Flamebound A Lone Star Witch No(72)
“What did you find out?”
He’s surprised. I can feel it, though his face never changes. But he reaches over, rests his hand on my knee. I know it’s his way of reaffirming things between us, of making sure that we really are all right.
“He didn’t know much. I got a couple of sketchy leads. I’ve already started looking into them.”
I start to ask what they are, but I realize it’s a waste of time before the words even leave my mouth. Declan might be willing to work together, might even be willing to share information when it suits him, but he will always try to protect me when he can. It’s the nature of the beast, one I’m learning, slowly, to live with. Besides, I know if he finds something, he’ll tell me. And that’s enough for now.
“So what do we do now?” I ask, covering a yawn with my hand. Barely half an hour ago I was hyped up on horror and now, after thirty minutes of cuddling with Declan, I’m all but ready to pass out in his arms. There’s something about him that makes me feel safe and secure, no matter how topsy-turvy the world around me has become. “How do we find Shelby?”
“We figure out what the killer needs from her.”
“That’s easy. He needs her blood.”
Declan nods. “Yes, but why? Why her blood? Why Viktor’s? Why Mei’s?”
“That theory only works if this isn’t an assassination attempt on the Council. I mean, we have to decide if they’re being killed because of who they are or because of the powers they wield. The bloodletting makes me think it’s their powers, yet I’m not so sure. I keep thinking that their positions as Council members have something major to do with this.”
“Maybe it’s both,” Declan comments with a shrug. “Maybe he is going after the ACW one by one. But maybe he’s doing it in a certain order—one that lets him gain the power he needs to take on the most powerful Councilors.”
It makes sense. Except—“What about Shelby?”
“I don’t think we’re going to find out the answer to that question until we find her.”
“But how are we going to find her if we don’t know what we’re looking for?”
“That’s the tricky part.”
“The tricky part? That doesn’t sound very optimistic.”
“It wasn’t meant to,” Declan tells me as he rests his forehead against mine. “But I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to find her and get her home safely.”
I know he will. It’s just one of the many things that make Declan who he is.
The last of the tension drains out of me at his assertion, and I relax against him, letting myself drift slowly off to sleep. As I do, I pray that whatever monster is doing this will make a mistake. Because when he does, Declan and I will be there. And he won’t get the chance to make a second one.
Twenty-two
I’m yanked back to consciousness some indeterminate amount of time later by the ringing of my house phone. Fumbling for it, I answer with a groggy hello. Beside me, Declan doesn’t stir, but something tells me he’s awake and listening.
“Xandra?”
“Mom?” I squint across my darkened room, trying to see the alarm clock I keep on my dresser. “What time is it?”
“It’s two a.m. I need you to come home.”
“What’s wrong?” Normally I’d be suspicious of any request she sends my way—especially since my aunt called me less than twenty-four hours ago with the same request. But she’s been a little better, more respectful certainly, since I’ve gotten out of the hospital and I doubt she’s calling just to mess with me right now. My mom might be the sneakiest witch I know, but she’s also the most savvy. “I’m not sure I can leave right now. Things are just getting back to normal.” No need for her to know just how chaotic life has been this week.
“It’s your father,” she blurts out, her voice breaking in a very unqueenly way. “He’s sick.”
It takes a second for her words to compute. My father is one of the halest, heartiest men I know—I’ve never even seen him get a cold. The idea that he could suddenly be sick enough to warrant a predawn phone call like this doesn’t make sense to me. “Where’s Rachael?” I demand. “Has she checked him over?”
“She’s with him now.” A sob escapes. “I’m calling everyone home, Xandra. It doesn’t—it doesn’t look good.”
Doesn’t look good? Now I’m really confused. Witches and wizards live a long time—much longer than humans—and my dad isn’t that old yet. Not in the grand scheme of things, where three hundred is considered the prime of a wizard’s life.