Something Wicked (15 page)

Everywhere civilians ran, sobbed, tried to hide and screamed pleas in a language I didn’t even speak. The cruelty staggered me.

And I’d thought I could
help?

Not alone, I couldn’t. Not even with magic.

Oh…hell. Who had I been kidding?

Taking a deep breath, trying not to wince when an older woman tripped and fell hard not five yards in front of me, I sank down to my knees, spread my hands against the gray paving stones, and tried to draw power from beneath the earth, into myself.

“I call on you, Hekate,” I murmured—it’s not like, even if I’d yelled it, anybody would hear over the shouts. “Goddess of the Crossroads. Queen of the Night. Help me lead innocents to safety, as you lead souls to the safety beyond.”

But something else seemed necessary. So…

“You’re right,” I admitted quietly.
“I’m yours.”

And like that, I stopped being scared.

Someone who didn’t believe in goddesses or magic could argue that my sudden calm, as I then stood to what height I had, was more psychological than divine. Okay.

Did it matter? Either way, it helped. I was going in.

Running steps took me to the older woman who still lay on her hands and knees, weeping and frightened, where she’d fallen. I helped her to her feet, turned her in the direction I’d come from, hoped for guidance—

And I saw Eleni. Thank heavens!

“There,” I shouted, but the old woman looked at me with blank panic. Instead of saying more, I gave her a little push. Eleni beckoned, calling in Turkish. The woman broke into a run.

I turned back to the confusion, trying to dodge the frantic people ready to trample me in their attempt to escape the beatings. “This way!” I called futilely. “This way!”

Some of the students I’d seen earlier must have understood English. With no other guidance they rushed, desperate, toward me. One of them bled heavily from her mouth, and I could sympathize.

“Over there!” I instructed, and they, too, ran for Eleni, who seemed to be passing them farther back to safety. Between the two of us, we were going to get at least some of these people out of here, weren’t we? I couldn’t think about the alternatives. Flanks of police were closing in, closing off escape routes. Something horrible burned in my nose, burned at my throat. My eyes began to water. That would explain the masks.
Tear gas.

Who did these cops think they were up against? Choking, I dug my winter scarf out of the pocket of my coat and wrapped it around my face, like against a blizzard. Then, eyes streaming, I waded farther into the chaos. An escaping woman bodychecked me in her panic, spinning me around, almost knocking me over. Someone else, running backward to call for a friend, nearly took me down. I wished I could take another deep breath, call again on the Goddess, but considering the tears pouring from my stinging eyes…

No wonder people were panicked. I could hardly remember what direction safety was myself!

Too many innocents lay on the ground, trying to push themselves back up with their hands, their knees. Too many were beaten back down, literally
beaten,
blood splattering from mouths or noses. And I noticed something horrible about the police.

They were all men. Every last one of them.

And some of them were enjoying themselves.

Now I was in the midst of things, too, grabbing people as they spun in blind, panicked circles, still sending them in the direction I’d remembered seeing Eleni. In the midst of the chaos, most of them seemed desperate for any direction and immediately went. A few of them hit me—once on the upper arm, once upside my face—before they recognized that I was trying to help. Even then, their stares were glassy, their faces white with shock. I got them out, too.

Me and Hekate. Because Hekate had always been a part of me. We shared the same name, didn’t we? We shared more than that.

Choking, I knew I’d have to get fresh air soon. I was too close to wherever the gas had been released. But then I saw a child, wandering amongst the stampeding crowd, screaming, reaching out in the way little kids do for their mommy. It was the curly-headed ballerina girl! I pushed my way through the chaos, wrapped my arms around her, picked her up—she couldn’t have been more than five. Somewhere out there, I knew, there was a mother in hell.

I’ve got her,
I thought, hard, wishing she could hear me.
I’ll get her to safety.

But when I turned, my luck ran out.

A cop, his eyes behind his helmet glazed not with panic but with bloodlust, lashed downward with his truncheon.

A
nd I stopped him.

No rhyme. No prayer. No pause to reorient myself to which way was north, south, east or west.

