I’d spent a lot of time here, but I couldn’t remember all the details.

Wait. I was here because of my mother. Yes. I definitely remembered her tapping into my dreams and Priya warning me to undo the Moonchild spell. I also remembered Priya appearing in the alley by Arturo’s wine bar last night. I got upset about . . . something. Lon brought me back here afterward. Wait. Wine bar. Did we get drunk? Because that would explain a lot.

My face heated as embarrassment blazed through me. Drunk with Lon. That wasn’t a good idea. All my clothes seemed to be on except my shoes. What a freaking relief. I don’t think I could face him if I’d done something stupid like hit on him.

Or maybe I had, and that’s why I was on the couch.

Maybe he just wanted his bed back. Why had he put me up in his own bedroom? I felt as if there were a good reason, but I couldn’t remember why, other than the sigils painted on the ceiling. Must be something to do with that, because I couldn’t fathom him trying to seduce me. He was too . . . well, not a gentleman, exactly. And not law-abiding, either—he had, after all, stolen a bunch of old occult books from the Vatican, and he owned a few illegally modified guns. But all in all, he was a decent, stand-up man with a strong sense of right and wrong. Dependable. Besides, I was almost twenty years younger than him. Too young, I faintly remembered Jupe telling me months ago.

And probably stupid enough to throw myself at him given the right amount of alcohol. My mind pulled up some fuzzy images of me cuddling up to him outside on the patio. Me begging for something. Like, really trying to persuade him to do something to me.

Ugh.

I should probably find my shoes and slip out now. Do the walk of shame to my car and drive back—

Home.

But I hadn’t been to my house in months.

That couldn’t be right.

Oh, that’s right—Duke Chora broke my house wards. Lon said it wasn’t safe to stay there until we could fix them. Had I been living here since then? Jesus. I had . What was the matter with me? I shouldn’t be here, mooching off him. Surely I’d overstayed my welcome by now. Once I found a way to sever the ties with my mother or get rid of the Moonchild spell, I needed to reconstruct the house wards and move back into my own place.