Grave Dance (Alex Craft, #2)(76)

Colors splashed across the world. They weren’t the vivid, swirling colors of the Aetheric, but colors that seemed to emanate from inside objects and space. I’d seen this plane before, and from what I’d gathered, it absorbed the emotional resonance of the people who brushed against it.

Around the rift I could make out the bright, blissed-out spots where the skimmers had stood, but those were just splashes of color, already fading. Under them, in the very center of the tear, was the most bril iant light I’d ever seen. It was no color, or al colors—I couldn’t be sure. It created a silhouette of light instead of shadow. I stared at it, realizing this was the profile of the witch we were looking for, but I could glean no details from the shape except that the witch had stood in that very spot and felt hope . . . joy.

Hope and joy? What had happened in this circle? Had I been wrong about who cast it?

I turned, walking farther from the tear, and then I stumbled because as soon as I left the glow of the witch’s hope, the air turned thick with a deep stain of pulsing red.

The color bled up from the ground and throbbed against my skin. Fear. Pain. Desperation. I crashed to my knees. I could almost see the shadows of rage closing in around me, as they twisted and writhed in the circle. The very air hummed with anger, prickling my flesh and burning my hummed with anger, prickling my flesh and burning my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

I slammed my shields closed, blocking out the dead, the color, the rage, the pain. Darkness fel over me, and I welcomed the sudden lack of sight as I sucked down gulps of the night air.

“Alex, what happened?”

Falin.

He was beside me, his hands on my arms as he tried to help me stand. I let him.

“They died here,” I whispered. “So much pain. So many people.” And the witch had stood in the center of al that misery and had felt hope.

I didn’t tel the police what I’d seen. The anti–black magic unit had both an auramancer and a wyrd clairvoyant who could tap into the reality I’d touched if the cops real y wanted to know what the victims had felt, though I wouldn’t have wished what I’d just felt on anyone. When I saw John tomorrow—or real y, later today, as it was long past midnight now—I would tel him that I’d sensed only one witch in that circle. That was something he needed to know.

The rest? I didn’t see how it would help.

I fel asleep on the ride home and woke to Falin lifting me from the car.

“M-mm. Put me down; you’re hurt,” I mumbled, the words coming out slightly garbled in my half-awake state.

“I’m not that hurt.”

Right.

But he did put me down, and I stumbled up my stairs on my own. I let him use my keys to unlock the door, as I’d have just fumbled the job in my trembling, half-blind condition. I’d spent way too much time peering into other planes of existence. What I real y wanted now was a hot shower and a good night’s sleep, though not necessarily in shower and a good night’s sleep, though not necessarily in that order.

PC danced around us, his little gray body burning my legs where he brushed against my pants. Crap, I hadn’t even raised a shade and I was chil ed to my core. I glanced longingly at my bed, but I’d made a promise to myself to stop sleeping with Falin—in any sense of the word—until I figured out how I real y felt about him. And I’d made that decision before he’d gone and disappeared on me. Now?

Yeah, I was sticking to my resolve.

“So,” I said, turning toward Falin.

“So?” He slid his jacket off and hung it on the back of my solitary chair. His holster fol owed.

“Do you want the bed or the floor?” The good-host thing to do would be to offer him the bed, but he’d invited himself, so I’d let him be gal ant and take the floor.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” I said, and I meant it, but even to my own ears, the single-syl able word sounded feeble. Maybe that was because I was staring at the smooth skin being revealed as Falin unbuttoned his oxford.

“Real y?” He pul ed the shirt free of his pants so he could get to the last button, but he didn’t take the shirt off. It gapped as he stepped forward, exposing smal glimpses of pale skin and hard abs.

He lifted a hand, brushing a strand of hair back from my face. He’d stripped off his gloves at some point, so his fingers were bare and warm against my cheek.

“I—” I started, but he leaned down. His lips brushed mine, the kiss tentative, a question with just a touch of breath and heat.

Whatever I’d planned to say vanished.

I lifted on my toes, inviting more, and he didn’t disappoint.

His lips closed over mine, firm and soft al at once as he deepened the kiss. One of his hands slid into my hair, the other around my waist as he pul ed me closer, surrounding me with his heat, his scent, his touch.

me with his heat, his scent, his touch.

Someone cleared their throat behind me. “Please tel me I get a veto in this.”

I jumped, breaking contact with Falin in midkiss.

Death leaned against the counter, his thumbs hooked in his pockets and his dark hair spil ing into his face. I couldn’t do anything more than stand there staring at him as my heart thundered in my chest, though I couldn’t have said if I was more breathless from the kiss or from the fact that it was Death who had caught me at it.