Honey House (20 page)

With a little shudder, Owen loosened his arms around me, but didn’t let go completely. “Everybody okay?” he asked gently.

Quinn shook himself, then dry-washed his face. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. We really need to be careful,” Owen said.

“Would somebody like to explain what the hell is going on around here?” I asked.

Owen kissed me on top of the head and led me to the middle of the couch. “Sit, I’ll pour us all drinks,” he said. “Quinn, sit on the couch next to KC, proximity is going to be important tonight.”

“Aren’t you worried about the drink?” Quinn asked, ignoring the request to sit and pacing across the far side of the room.

I wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but it seemed like a good question if we had to throw everything else out.

Owen carried over three glasses and a bottle of Macallan. “It’s a contact potion we’re looking for. Anything else would digest and the effects would be lost. I’m betting on her lotion. It could be the lingerie, or some other clothing worn close to the skin, but shampoo or lotion would be the easiest.

I reached for my glass, and let the amber liquid flow down my throat before I repeated my question. “Would somebody please tell me what in the hell is going on around here? I get that you think someone spelled my shampoo or something and that made me have the bad dreams. But honestly, that doesn’t make any sense. Even if it was a spell, how could that really work? What happened earlier tonight was a real memory, Owen. We can’t wash those away.” I heard the sadness in my voice.

Owen sat down next to me on one end of the couch. He half turned, with one leg bent and pressed close enough that his knee rested against my thigh as I sat cross-legged on the couch. “Sit, Quinn,” he said, and there was a touch of exasperation in his voice.

Quinn walked stiffly to the table and topped off his drink. He didn’t sit.

Owen sighed, apparently deeply aggravated at Quinn’s refusal to make contact with me. “It’s not really a spell, KC, it’s a potion enhanced and activated by a spell,” he said.

“And that makes a difference because…”

“Because it means it’s fucking personal,” Quinn muttered.

“Exactly,” Owen agreed. “First, someone has to be skilled enough to acquire or brew a fairly unusual potion. The Dark Maker potion can make the victim go insane, but it only works on someone with truly bad memories to begin with. If you use it on a happy person, or a young person without bad memories, nothing will happen, except maybe a rash will break out. Someone with a traumatic past is forced to fight against the memories to keep them from resurfacing.

“The first potion-induced nightmares are usually just a collection of disturbing images, maybe relating to current fears or worries. Similar to what many people experience when under stress. The dreams might be disturbing, but they’re common enough.

“When the really bad memories kick in, it’s truly terrifying. It’s all the things you put in your own personal memory box and you thought you’d thrown away the key. Once those start to surface, it’s usually a quick descent into madness. Many kill themselves. It’s an insidious spell.

“Please don’t worry, we can counter this,” Owen said, passing his hand over my arm. “We can call magick. But first, we need to know what we’re fighting. The spell seemed to hit you hard. What was the first dream, KC? What was the first dream you remember?”

I thought back over the last several weeks. There had been a lot of dreams. Most of the vague, dark images that left me feeling more tired than rested when I woke. Then the real nightmares began.

“It was about wolves. It was the night after I was in jail. They were chasing me, and I was running toward the trailer at the Ranch. Then Raymond was there, and then he was a wolf, too.”

Owen grinned. “Your instincts are good. Or maybe I should say your psychic abilities. Anyway, tonight’s dream changed. What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said flatly.

Owen stroked my hair. “I know, sweetheart, I know. I wish I could spare you. Don’t you see? The dreams hold power over you because the memories are secret. They’re your own personal hell and you don’t want anyone else to know about it. That’s part of the magick.”

Owen turned his head to follow Quinn as he paced in front of the glass doors. “Goddammit, Quinn. I won’t ask you again. You know what we’re up against here. You need to touch her. Just brush your knee up against her.”

“God, what is it with you?” I shouted. “He doesn’t want to touch me. It’s obvious I repulse him. I don’t want him to touch me, either!” I gulped a breath. “What’s happening?” I whispered.

