Bad Blood

Fi’s hand cupped his cheek. “Okay,” she whispered.

He knew she wouldn’t be happy leaving him, but what else could they do?

Her arm wound around his waist. “Let’s go.” Eyes still closed, he tried to follow the path they took, using his memory of the house’s layout, but he wasn’t that familiar with Chrysabelle’s place. They went down some stairs. He hadn’t realized she had a lower level. Basements were impossible in this part of New Florida without some kind of magic because of the water table. Her mother had been Dominic’s lover. Maybe he’d installed the lower level for her? Seven went deeper into the earth than should have been possible, too.

Fi brought him to a stop. “Here.” Her hands found his face again, this time pulling him down and planting a soft kiss on his mouth. “We’re going to work.”

He nodded. Her hands fell away and her footsteps faded. A door shut and a key was turned. He opened his eyes. Perfect. A wine cellar. Besides the racks of old bottles, the room held a small pub table and two tall chairs. He climbed into one, prepared to wait it out.

He didn’t have to wait long. The compulsion to leave grew, the urging in his head like someone poking at him. “No can do, Aliza.”

A dull roar, a very unhappy sound, echoed in his brain.

He smiled, his suspicions confirmed that it was the old witch. His head might hurt, but winding her up was at least entertaining. He pushed the other chair out and kicked his feet up. “I’m not going anywhere, so you might as well get out of my head.”

Get up.

“No.” Was this what it was like for Mal with all those voices screaming in his brain? Man, sucked to be him.

Now. Get up and leave the house.

“Locked in, you dumb biddy.”

More howling. His feet jerked off the chair and hit the floor. His body followed, yanking him upright. He took a few unwilling steps forward, lurching like the monster in the old Frankenstein movies.

He struggled against the urge to head for the door, forcibly sitting back down. Again, she yanked him up, this time getting him halfway across the room before he grabbed hold of a wine rack and looped his arm through one of the brackets. “You just don’t get it, Aliza. Your daughter tried this and look how she ended up. You really want me at your house? What’s the matter—death wishes run in the family?”

That earned him a hard, angry pain in his head. It dropped him to his knees, his bones jarring on the inlaid stone floor. He went to all fours, splaying his fingers on the cool stone. He had to find a way to… What had he just been thinking? Get out. Go to Aliza’s. No, something about finding a way to numb something. Urges. Yeah, that was it. A way to numb the urges taking over his brain.

He lifted his head. The door. Go to the door. Staring, unfocused, he fought to regain his own thoughts. He could see only part of the door through the wine racks.

Wine.

Break the door down. Get free. Now.

Wine. He got one hand around the neck of the closest bottle and tugged it free. A red. Probably a really pricey one that he wouldn’t even appreciate. The glass was as cool as the stone floor. He concentrated on the way it felt, how smooth the glass was, the weight of the bottle, the script on the label, anything and everything to fill his head with thoughts that belonged to him.

Bottle in hand, he grabbed hold of the wine rack and pulled himself to his feet. The door. He stumbled, half dragging himself back to the table, where a small wooden box sat in the center. He hoped what he thought was in there actually was.

He plunked the bottle down and flipped the box open. Success. A corkscrew.

Aliza yowled, realizing what he planned to do. Drop it. His hand opened. The bottle fell, splattering red wine and glass fragments in a jagged circle. His head turned toward the door, thoughts of the bottle disappearing.

Then his gaze latched on to another bottle. A big one. A magnum of champagne. He could work with that if he went fast. With Aliza moving his feet toward the door, he snagged the bottle as he slogged past, popping out a claw to rip through the wire cage securing the cork. Stop. Door. His fingers slipped off the bottle’s neck, almost dropping it. This needed to go faster. And there was only one way he knew how to do that. It wasn’t going to help the mess in his head either.

With a deep breath, he half shifted to bring his leopard teeth out.

Immediately, Aliza’s compulsion spell doubled in strength. He stared at the wire basket in his hand. What had he been doing? Think. Think.

Going to the door, breaking it down, and getting to Aliza’s as fast as you can.

He set the bottle down on the table but kept his hand on it. That didn’t seem like what he really wanted to do. Yes, it is. No, it wasn’t.

The bottle. That was it. While the thought was stuck in his brain, he clamped his teeth down on the cork, then twisted and pulled the bottle away at the same time. It uncorked with enough power to knock out the two teeth he’d dug into the cork. He ignored the pain as blood and champagne filled his mouth. He spit the teeth and blood out, then tipped the bottle back and chugged it.

Near the end of the bottle, the bubbles began muting the yowling enough for him to drain the bottle and grab two more. He had enough control to pop the next cork the old-fashioned way. His jaw throbbed where he’d lost the teeth, but the pain was good. It and the alcohol were helping him maintain his own head. He found a spot on the floor where he could put his back to the wall but still see the door. Shifting fully human, he sat and lifted the bottle to his mouth.