I reached upward—not with my good hand, which was busy clutching the little girl to me. With my cast hand, I reached up to block the blow as I met the policeman’s crazed, evil gaze with my own angry stare.

And in that moment, I was caught in memories
that weren’t even mine.
Villages beset by Mongol hordes. Towns pillaged by Vikings. Wars. More wars. Husbands and fathers and sons marching away, ready to kill and to die—and often doing just that. Enemy warriors claiming other men’s mothers, wives and children as war prizes, as slaves, as concubines….

We’re so powerful, we can kill infants. We’re so powerful, we can take your women. If you don’t do as we wish, we can kill you. Look at how powerful we are.

It gave new meaning to the idea of objectifying someone. And it wasn’t just in ancient times. Maybe it wasn’t happening in Chicago. Hopefully it wasn’t! But it was still happening. Now.

But. Not. Here.

Power blasted through me, up through my feet from the Mother Earth beneath me, from all the memories and scars She carried. And since my projective hand was busy clutching the little girl, all that fury must have burned out at my monster of an attacker through my eyes.

The truncheon froze in midswing.

The policeman blinked, confused, as his soul bled slowly back into his gaze. Then—then he looked ashamed.

He
wasn’t
a monster. But he’d sure fallen into a blood spell, one that had nothing to do with witchcraft. They all had, damn it.

What had Ben said?
Evil is something people do, not something they are.
Could he be right?

Assured that he wouldn’t come after us, I turned and carried the little girl back toward where I’d last seen Eleni.

I should describe more, but things got kind of…dreamlike, after that. I was aware of the chaos around me—lunging bodies, frantic cries. But it seemed distant, now. I no longer felt part of it.

I didn’t feel the ground under my feet, but I kept walking. I couldn’t feel the little girl in my arms, but I didn’t drop her. Bodies staggered by us, but none touched.

Eleni came and swept us farther away from this brutal roundup. Then a woman was there, tearing the child from my arms, weeping. With a cry of welcome, the child nearly strangled her mother in return.

The world began to tip. I found Eleni, and reached out. Even though I watched her grasp my hand, and saw her eyes widen and her mouth move, she seemed farther and farther away.

“Magic,” I said, or tried to, forcing my mouth around the word as if it was foreign. Whether I found voice to accompany the words, who knew? “Too much…magic.”

Then everything vanished.

In my dream, I’m searching for something.

Someone.

“Where are you?” I keep shouting.

Slowly, I become aware of a quiet answer. “I’m right here.”

Mom? Diana? “Where?”

“Here. Open your eyes.”

“I can’t find you. Where
are
you?”

“Everywhere. I am life, and death, and the struggle between them. I am promise, and fulfillment, and betrayal. I am the alpha and the omega, and everything between. I am not only the path, but its destination and its desertion. But I did not kill them.” Then She says, “And neither did you.”

Then Ben was there, propped against the headboard beside me, reading a book. I watched him until he turned the page. Then I swallowed and tried words. One, anyway. “Hi.”

“You’re back!” He put the book down—which I suspected was a compliment—and extended a hand toward my face, brushed my hair back. My skin tingled where he’d touched me. He smiled his lopsided smile, studying me with a sweeping gaze. “How are you feeling?”

Good question. Was I even awake? Not likely, with him right there in bed with me.
On
bed, anyway. “I’m not sure.”

“You don’t have a fever.” Oh. So
that’s
why he’d touched my face. I studied his for a moment—the angle of his jaw, his bright, dark eyes—and hoped I wasn’t awake yet.

“That’s not how you do it,” I corrected him.

His brows furrowed—probably he’d read umpteen zillion books on temperature taking along with everything else he knew—but before he could question it, I touched my forehead. “You’re supposed to kiss me. Here.”

He blinked. “Oh. I suppose…lips are very sensitive to heat.”

I smiled. My smile seemed to manage what a point-blank invitation hadn’t. With his own ghost of a smile, Ben bent over me and pressed his lips gently to my forehead. Mmm.