“It’s not that, KC,” Quinn said quietly. “I’m sorry,” he added, not really looking at anyone. He sat next to me, and turned in a similar fashion to Owen, so that his jeans-clad knee touched my thigh.

I ignored the electricity that seemed to flare between us. This was scary stuff we were talking about here, and I wasn’t about to let myself get distracted.

Owen was relentless, he seemed to be able to track all the things happening better than the rest of us, because now that Quinn was touching me, he went back to digging. “Tell me about tonight’s dream, sweetheart.”

“Are we really pushing the dreams away if I tell you? Does it have to be both of you?” I asked. I looked at Quinn for the answer first this time. He gave one sharp nod, but he didn’t look happy. Owen continued to stroke my hair.

“Let’s get it over with,” I said. I was glad the lights were dim and we had only the flickering candles to show my face. I looked down at my lap. I didn’t want to see the pity in Owen’s eyes and I thought I would scream if Quinn turned his cop eyes on me. I told them about the dream, about the memory.

Owen moved closer, silently offering comfort. Quinn stayed tightly contained, his knee just brushing my thigh. I left the memory at the first night, about Foster leading me into the isolation cells. I didn’t add any more detail than that. They could use their imaginations, the rest was just more of the same. It should be more than enough for Owen and Quinn to understand the nature of my dreams and the memories.

“Is that where the dream stopped tonight, KC?” Owen asked in a just-the-facts manner.

“Yes.”

“What happened next in the memory?” he asked, still matter-of-fact. “I know, sweetheart,” Owen said as a shudder racked through me.

I did not want to share. Every piece of the memory was horrifying. Humiliating.
Shameful.

Owen seemed to sense my reluctance because he offered comfort in the form of an explanation. “You need to tell us all of it, KC. We’re going to become your secret keepers. Once a secret is shared, it no longer has the power to turn against you. Once you share this memory with us, no one can twist it inside you ever again. They would have to bespell all three of us, and that can’t happen. I know this is hard, but you need to tell us, so we can keep you safe.”

I turned my sight inward, remembering. This was not a story I ever thought I’d tell anyone. Gripping my hands tightly together, I stared into my lap. With a sigh, I started.

“There was a court appointed guardian who was supposed to check on me and make sure the judge’s orders were followed. She couldn’t find me. There was no official record of where they were holding me, she said I got lost in the system, somehow. It took nine weeks to locate me in the juvenile isolation unit. I was no longer the well-fed, well-groomed young girl that had been sentenced to eight years of juvenile detention.

“When she took me back before the judge, he allowed that some misuse of power
might
have occurred. Due to the circumstances, he authorized a state provided abortion, and he reduced my sentence by two years. Because of that, I was released when I turned nineteen, instead of twenty-one.” I might have left out a detail or two, but that was the crux of the memories.

There was a long pause, then, “Foster raped you for nine weeks?” It was Quinn’s voice, harsh, whispered.

I cut my eyes in his direction, then quickly looked back down at my hands. “Yes. Him and others. I don’t know how many. It was mostly guards, mostly men, but not all.” My voice was detached, as if I was relating a bad plot to a movie I wished I’d forgotten.

“What happened to him? To all of them?” he asked.

Shaking my head, I answered, knowing he wasn’t going to like what I had to say. “Nothing. I didn’t talk. It would have been my word against all of them. There was enough evidence to know something bad happened. Enough so that I could be moved someplace safer. But, like you said, Quinn. My parents were felons. Who would believe a thirteen-year-old con artist over another cop? Cops trust cops. That’s always been
our
problem, hasn’t it?”

I raised my eyes when I asked that question. I looked into Quinn’s face and saw the narrowed eyes, the edges of white around his flared nostrils, the hard, straight line of his mouth. Oh he was angry, no doubt. I wasn’t going to wait for him to say something…I wasn’t finished. I poked my finger at his chest.

“You can’t get over the fact that I was in jail, and I can’t get over that you’re a cop. I’m sick of your attitude. I was good enough to fuck, to put a notch in your holster, but not good enough for you to help me when I needed it.”

I turned to Owen, breaking the connection with Quinn. “I’m tired Owen. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Not with Quinn here. It doesn’t help. He just makes me feel dirty.”

