Holidays are Hell(107)

After all, wasn't that what the man who created the Tulpa had done?

So all she had to do was believe in this task just as strongly as he had. Strong enough to bend the universe to her will. And that's what she had specialized in when she was a troop member, she thought, gritting her teeth. Bending others to her will.

"Thanksgiving is an opportunity," she murmured, more to herself than the others now. "The holiday gives me an opening. The Tulpa will be fixed on gaining power from all the emotion associated with the holiday—hope, joy, thankfulness—things humans believe unerringly in. He'll never sense my true intent above all the emotional static. It's perfect."

And she fell back in to the rhythm of the weaving, visualizing it now, everything else secondary to what she wanted. "It's not perfect." Warren broke in. "It's suicide."

She didn't look up, her fingers continued their smooth slide-and-weave, and the basket began taking shape. "Chin up, Warren. At least this time you'll know for sure what happened to me."

He dropped a strong palm over her hands, stilling them. "You're not going. Hear me?"

She remained still, head bowed, voice soft. "I've always heard you, Warren."

He removed his hand quickly. "Then you'll have no problem obeying when I order you to give up your star sign. Tonight."

"I said I heard you." She did look up now, her voice cold as his. "I didn't say I listened."

And he knew that, too.

Warren's chin shot up, and the eyes that'd once followed her every move with an earthy softness were now petrified in an equally unyielding face. "See that she doesn't leave this room… even if you have to tie her down."

Zoe returned to her weaving as the door slammed behind him.

"Oh, Zoe," Phaedre said, running her hands through her rich hair on a sigh. "Your plan was to show up on the Shadow leader's doorstep on Thanksgiving Day, clothed in mortality, and bearing a gift cursed with ill intent?"

Zoe shrugged, ignoring Phaedre's use of the past tense. So it didn't sound like such a great plan when stated like that. But she would still go through with it. "I'll charm him into opening his door for me."

Because if she could get inside, get him alone for even a moment, it would work. Getting in without getting killed might be more of a problem.

Phaedre had turned her back, ostensibly fixing her hair in the dresser mirror, but Zoe knew she was studying her. "Except this time he'll be on his guard. He'll sense an attack coming a mile away. He'll be expecting it from you."

"He'll drop that guard once he sees my humanity. My vulnerability," she said the words to convince herself as much as Phaedre, flipping the straw horn on her lap, starting a new row. "Everyone is always on their guard around him—"

"Because he's the psycho kingpin of the paranormal underworld."

"—and he hates it." She looked up to meet Phaedre's disbelieving stare through the mirrored pane. "He does. It's one of the reasons he loved me."

Phaedre turned. "You weren't on guard because you'd already gained his confidence."

"And so when I say I changed my mind and ran away from the agents of Light, he'll believe I've been in hiding from you all these years, not him. He'll believe what he's always wanted to when he looks at me."

Phaedre leaned against the dresser, crossing her arms. "And what is that?"

"That I love him." She said, setting the corn idol aside. "That we're destined for one another."

"Zoe—"

"Trust me, Phaedre." She stood, brushed off her pants, and headed to the door Warren had exited through.

The movement was quicker than the human eye, so Zoe found herself sprawled facedown across the bed without knowing how she'd gotten there. Phaedre was straddling her, so close Zoe could scent the mint on her breath and the powder of her perfume; pleasant, were it not for the wand tip pointed at Zoe's throat.

"Warren said you stay," Phaedre murmured in her ear, meaning the bodily assault wasn't anything personal.

Zoe craned her neck to peer into Phaedre's face despite the risk of a fiery death. "And what the troop leader says, goes, right?"

Annoyance flickered behind Phaedre's jewel-green eyes. "I understand it might grate, Zoe, especially considering your former status, but maybe it's time you listened to someone other than yourself."

Zoe dropped her head and lay limp, knowing she'd get up only when—if—Phaedre allowed it. "You want to put your conduit away? It's a bit of overkill."

Phaedre shifted atop her, but that was for her comfort, not Zoe's. She inched the wand closer to Zoe's left eye, her favored point of insertion. "Bother you, does it? Make you nervous? Because the Tulpa doesn't have a conduit, you know. He is a conduit. A whole being through whom energy is conducted, amassed, multiplied. That's why he can affect the weather, move things with his mind, manipulate environments and—most importantly—read your intentions."