“Like this?” he asked, his voice extra scratchy, and drew only an inch or two back.

I really hoped I wasn’t awake yet, because I liked this dream. “You tell me,” I whispered, and wrinkled my nose at him. “Am I hot?”

I got a full smile from that. “Now there’s a loaded question. You’ve been asleep for a while, Katie. You could be disoriented. Maybe you should—”

I slid a hand behind his neck, into his curly black hair, and drew him back to me, drew his lips to mine. “Shut up, Ben.”

I really don’t think I put any magical kick into the command. But he kissed me anyway, deep and fervent, as wholly focused on this as he was on everything.
Yes.
That was better.

One kiss led to two, then three, then countless. I caught the belt loop of Ben’s jeans with my good hand and tugged until he slung one of his legs across me, so he wouldn’t have to crane his neck to keep up the kissing. He slid his hands under my head, his thumbs stroking my cheeks, tipping my face one way while he tipped his face the other, pressing harder, tasting deeper….

Not all men were evil. I loved what a great reminder of that Ben was, and tried to tell him with my tongue, which made him breathe faster and made a smile stretch his lips for a few long, lingering kisses. I loved having him over me, surrounding me like this. If my legs hadn’t been trapped under the covers, I would have wrapped them around his. As it was, I had to make do with sliding my hand down his long, lean back, down to his blue-jeaned ass, and encouraging him to come down on me a little more firmly.

“Oh, God,” he breathed, sinking onto me just like I’d wanted. “Katie. I was so worried….”

More lazy, contented kissing took care of that.

Outside the window, the faint sound of Istanbul’s call to prayer began to warble across the city. Through Ben’s jeans, I felt something hard. Well maybe that, too—but
this
was something else, something in his
back
pocket. Something disk-shaped. Something…oh, hell.

Is that a
matia
in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?

He had the
matia
because I’d given it to him. And I’d given it to him to protect him.
From me.

I’d cursed him. This incredible connection we felt together, this sense that everything was more whole with him here, was a side effect of the magic.

Damn it! I wasn’t asleep.

But it’s a good side effect,
I thought stubbornly, squirming happily under Ben’s insistent weight. Eager blood heated places I’d almost forgotten I had. I liked the resulting ache between my legs, the delicious heaviness in my breasts. To judge by his breathing, Ben liked this, too.

Magic, schmagic.
What would he care, as long as he gets some?

But that was a problem with Ben being so good. He would probably care a lot.

If not right away.

Bad girl or not, I couldn’t take advantage of him that way. With a groan, I rolled him off of me. I think that, for a moment, he thought I just wanted to be on top. His smile faded into confusion when I rolled back to where I’d been, beside him, trying to catch my breath. But not for long.

He followed, kissed me again. Damn, his mouth tasted good, like…like fennel seeds. Not too dry. Not too wet. Just the right eagerness, without being at all clumsy about it. Yes….

No! Ducking my head, so that he kissed my forehead, I asked, “How long, exactly?”

“Huh?” He tried to kiss me again, but this time I turned my head so that he got a cheek.

“How long have I been asleep?” I clarified, smiling apologetically as his sex-glazed fog seemed to slowly clear. “You said it was a while.”

Still breathing hard, Ben fell to his side beside me, his dark gaze still caressing my face. “I…ah…”

Interesting. He really wasn’t talking. Why did I take that as a compliment, too?

“It couldn’t have been hours,” I noted, sitting up to brace my back against the headboard, the way he’d been doing when I woke up. “Because the sun’s still up. And you’re here. But it can’t be Monday morning already, can it?”

Ben licked his lips and finally managed, “It’s been three days, Katie.”

Now
I was completely awake.
“What?”

As it turned out, he was right.

Ben had arrived Sunday night—“As soon as I heard about the attack,” he explained—and when I hadn’t woken up by the time the temporary clinic opened on Monday morning, he offered to keep watch on me while Eleni was gone.

“And Eleni just left me with you?”

“Dr. Serif really needed her.” Ben stood now, to put a little distance between us. In all fairness to him, I noticed that our hotel room didn’t have a chair he could have taken instead of the bed. “And you said yourself that she could trust me.”

