The guilt she’d felt moments ago over her disloyal thoughts in regards to her family were nothing compared to the knife that twisted in her chest as she took in Griff’s expression. Her belly doing a flip-flop, she jerked out of Logan’s embrace. The pickax in her skull morphed into a jackhammer and she yelped.
“Easy there, sugar.”
Trying not to feel self-conscious about Logan’s hand massaging the base of her neck, she watched Griff’s speedy advance. Concern had wiped all traces of wounded disbelief from his features. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s sufferin’ a nasty bit of spell-breaker blues.”
Griff dropped onto one knee and tipped her face upward. He mumbled a curse, and she wondered just how awful she looked. On a scale of one to ten, she probably scored a twenty.
“Gloria’s gettin’ her fixed up. Our girl will be right as rain before we know it.”
Griff’s attention swerved to Logan. He didn’t say anything, but she suspected the tension bordering his mouth had something to do with Logan calling her our girl. “Good. Make sure she drinks all of it.” He started to shove to his feet, and she grabbed his hand.
Battling against the queasiness and anxiety making her miserable, she twined her fingers with Griff’s. “Please stay.” She knew she sounded desperate and needy, but the idea of him walking away right now was unbearable.
He hunkered back down and cupped her cheek. “I can’t. Clarissa is in the library with the guild leader. She’s requested a word with me.”
“Guild?”
His smile slipped into place, a reassuring sight. “I’ll tell you all about them when I’m done. Or if you’re really impatient to hear more about the pains-in-the-asses, I’m sure Logan would be willing to fill you in.” He kissed her—not quite as platonically as Logan—and stood. She watched him stride from the room before slumping against the edge of the table.
Catching Logan’s all-too-knowing stare, she sighed. “Okay, so tell me about the guild.”
Logan eased back in his seat and draped his arm along the table. “They’re the governing body of the National Alliance of Witches. Or as I fondly refer to them from time to time—the hairy wart on the ass of humanity.”
Despite realizing she’d pay dearly for it, she laughed, and promptly groaned at the accompanying power drills commencing a demolition inside her head. Slamming her eyes shut, she dug her knuckles into the ridge of her brow. She detected the sound of Logan’s chair scraping against the floor, but she didn’t dare risk the wrath of the spell-breaker blues to check on what he was doing.
“Why don’t you rest your head on the table here while I see if Gloria’s got your potion ready?”
Slurring an incoherent reply, she took Logan up on his suggestion and whimpered in relief when the agony lessened. She could still hear the staccato beat of her temples pounding, but that was a minor unpleasantness she’d gladly endure compared to earlier. A cool breeze ruffled across her skin and she shivered.
“Jemma…”
That was quick. Setting her teeth against the inevitable pain, she pried one eye open. The blurry outline of a man’s face hovered above the table. Yelping, she snapped her head up, paying little mind to the resulting brain spasm. Who the hell cared about that when a freakin’ floating head was staring at her?
“We don’t have much time. Already I hear her coming.”
She gaped into the washed-out blue eyes watching her so somberly. “Who?” A part of her couldn’t believe she was engaging in conversation with a bodiless apparition. Then again, this was probably all just a delusion. No doubt she’d succumbed to a brain aneurism and was currently drooling all over herself in a fetal position.
“That isn’t important.” The face drifted close enough she could see the faint outline of the numerals 3 and 7 branded into the man’s forehead. “There is a way to defeat her and save us all.”
She frowned. “Are you talking about Nettie?”
“Yes. The answer rests beneath the horned goat. I can’t tell you more or she will know and stop you.” A look of overwhelming terror flashed across the disembodied face. “She comes now. Gorasola. Say it twice as she rises.”
Oh good Lord. Could he be more cryptic? “I don’t understand—”
The face shimmered and defragmented like a plasma screen with horrible picture distortion before completely vanishing. Mystified, she stared at the empty window of space until the thud of approaching boots captured her attention. Logan frowned at her over the heavy vapor cloud of steam rising from the mug he carried. “Sugar, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She gulped. “I think I just did.”
Chapter Twelve
Domino Blanchard had gone all out in ensuring she’d dressed the part of reigning matron of the witches’ alliance. Garbed in a sleek black silk pantsuit that made her skin glow like fine porcelain, she exuded an air of ageless, regal authority. Ensconced in the armchair beside her, mousy little Willa Jameson—Domino’s personal secretary—studiously tapped away on her laptop, logging the proceedings for posterity.
“You’re certain that the spell breaker took affect?” Domino threw the question to Clarissa. “There are no lingering threads linking Jemma to Antoinette?”
Clarissa dragged her nails through her hair before scowling and dropping her hands. “All links are broken. I made sure of it.”
“That may very well be.” Domino sipped at her coffee. Wrinkling her nose as if the beverage offended her, she relegated the cup to the corner of the desk.
Clarissa’s mouth rolled in a tight line. Griffin silently applauded her willpower. Bad enough Domino had taken over Clarissa’s prized desk. She’d doubled the slight by setting the hot mug on its surface without a coaster, something that undoubtedly had Clarissa grinding her teeth behind those clenched lips.
Domino tucked a lock of her chin-length platinum hair behind her ear. “However, we both know that no magic in existence is going to untangle blood ties.”
Anger spiked through Griffin. “Jemma had no contact with Nettie before yesterday. Whatever blood exists between them is diluted to the point of irrelevance.”
Domino’s assessing gaze swept him. He held steady, refusing to cower in the face of it. She clucked her tongue. “You truly are blinded by your feelings for your charge if you believe that, something else we must speak of following this business of Jemma.”
“Hell, why wait?” Frustrated by the paces she’d put him through for the past half hour, he threw his arms out. “Why not get down to the dirty and tell me what punishment you have in store for me?”
“Griffin.”
He met Clarissa’s gaze and was surprised at the soft entreaty in her eyes. It provided a marked contrast to the sharp note of warning that’d underscored her tone. He gave an imperceptible shake of his head that he knew only she would pick up on. She closed her eyes, a weary sigh leaking free.
He returned his attention to Domino. “Go ahead. Lay it on me.”
One of the matron’s perfectly groomed brows arched. “Spoken like someone who has no fears of the answer he might receive.”
“Should I be?”
“You disobeyed a sacred law and as a result set in motion a zombie apocalypse. What do you think?” Domino smoothed the sleeve of her jacket and crossed one knee over the other, adopting the pose of a woman confident of her power. “You’re being sent back to Familia Tacchi ’Loa. For good.”