I heard the sharp intake of breath behind me, and wondered if I’d finally pissed Quinn off for good. Maybe he would leave me alone. He’d been treating me like a second-class citizen and I was tired of it. I’d worked hard since I was released from the CYA. It might not have been Quinn’s idea of an upstanding job, but I’d been an entertainer, not a con artist.

The things they were doing in Juniper Springs were just a con on a different scale. So what if werewolves really existed? It didn’t change the fact that the town was creating an illusion to bring in tourists in order to make money. The sheriff was just helping to perpetuate the lie.

“What do we need to do to break this spell or potion so I can go to bed?” I asked.

Owen looked over my shoulder at Quinn, and neither man spoke for a long minute. Finally, with a deep sigh, Quinn put his hand on my shoulder and I went stiff at the touch. “Look at me, Katie. Please,” he added, softly.

I turned on the couch to face Quinn, but I scooted back and Owen repositioned himself so that I could press my back into his broad comfort. Owen snaked an arm around my waist, and I held on to it. I glared at Quinn. I was feeling vulnerable and a little bit scared. I spoke first.

“Let’s get something straight, Quinn. According to what you’ve both told me, someone put a potion and a spell on me that would make me relive my darkest memories, in an effort to drive me insane. Is that right?”

Quinn nodded, and looked as though he wanted to add something.

I continued before he had a chance. “You said it was something personal, and I take that to mean someone close by. It had to be someone with access to my personal belongings. And it all started the night you threw me in jail. Quite a coincidence, considering the nature of my worst memories.

“It makes me wonder if you aren’t the person who’s doing this to me. Maybe that’s why you’re trying so hard to avoid touching me. It might let us see what you’re doing. What I want to know is what you expect to get out of this? What do you hope to gain?”

“Don’t, Katie,” Quinn said quietly, his face pale. “I didn’t do this to you. I wouldn’t. God, I don’t see you that way, at all. I should have told you why the curfew was important, that the werewolves were real. Christ, I was so scared when you called me from the Ranch on the night of the full moon. All I could think was to get out there and get you safe. If I could take back putting you in the cell I would. It was the only way I could be sure you wouldn’t go back out there.”

“G&O is the safe house, Quinn. You know that. Why didn’t you bring her to us?” Owen asked.

Quinn glared at Owen, and if looks could kill, Owen would have dropped dead on the spot. He finally responded to Owen, even if he didn’t answer the question. “Fuck you. You know why,” he said. “And God help me, I was wrong!”

It was getting hard to breathe. With Owen pressed tight against my back, and Quinn leaning toward me, there was too much man in the room for me to think straight. I pushed to my feet, causing both men to lean back out of my way.

I wanted to run. Not run away, just go for a nice, long run, and have everything be back to normal when I returned. Neither Quinn nor Owen were acting as I expected them to act. Owen was all protective and had some sort of superior power, as if he was in charge of the situation. Quinn was acting jealous, even though we both knew he didn’t feel that way about me. It was as though there was some long-standing competition between the two men.
Newsflash: I will not be a pawn in their game.

Pushing aside their little pissing contest, I started to pace and to think. I hated the thought that someone wished me harm and had come close to succeeding. I really hated that I needed to somehow depend on these two men for protection against this magick. Despite what I said to Quinn, I didn’t really think he was behind the attack. There was just something wrong with the emotions in the room. We were getting our signals and our words all tangled.

I turned to face the men and found them sitting next to each other, both turned toward me, both with hunger on their faces. I’d remarked once before how similar the two men were. Not similar as in brothers, but similar in build, similar in their movements, similar in the power that emanated from each of them. Right now, they were similar in their stillness.

I shivered, and not with the cold. I touched my fingertips to the spot on my neck where Quinn had left his mark. Owen had run his tongue over the marks when they were fresh. Shit. I knew there was much to discuss, but I needed this first question answered above all else.

“Are you a werewolf?” I asked, looking at Quinn. The question I really wanted answered was whether I was a werewolf after Quinn’s bites, but it was easier to ask this way.