Blood and Kisses(39)

It was Gideon’s turn to be at a loss for words. He wanted to say yes. But it wasn’t the truth. “No.” He grinned ruefully. “I’ve always been a sucker for a lost cause, but don’t think nobility played a part. Don’t think I was some sort of hero. I did it for the challenge.”

“Hmm.” Thalia turned away, but in the passenger-side window he could see the reflection of the smile she struggled to hide.



Despite the intensity of the conversation and the pain that lingered in her chest, Thalia couldn’t quite quell the victorious smile that bubbled up as Gideon tried to spin the truth to fit the lie he’d believed for so long.

He stopped the car. They’d arrived.

“What’s the plan?”

“We’re just a couple out for a drink.” As he spoke, Gideon seemed to shorten and grow broader, and a small paunch formed at his waist. His features shifted and flattened, his hairline retreated. Soon he was wearing baggy khaki shorts and a white golf shirt.

He looked like a former high school football player who had started to go to seed. Thalia summoned a glamour. The spell came over her with an ease she’d never known.

Why had she been unable to tap into these powers before? She sighed and put her questions away. Time to get to work.

She checked her reflection in the car window. A tall, bleached blonde with skinny jeans pasted on her legs and a cropped, white T-shirt with a sparkly multi-colored butterfly decal molded to her chest gazed back at her.

“We won’t fool Akos, but we don’t need to. He wants to find us as much as we want to find him.” Gideon put a hand under her elbow and escorted her toward the Tomb. She could see him noting the position of the various police officers, male and female, watching the bar.

Thalia muttered the beginning of a shielding spell. The final words of the prophecy reverberated in her head.



The ancient dead but living

shall attain great power



When the marked one dies

and a sacrifice is made



By one who rose long ago

from the grave.



If the prophecy were right, she wasn’t sure she wanted to find Akos at all.

She was in no hurry to die.

She wished she could conjure up courage as easily as her newfound powers. She placed her hand on Gideon’s arm, drawing fortitude from his potent aura.

“There’s one more thing I want to say before we go in.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “I don’t want you to think I’m asking for anything from you. You’ve made your feelings clear. I accept that. But if we should fail tonight,”—she put a hand on his mouth to quiet his automatic protest—“If we should fail, I want you to know that you can’t be all bad. Otherwise, I wouldn’t love you.”

Gideon stopped dead in his tracks and Thalia, in her teetering heels, almost tripped on the uneven pavement. There was some emotion she couldn’t read in his eyes. Shock? Distaste?

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Before he could speak she said, “We’ve got work to do.”

Gideon shot one last look at her and helped her up the cement steps. He opened the door to the Tomb, and Thaila stepped into the smoky room. The familiar surroundings calmed her nerves for a moment. Tom nodded to them as they approached the bar, no sign of recognition in his eyes. Gideon nodded back and ordered their drinks.

“Do you see him?” Thalia took her drink and leaned one elbow on the bar, casually surveying the room.

Gideon took a sip of his drink. “Not yet. Do you know any of the pettys here?”

Thalia let her gaze meander from face to face. The cops were easy to pick out. Their cheerful expressions and relaxed body language cried, “play”, but their serious, ever-searching eyes screamed, “work.” “I’ve met some of the cops in the course of my job. There are one or two others. But it’s late, don’t you think he’s already fed?”

“I’m sure he has.” Gideon’s mouth formed a straight, hard line and she could see a glimpse of his true self behind his disguise. “But he knows we’ll come here.”

Thalia turned back toward the long bar and used the aged mirror to examine the rest of the noisy throng that filled the large room. The women sported hectic flushes that had nothing to do with cosmetics or exertion; their eyes sparkled with some emotion, anticipation perhaps? The men tried to look cool as they swept passersby with a wary glance. Was this one a murderer? Would this one be a victim?

She could feel the electric zing of adrenaline in the air. Why was it people were so attracted to danger? Why weren’t they at home in bed as she almost wished she were?

Thalia threaded through the crowd, secure in her camouflage. She towed a reluctant Gideon toward the dance floor. “We have to act natural,” she said when he resisted.

Besides, she might never get another chance to dance with him. The reckless festivity of the bar patrons infected her. She danced onto the parquet floor with a shimmy of her hips. Gideon followed her lead, but his stiff, awkward movements, though appropriate for his façade, revealed his unwilling participation.

“Come on!” shouted Thalia over the blaring rock music with its driving beat, “put some soul into it!” Suddenly thirsty, she knocked back the rest of her screwdriver and held the empty glass up in the air, beckoning a waitress to bring her another.

When the drink arrived, she held it up in the air. We, who are about to die, salute you, she thought as she threw back the fresh contents of her glass. She was about to wave for another when Gideon, his false face like a storm cloud, dragged her from the floor and guided her to an empty table.

“What?” She clambered onto the high stool and put her elbows on the sticky table, trying to look serious. The alcohol coursed through her veins, making her joints feel loose. She welcomed the counterfeit boldness it provided.

Don’t lose your focus. I need you. He wore a stranger’s face, but it was Gideon’s eyes boring into her, Gideon’s life that would also be lost, if she couldn’t find the courage to face Akos.

His words were all she needed to sober up. Her fear, notwithstanding, she wouldn’t let Gideon down.



Thalia stole a glance across the table at Gideon. They’d been sitting there pretending to be a normal couple having a conversation for more than an hour. And it had taken a lot of pretense on Thalia’s part.

Gideon, preoccupied by his own thoughts, had lapsed into a series of long, pensive silences. So far, Akos had failed to show.

“Where do you think he is?”

Gideon leaned in. “I’m sure he’s close by. We’ll leave, and if he doesn’t make his move, we’ll come back in different disguises.”

Thalia nodded. Her nerves were strung so tight a circus performer could walk across them. She stumbled as she slid from her stool, her legs tingling from being in one position for so long. Gideon caught her and piloted her through the crowd like an icebreaker clearing the way for a smaller ship. She shuffled behind him, trying to tap some sensation back into her numb feet.

As they neared the door, her eyes caught sight of a familiar man at the bar.

Heath.

“Gideon.” She nodded in Heath’s direction, then headed there, towing Gideon behind her.

“Heath.” She placed a hand on his back.

He turned around. His face twisted as he penetrated her glamour. “It’s the Champion everybody!” he announced to the bar in general. Thalia looked around to see who had heard. A few people glanced her way, but the police had no idea who or what the Champion was, and she relaxed.

Heath raised his glass. “Long live the Champion.” His words slurred, and the last one was buried in his drink as he took a long swallow. Despite all he’d put her through, she felt for him. It must have shown in her eyes because Heath said, “Why are you here? I don’t need your sympathy.”

“I can see how much you wanted to be the Champion, Heath. What I don’t understand is why?”

Heath turned back to the bar. “I’ve wanted to be the Champion since I was a child. My grandmother was a Champion, you know.” She hadn’t. “But my mother was born without the mark. And so was I. And because of an accident of birth, I was denied my heritage.”

Thalia was stunned.

She’d never seen it from the other side. As a kid, she’d often wished her mark gone. As a teenager, she’d wished it smaller or anyplace other than her face. But she‘d never really considered the implications of the mark.

What would it be like to be raised in a family of Champions and have all the powers of the Champion, but be denied the opportunity to fulfill that destiny because of the absence of a patch of crescent-shaped pigment?

She thought of Lily. Born in a family of witches without a smidgen of magical ability. It was a wonder she’d never been bitter.

All Thalia could say was, “I’m sorry, Heath.”