Eli had glanced up at the fireball and then back to Angie. He said, “You hurt Alex. I thought you liked him.” The tone was like a kid, finger-pointing, but Eli crossed his arms and frowned hard. Eli. Frowning.
I checked to make sure my partner hadn’t grown another head. Outside, the arcenciel head-butted the house. The room shook. Opal hit it again. And again. Something fell in the bathroom and shattered. Angie jerked at the sound and lowered her hands slightly, her fists slack, her face flushed but uncertain now. Her hair still stood on end, and her magic radiated out as if on the verge of explosion.
Eli ignored it all and dropped to one knee, one hand extending to Angie. Sadly, he said, “Alex thought he was saving you, like a prince saves a princess.”
“I don’t need saving,” Angie shouted at him. “I’m not a stupid princess. I’m a snake killer and a witch!”
Eli looked surprised for the briefest moment and then he said. “Right. Alex thought he was helping you. He didn’t know you could save yourself and”—his voice dropped low, a gentle and wretched tone—“you hurt him.”
Angie tilted her head and looked down at Alex, her breath blowing hard. She fisted her hands again, as if teetering on the edge of something. Something catastrophic. She sobbed once, and hiccuped and swallowed. Her magics went cooler and calmer in color, fading the way a rainbow bleaches out of the sky. In a calmer tone, she asked, “He was helping me? But Alex isn’t a witch.”
“True. But he thought you were in trouble and needed help. And . . . you hurt him. That’s wrong.”
Tears started like a fountain, and Angie’s face was suddenly shining with them. They fell in rivulets onto her nightgown. She sniffled. “I didn’t mean to hu-hu-hu-hu-hu . . . ” She inhaled, taking tears in with the air. “Hurt him.” Eli smiled, showing teeth, looking charming, said, “True. And Alex knows that. But when a prince sees someone in danger they always go to the rescue.”
Angie nodded, staring at Alex as her magics settled. Tension flooded from me like Angie’s tears, in a flood, and I sidled to the damaged door and looked out. The creature just beyond the walls was banging itself bloody (if the clear goop that was dripping from her jaw could be called blood) against the ward. Angie said, “I’m sorry.” She frowned. “Uh-oh. I don’t know how to wake him up. I haven’t learned that one yet.” Angie blew out a breath that puffed her cheeks. “I been bad again. Mama’s gonna be mad at me.”
Relief surged through me. “But Alex will be okay, and we learned something, right, Angie?” I said, my voice remarkably calm, considering my racing pulse.
The little girl looked at me, and her shoulders slumped. “The light dragon is gonna break through if Mama doesn’t get some help. She needs my daddy.”
I walked to Angie and bent, lowering my arms. Angie lifted hers and I gathered her up, standing. Her arms wrapped around my neck and she huddled close. She smelled of a confusing mix of pheromones: anger breaking down, magic dissipating, tears of frustration and fury. And not a little shame.
Outside, the arcenciel stopped her attacks on the house, and I had to wonder if Angie’s magic had excited Opal somehow, and then when Angie calmed, quieted her. Where arcenciels were concerned, I was flying by the seat of my pants. Feeling better about things for the moment, I carried my goddaughter down the stairs.
As I left the room, Eli knelt, picked his brother up in a fireman’s carry, and dumped him on the bed. He could hide the visual cues to his surprise at his brother’s weight, but not the olfactory ones. Alex may have topped out at around five feet, eleven inches, but he was putting on weight, all of it muscle, which until now had been hidden beneath his loose clothing.
Molly still stood in the middle of the living room, but now she was hunched, her fingers still flying but looking stiff and less coordinated. She was stinking of fear sweat and that awful perfume. Molly never, ever wore perfume around me because she knew my sense of smell was so much better than a human’s, and I hated the stink of synthetic scents. So . . . why did she . . . I studied her in her full skirt, the bodice pulling across fuller boobs. And at her waistline, I recognized the small but firm baby bump. Molly was pregnant.
I asked Angie, “Do you want the skull to help the baby?”
Angie pouted prettily, her lips swollen from her tears. She said, “Yes.” She glared at me. “Yes, damndamndamn!” Which was Molly’s swearword when she became frustrated and too angry to take life anymore and was hiding behind the closet door, where she cussed in private. Somebody had big ears. If the “tu dormies” spell was any consideration, very big ears.
It wasn’t the right time to fuss at Angie, but I had to. “Language, young lady.” Her pout deepened, her eyebrows scrunching down, and I managed not to grin. “And the creature? Why does it want the skull?”