I resisted the urge to stomp my foot and throw something. He could be so damned annoying.
The man who'd touched my face, kissed my hair, who'd held me last night was gone, and that was probably for the best.
I'd wanted to show him that sex could mean something, and maybe I had. Maybe that was why he was behaving the way he was. Neither one of us could afford to get attached. Most likely we were both going to die.
War was hell; in the case of Armageddon, the cliche was going to be literal.
"Let's get out of here before your mo—" His eyes narrowed. "Before she comes knocking."
I took the bag that held what I assumed were my new clothes, considering the tank top with the flowers and the white denim shorts, then went into the bathroom where I'd left my duffel. Ten minutes later I returned, dressed, brushed, and packed.
Sawyer sat on the bed, also in shorts, though his were khaki, and a white wife-beater T-shirt. On his feet he wore brown huaraches sandals that matched the white ones on my own feet. If not for the tattoos he might look like a tourist.
I snorted. Sawyer could never, under any known circumstances, resemble a tourist. Instead, he resembled a member of the New Mexico branch of the Hell's An-gels who'd lost his knapsack and been forced to shop at Wal-Mart. Which was damn close to the truth if you took Hell's Angel in the literal sense.
We each brought another cup of coffee along for the ride, tossed our bags in the backseat, and I slid behind the wheel. Sawyer never asked where we were going— until I turned off the freeway and then down Carla's street.
"Wait—" He put his hand up, palm facing the windshield, as if he could make the road in front of us disappear.
I cast an uneasy glance at the pavement, but it was still there.
"Ruthie said I should talk to Carla again. Ask her how to kill your— Woman of smoke."
"She isn't mine," he muttered as I pulled up to the curb.
I had a strange thought. What if Sawyer had been wigged last night by whatever Carla had done instead of by his mother's attempted seduction? Anything that could overshadow that was something I didn't want to hear about but probably should.
"Sawyer," I began, but he got out of the car and strode up the walk.
I hurried after. He didn't knock, just tried the door and, when it wouldn't open, put his palm up again like before and—
Bam!
Open it went, flying back so hard it smacked against the wall with a crunch. He hadn't punched it; I don't think he'd even touched it.
"Hey!" I called, but he disappeared inside.
Sawyer was quick, but I was quicker, thanks to Jimmy. I arrived right on his heels, surprised when a dark-haired young woman appeared in the hall.
I glanced at Sawyer's face. Funny. He wasn't surprised.
The girl was tiny and slim, with olive skin and long black hair. She wasn't pretty; her nose was unfortunate, her eyes too small and too light against the sallow skin of her face, but she gave off a lively energy that reminded me of someone I couldn't quite place.
"Back so soon?" she asked.
I knew that voice.
CHAPTER 22
I spun toward Sawyer, who met my gaze with his usual infuriating calm.
"What did you do?" I demanded.
The benandanti—turned young overnight, or perhaps turned young last night—laughed her joyous laugh. "Payment must be made, Elisabetta, or the spell would not work."
"You—you said you could practice glamour but you chose to. Beauty is fleeting."
"You call this beauty?" she asked. "I call it youth. Two very different things. Youth is worth having. Aches and pains, my memory was fading, my magic would go next, along with several other very important talents. I couldn't have that."
"So you—" I paused. I had no idea what she might have done. But I had a pretty good idea what Sawyer had.
Whenever things changed—people became more magical, more powerful, more anything—and Sawyer was around, sex was involved.
Carla had said, Payment must be made. And since Sawyer had left home a little short on pockets and long on paws, he'd depended on me for cash.
But he hadn't used cash this time. I doubted he used cash very much at all.
I turned away. Last night had obviously been one more in a long line of meaningless nights to him. I shouldn't be surprised, couldn't afford to be angry or hurt. For Sawyer, sex was business. I doubted he was capable of understanding it as anything else.
I returned my attention to Carla. "You bypassed the curse and in turn he made you young?"
"I bypassed the curse," she agreed. "He paid me as I asked; the result was that my dream came true."
She was talking gibberish. But magic so often was. I let it go. I really didn't want a play-by-play.
"How do you kill a Naye'i?" I demanded.
"I don't know."
My heart took a slow, painful tumble toward my squeaky Mexican sandals. "But—"
"There is someone who might."
My heart now leaped toward my throat. I was getting nauseous.
She smiled beatific-ally. Were her teeth whiter? "His name is Xander Whitelaw."