“When?
I was unconscious.
”

“Not all the time. You woke up long enough to insist she not take you to the hospital, and later to tell her to trust me, and a couple of times to drink some Gatorade—that’s good for restoring potassium. Interesting that you don’t remember, but I’m not surprised. Somniloquy, or sleep talking, is one of the more common parasomnias. Something like five percent of adults talk in their sleep, but—and this is interesting—fifty percent of children—”

“Ben,” I interrupted him.

“Oh. Sorry. Anyway, the police attack on the demonstration made the international news. Three people were hospitalized, and around sixty people were arrested, half of them women. A lot of countries are using it as an argument that Turkey isn’t ready for the E.U. yet.”

“What day is it?”

“It’s Wednesday,” Ben admitted gently.

Well…hell. I slid my good hand down my face, willing the last of my exhaustion to slide away with it, and swung my bare feet out of bed. I wore my nightshirt. I hoped Eleni was the one who’d put me into it. “Can you take me to Eleni? Once I shower and change?”

“Yes, but what just happened?” Ben gestured toward the bed. “Are you sorry we—I mean, did you not mean for—”

So I stood up and kissed him again, thoroughly, just to reassure him that it wasn’t anything he’d done. It seemed a little safer, standing up…but just as sexy. He had the body of a runner, sinewy and tight. Now I had a new reason for wishing my cast was off. I wanted to run two hands over him, instead of just one. Except—

“We’ll talk,” I gasped, drawing back later than I meant to. “After I see Eleni.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Ben warned, quietly pleased.

I hoped that wasn’t the only thing he’d be holding me to.

Eleni was thrilled to see me at the clinic, and hugged me like three times before she went back to work. I offered to stay and help, glad to see the folding chairs of their temporary waiting room full with head-scarved women and dark-haired children, but both Eleni and Dr. Gaye refused. I needed to get something to eat, they said. And wow, they were right.

I mean, Gatorade only goes so far.

Ben took me to a
lokanta,
which was a small restaurant with the menu listed on a blackboard outside the front door. I asked him to order for me. Not only was I still a little disoriented after my Sleeping Beauty routine, not to mention that making-out-with-Ben detour. But everything had names like
bamya bastisi
and
firinda manti.

You see my challenge.

For the first part of the meal, I just plain ate. Our food ended up being a lamb and tomato stew and something vaguely like ravioli, plus some bread, some artichoke hearts and a sort of bean salad. Everything was delicious, especially after a three-day fast. Only as I started slowing down, moving from ravenous to mildly hungry, did I think to ask Ben what he’d learned from his brother and Al, back in Athens.

“Nothing,” he said—and, for maybe the first time all afternoon, he looked away from me. Huh.

I actually paused, halfway toward taking another sip of my yogurt drink. It was good. Salty, but in a surprisingly refreshing way. “Nothing at
all?
You left right after that thing came after Eleni. I thought…”

I’d thought he meant to take care of it.

“Vic wasn’t answering his phone. To be honest, I thought about what you’d said—you know, about the karmic backlash of doing a spell? Not that I completely bought the idea that Vic
would
do a spell, but…I got the management at the Hotel Zeus to check on him for me. It’s not like I had to work very hard to convince them we were brothers. For a moment, I thought Vic was just sleeping like the dead.”

I resisted the urge to ask him not to keep saying his brother’s name. There’s a fine line between magic and superstition. Better that I just watch what
I
said, and leave Ben’s delivery alone. “
Like
the dead?”

“I woke him up, to make sure. He told me to, er, bug off. But Katie…” Ben’s dark, haunted gaze lifted to me again. “You were right. He’d written your name on a piece of paper, with some pink water that might’ve been…I think it had blood in it. He’d driven a nail through it, like the paper the police found at your house the night of the murder. And there was a candle, what was left of one anyway. Apparently he’d let it burn itself out.”

Or he’d been knocked off his ass before he had the chance to snuff it.

“I took it,” admitted Ben, scowling.