The End of Magic (The Witches of Echo Park #3)(87)

"That's crazy," she said, shaking her head. "You could do terrible things with that."

He grinned back at her.

"Luckily, the effects go away completely once you're away from me . . . I think it's an olfactory power. Something about my pheromones. Once you can't smell me, you stop wanting to please me."

She hoped it was true-because there was a part of her that still felt under his sway.

"I will look after Lyse, if I can."

"Good, I knew you would understand," he said, leaning forward and giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek. His lips were soft and there was a touch of stubble on his chin. "You're very compelling yourself. A truly lovely scent."

She blushed as he pulled away.

"Shall we?"

She nodded, her heart beating very quickly. She wished that knowing his charm was of the magical variety would make her like him less, but it didn't. She was super nervous around him, and the kiss he'd placed on her cheek only made it worse.

She waited for him to do what Lyse did and call up a magical blue orb that would take them to another dimension.

"I do things a little differently," Thomas said, quirking an eyebrow at her. "You won't even know-"

She blinked and they were standing on the prow of a boat, the pull of the sea rocking them very, very gently.

"-it's happened," Thomas finished.

He released her and she took a step back, impressed.

"Wow, that was amazing," she said, in awe of the man.

He had the good grace to look abashed.

"Please, it's nothing."

It wasn't nothing, but he was embarrassed by her compliment, so she let it go.

"I wonder where the others have gotten to?" Thomas asked, changing the subject.

They were alone on the deck of what appeared to be a decommissioned destroyer. There were only clear blue skies and sea wherever Niamh looked, and she suspected that Jessika had chosen to be far away from land because it was safer for the women they'd rescued.

Niamh had never been on such a large ship before-and never one that had a giant gun stationed on top of it, the long steel-gray barrel pointed out ahead of them in warning. Thomas had brought them to a spot toward the front of the ship, at the edge of a long runway where they were a safe distance from the edge. But Niamh still felt vulnerable. The sides of the ship were very low and it looked easy for someone to fall overboard.

"Look," Thomas said, pointing at the ground underneath them where someone had painted a white circle with a line through it. The circle stood at the end of a long runway whose asphalt-gray surface and yellow demarcation lines made it resemble a road more than a ship.

"Helicopter landing spot," Thomas added, indicating the circle. "I think."

The sun broke through the line of clouds above them, and Niamh lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight.

"Oh no," she murmured as she caught sight of something terrifying out on the horizon.



       
         
       
        

"What?" Thomas asked, instantly on guard.

"They're coming," Niamh said, eyes pinned to the fleet of small ships heading toward them. "The Flood is here."

"Time to find out where everyone is," Thomas said.

And then he took Niamh's hand and they ran.





Desmond





Desmond knew a terrible fate had befallen his son. He should've been upset by this odd and unsettling turn of events, but, instead, he found himself merely resigned to the fact.

I never really liked him, Desmond realized. He was rotten and I knew it. But, still, I used him to further The Flood's needs.

Guilt was not an emotion Desmond wasted time on, but now it blossomed inside him like a parasitic flower, cutting into his heart and forcing him to acknowledge something he'd buried deep down inside himself.

He'd made a mistake. A serious one. A reprehensible one.

And it had happened because of her.


• • •

God help him, he'd loved Eleanora Eames from the first moment he'd laid eyes on her. She'd opened the front door to her grandmother's house, pushing strands of damp brown hair out of her glorious face, her wide pink mouth smiling at him. She'd been working in the kitchen, her cheeks flushed from the heat.

She'd looked up at him, those gorgeous eyes locking onto his own, and his heart had swelled with such need that he'd almost been unable to speak. He remembered asking for her grandmother-the woman who'd contacted his superiors-and she'd led him inside the house. He'd had a job to do, and he'd done it. He was there to help save her soul . . . but what he hadn't realized was it was actually his soul that was going to need saving when it was all said and done.