Page 90 of Which Witch Is Wicked?
"Me, too. So how do we find them?" Aerin asked, considering.
"We need to hit the book and see what Grim has to say about them and the crown and our long lost relative Malcolm de Moray," Claire said.
"Great place to start." Tierra finished off the bag of pork rinds, and wondered if there was any bacon. "There is one other thing," Tierra said before everyone went their separate ways. "Aerin, we need to find you another wardrobe. Since the Horsemen are gunning for you, it would be best to leave your tailored clothes and designer heels in the closet."
"I've paid good money for my clothes. There isn't anywhere here in town open for shopping as Nick has bought up most of the businesses."
"There are clothes in the attic," Tierra said.
"You wantmeto wear hand-me-downs?" Aerin's thunderous look could have rolled trailer houses.
"Tierra's right. Though, them high heels did come in mighty handy fighting off that zombie the other day," Moira said. "You might as well have a target painted on your back with those fancy duds you wear.
You're welcome to anything of mine."
"Mine, too," Claire offered. "And I agree with the others. Every one of those horsemen will know which witch is which with you dressed like a Park Avenue socialite. But you mix it up and we'll confuse the hell out of them. Or they'll think you flew off somewhere. Either way, you'll be safer."
"If my only choices are gypsy hand-me-downs, biker chick, or Dukes of Hazzard, I think I'd rather be a nudist," Aerin griped.
"Come on. You know it'd be fun messin' with those four assholes. They've got it coming in a big way," Moira said. "If they can't tell us apart, their plans are as good as shot to shit."
"Agreed. You'll have to let your hair down, too," Tierra commented, enjoying Aerin's surly mood. Aerin was always so polished, not a strand out of place. It was time she came down from her lofty perch in the clouds and saw how the other...well, three-fourths lived.
"Someone is going to pay for this," Aerin muttered.
9
"How'd it go?" Bane asked Julian. The man looked paler, more tortured than normal.
"As well as one might expect," Julian answered. The expression on his face spoke of indifference, but Bane felt the misery emitting from him. Out of all the Horsemen, Julian's cross was the hardest to bear because he had compassion for the innocents he infected.
Bane had learned long ago to ignore the pleas of the dead. There wasn't anything he could do to save them. Lives were many times forfeited without right or reason, and he was only the transporter. The only life he hadn't taken was Tierra's by refusing to take her soul and that of their unborn child, giving her sisters precious time to heal her. His refusal to transport their souls would not have saved them from dying, but would have left them to languish as spirits with no destination. A worse sin in his experience, but a risk he'd been willing to take in order to save them. A completely selfish decision on his part, if he were to be perfectly honest.
"We expected you back much sooner than this." Bane filled a tumbler with tequila and was surprised when Julian asked him to pour another. There had only been a few times he'd seen Julian drink something stronger than wine. He hadn't wanted to see it again.
"Want to talk about it?" Bane handed him the glass of Patrón and settled into the chair adjacent to Julian's. His cravat was absent, his normally impeccable suit smudged and wrinkled, and Bane thought he noticed a tear in the fabric near the hem.
Dru and Nick entered the library before Julian could unload. He drank instead. "Gods, this is nasty poison. It tastes like dirt." He shuddered.
"Why isn't he nursing the grape juice?" Nick asked. "Did things go to shit in Africa?"
"I guess that all depends on your perspective." Julian got up from his chair and struggled out of his jacket, tossing it aside as though he didn't care. Bane shared a look with Nick and Dru when Julian reached into the cabinet for the bourbon. He held up the bottle—The Devil's Cut—and scoffed. "Seems appropriate, don't you think?" He grabbed a fresh glass, gathered the bottle, and fell into his chair.
"What the hell happened?" Dru asked.
"First, I have a question I want answered," Julian said. "One that I have been laboring with since this whole business began. Why are we doing this?"
Nick was the first to speak, "We took an oath—"
"And where is this deity who accepted our pledge, our obedience?" Julian interrupted. "Has anyone seen her in a thousand years, two thousand? We have been forsaken by the Goddess, seduced by the Devil, and, in my case, cursed. "
"What is this, a pity party?" Dru asked.
Slowly Julian filled his glass with bourbon. He didn't answer until he'd drained it. "You haven't seen the suffering I have, been responsible for wiping out countless innocents. I don't want to do this anymore."
"So you're what, tucking tail?Quitting?" Nick asked. "Yielding to the wishes of that witch because you don't have the balls to kill her? This isyourcalling,ourmission. It's not something you get to choose to set it aside when it gets tough."
Julian leapt out of his chair, the glass hitting and shattering on the hard wood. He grabbed Nick by the throat and slammed him against the wall. "Tough? You think where I have been, what I have been doing wastough? It was horrendous, unspeakable.Inhumane."
