Moira Rogers - Crux

“It’s hyssop and meadowsweet,” he murmured, “moistened with a little lavender infusion to make it smudge. You won’t get high, but your eyes will burn. It can’t be helped.”

She watched smoke waft from the pile of herbs on aluminum foil. “So what do I have to do?”

“Just…concentrate on me.” He held up his hands, his palms toward her. “Put your hands on mine and focus on me.”

In spite of her conviction and trust, her hands trembled. They looked tiny compared to Jackson’s, delicate and pale and incapable of containing the kind of strength they held now. She pressed her palms to his and drew in a breath when she felt his energy tickle against her. “I—I can feel the magic—”

“Shh.” He closed his eyes with a deep inhalation and whispered, “ Geminare .” A faint golden light flared between their palms and settled into a steady glow. Jackson looked at her. “Breathe.”

She inhaled instinctively, and the light between them disappeared. “Is that—”

“It? Yeah.” He dropped his hands and glanced over at the table and the smoldering herbs. “For now. But that was just the groundwork. The real fireworks should happen when we activate the connection.”

“Which I do by shifting.” She glanced at her T-shirt and slacks. “I’m going to put on something easier to get out of, in case I have to do it in a hurry. I can’t forget Steven’s cautionary tale of the cougar trapped in underwear.”

Jackson’s faint smile vanished. “Yeah, probably not the best plan of action.”

She watched as he picked up a bottled water and extinguished the herbs. His shoulders were set in a stiff line, and he heaved a sigh before turning to face her. “Did Mahalia make you feel bad? I should have asked before.”

“No, she tried real hard not to, but God, Jackson. Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t blame her if she hated me.”

“She doesn’t.” He sank into the chair again and rubbed his hands over his face. “I think she always thought there’d be time for them. Now she doesn’t have that. It’s not you.”

There was a lesson to be learned from that, too. Mackenzie pulled a pair of loose cotton shorts and a tank top from the duffle, both of which she could wiggle out of in seconds. She shucked the T-shirt and reached back to unhook her bra. “I just hate knowing I’ll always be a reminder,” she whispered as she pulled on the tank top. “That she’ll be unhappy when she sees me.”

“She won’t.” He nodded toward the dresser. “The amulet?”

“Yeah, I dropped it next to the TV.” She kicked off her pants and underwear, tugged on the shorts, and tried not to imagine what she’d look like if she changed before she managed to get out of her clothing. A cougar in cute pajamas. Charles can laugh himself to death.

Jackson raised an eyebrow as he snagged the talisman from the scarred surface of the TV stand. “Good thing it’s warm out.” He sat on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath. “This’ll only take a minute.”

“Mmm.” She folded her clothes haphazardly and shoved them into her bag. “Don’t get distracted by how naked I am under my teeny-tiny shorts.”

“I’ll try,” he murmured absently, already intent on his task. After several seconds, his fingers clenched around the wooden disk. A shudder wracked him, and he almost slid off the end of the bed.

“Jackson?” Mackenzie closed her fingers around his shoulder. His entire body had gone stiff, and his muscles trembled under her hand. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

His eyes shot open. “No.” He grunted and grabbed his head as magic slashed tangibly through the room, stealing her breath. “He’s—”

The door flew open, flew outward as if someone had torn it from its frame. Mackenzie stared in shock as it landed in the parking lot with a deafening crash.

Dust billowed up from the dirty sidewalk, and Charles waved a hand as he stepped through the open doorway. A small smile, devoid of any real feeling, curled his lips as he looked at Jackson. “The backlash from a location spell can be painful if your target happens to be standing outside.”

Jackson’s eyes locked on hers as he reached for his ankle. “ Now , Kenzie.”

There wasn’t time to take off the clothes. Mackenzie closed her eyes, reached for the power inside her—

—and found herself blocked.

Her eyes flew open when Charles laughed again. “Not right now, dear.” He flicked his fingers in an absent gesture, and a solid wave of power slammed into her so hard it knocked the wind out of her. She barely realized her feet had left the ground, not until the solid bulk of the wall crashed against her back. Pain arced through her as her head cracked into the aged wallpaper, and the last thing she saw before blackness overtook her was Charles’s tiny, chilling smile.

Fuck.

Jackson watched Mackenzie slump to the floor. His head pounded from the backlash, but he edged off the bed and toward her. If he could reach her, rouse her somehow…

“Did she lose consciousness? That’s a pity.” Charles walked into the ratty motel room, and a wave of malevolent power washed over Jackson. “I suppose she’s not as sturdy as I thought.”

Jackson lunged for Mackenzie’s prone body. Charles clucked his tongue and Jackson froze, his muscles shaking and rigid. Rage washed through him, and his trembling worsened. “Let me go, you son of a bitch.”

“Temper, temper, Mr. Holt. I don’t want to hurt you. Not yet.” The invisible force of Charles’s magic knocked Jackson back onto the bed. “I’m afraid it’s probably inevitable, though. Your death is the only lesson harsh enough to teach Mackenzie her place. Unfortunately she needs to be awake to learn it.”

Jackson reached inside, but his ready supply of magic had been drained by the joining spell and the fouled-up locator spell. Not that it would do a damn bit of good, Holt. He inched his hand toward his ankle holster. “Her place in what, Talbot? Carrying on your life’s work? Marcus is long gone.”

“Do you think he’ll be any harder to find than you were?”

Jackson shook his head. “I wasn’t talking about geography. He won’t go along with it. Not anymore.”

A crack appeared in Charles’s calm façade, revealing a hint of madness. His hands shook as he curled them into fists, and the power in the room swelled. “He won’t have a choice. If he refuses…” He smiled suddenly. “Mackenzie is indispensable. Marcus is not.”

Realization stunned Jackson. “Another kid made it.” Anger gripped him, along with a fresh wave of what he’d known in his gut even before he’d watched Steven die. He won’t stop. He won’t ever stop.

“We got two boys before our sweet little Jessica came along.” Charles looked at Mackenzie again and all the man’s barriers fell away, showing a terrifying pride and possessiveness. “She’s my greatest accomplishment. And you can’t have her.”

Jackson bit the inside of his cheek to hold back his retort. As long as the old man’s attention remained on Mackenzie, he had a chance. His fingers again crept toward his holster. Don’t blow it, Holt—

Mackenzie groaned softly, a pained noise that made his chest tighten. Charles took a step forward, his gaze locked on her. “I’m sorry it has to be this way,” he murmured. “You forced me, Jessica. Forced me to do this to you.”

With Charles’s back to him, Jackson took the opportunity to snatch his gun from its holster with numb, nerveless fingers. He thought he might drop it, but his arm didn’t waver as he aimed at the broad expanse between Charles’s shoulders and fired.