Lilith Saintcrow - Watcher 02 - Storm Watcher

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STORM WATCHER

Lilith Saintcrow

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

For Tricia and Ali,

with love.

Other books by Lilith Saintcrow

Dark Watcher

Storm Watcher

Coming in 2005

Fire Watcher

Cloud Watcher

The Society

Storm Watcher

***

Lilith Saintcrow

Storm Watcher Published by ImaJinn Books

ISBN: 1-933417048

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are

products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales

or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ImaJinn Books

P.O. Box 545,

Canon City, CO 81215-0545

Toll Free: 1-877-625-3592

http://www.imajinnbooks.com

Chapter One

Her face, chalk-white, smear of blood on one pale cheek, dark hair falling back. She fell, her

green dress fluttering, the silk making a small ripping sound as her fingers twisted, tearing the

material.

She fell.

“Theo!” A long, despairing scream. Rain lashed, stung her eyes. “Theo! No!”

She fell, and Mari’s throat swelled with the enormity of the scream. It tore out of her, rivaling the

thunder, and the Power rose, striking like a snake.

“Mari,” he said, quietly. “Wake up. It’s all right.”

Mariamne Niege struggled upwards. Darkness and rain, Theo’s pale and blood-streaked face, the

Darkness pressing close, full of teeth and claws. And his face, his familiar face, bloodless, eyes

blazing red through a merciful haze.

“Mari. Wake up.” His hands were on her shoulders, fingers biting in, the entire room rattled under the

lash of his voice. He must be upset. She opened her eyes. Blessed relief burst under her breastbone.

Awake. I’m awake. Just a dream. No, not just a dream. Gods.

The covers lay rumpled at the foot of the bed. She must have kicked them off. Mari blinked, choking

back a scream. He leaned on the edge of the bed, holding her shoulders, a darker shadow in the

darkness of her bedroom. “Shhh, hush, it’s all right. Just a dream, Mari. Breathe.” He sounded calm, as

usual. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. Just breathe.”

“Theo,” she gasped. “Theo—”

“It’s all right,” Hanson said, but his voice made the window rattle in its frame, made the bookshelves

groan. “Just relax, Mari. Okay? There’s nothing here. I promise.”

“Not yet,” she said, taking in a deep, jagged breath. “Not yet. But it kills Theo. And it’ll kill me, too.”

“Of course not.” He slowly let go of her shoulders, finger by finger. “Theo has Dante. And I won’t let

anything happen to you. You know that.”

Of course she knew. He was a Watcher. Her Watcher.

I’ve got a half-human man with guns sleeping on my couch. How on earth did this happen?

Mari shivered, a galvanic shudder racing under her skin.

The torn T-shirt she wore to bed did nothing to protect her from the chill in the air. “Why is it so cold?”

she finally asked, when her ragged breathing had eased and she could think without the trembling candle

flame of the future under her skin.

“I think your friend Brandon ‘forgot’ to pay the gas bill on time,” he answered. He almost touched her

shoulder, two fingertips hovering a bare half-inch from her skin. Heat flooded her. It was one of the

Watcher tricks. She’d seen Dante do it for Theo more than once. “You should move from here, Mari.”

“Where else could I go? I can’t afford a house, like Theo. Not until after school.” She pushed her hair

back from her face, grimacing as she peeled a curl away from her lips. Now she was comfortably warm,

and some small part of her was sneakingly grateful. If she’d been alone, sleep would have been

impossible for the rest of the night.

“I’m sure we could find something,” he said dryly, pulling the covers up. His long black coat moved

oddly in the darkness, as if it were a living thing riding his back. There was no slim shadow poking up

over his right shoulder, though, which meant he wasn’t carrying his sword. Had he been sleeping in his

coat?

Mari shivered. Past and present stay with me, future I wish not to see. It was a rhyme Suzanne had

taught her to keep the visions away.

Too bad it worked less and less. And Suzanne…

No. I don’t want to think about that.

But the vision of Suzanne rose, her arms lifted, the pale oval of silver light swallowing her whole. The

spell had wrecked everything. No matter that it had been necessary. The Crusade couldn’t enter the city

to hunt down psychic women, not as long as Mari, Theo, and Elise were the Guardians.

And Suzanne, watching from the other side of the Veil. Suzanne, who had given her life so her three

students could live safely.

It should have been me, Mari thought bleakly. It should have been me.

Hanson tucked her in efficiently and stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders drawn in to hide how

tall he was. The dimness shone off his pale hair, his eyes glowing briefly as he contemplated her. “There.

Safe and sound.” His tone was gentle. Mari shivered again, even though she wasn’t cold.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if the Watchers weren’t so unfailingly gentle, despite being armed to the

teeth. Mari had never heard Dante even raise his voice to Theo, and he meekly did whatever she told him

to do. Hanson was the same way. Mari had the sneaking suspicion he would throw himself off a bridge if

she asked. That’s the training, he’d explained to her once. Circle Lightfall trains us to protect and

to obey, Mari.

And of course the only time they ever disobeyed was when ‘safety’ was an issue.

“Thanks,” she managed, around the lump in her throat. “Hanson?”

“I’ll be on the couch,” he said. “We’ll find you another place to live tomorrow, Mari. If you’ll let me.”

“I can’t. They need me.” She closed her eyes. She could still see the Watcher’s fuming, dark red aura

printed inside her eyelids.

Her Watcher. What am I going to do about this? We can’t keep this up, him sleeping on the couch

and me…What am I doing? Just waiting. What am I waiting for?

Sometimes being a witch wasn’t comforting at all. Mari suspected if she asked the question out loud, the

answer would become depressingly obvious. It usually worked that way.

“I’ll be on the couch, Mari,” he repeated. “Call me if you need me.”

She watched behind her eyelids as the dark red glow faded, little by little, from the room. He went

slowly, probably reluctant to leave her. Mari took deep breaths—in through the nose, out through the

mouth—smelling leather, and male, and the scent of dark magick. He was so careful not to push her,

careful with her housemates, careful to stay out of sight while she was in class. So everlastingly,

frustratingly, mind-numbingly careful.

I wish he’d just ask me, so I could say no, and we could have it over with. But then again, I’m not

sure I would say no.

Mari kept breathing, her heartbeat slowing. The vivid images began to fade. That was one mercy; she

didn’t remember the visions in their gaudy Technicolor detail very often. But they were becoming far

more frequent. And the last three had been all the same.

It’s a true vision, not just a dream. Theo’s going to die. And so am I.

She stared at the darkness behind her lids until she fell into a thin, troubled sleep. If she dreamed again,

she did not remember it.

Chapter Two

Hanson heard Mari’s alarm go off, the loud sleep-shattering buzz prodding her out of bed. Heard her

curse as she hit the snooze button.

He waited, his eyes closed and his attention split between the defenses on the small house, the sound of

rain tapping on the roof and the subliminal sound of Mari breathing, cloth sliding against cloth as she

moved in bed. He forced himself to stay absolutely still, breathing evenly, silently.

Ten minutes passed, clicking away on the clock hung on the wall over the couch. Then the alarm went off

again.

“Oh, gods.” Mari groaned and hit the button again. Hanson found a smile tilting up the corners of his

mouth, dispelled it. He sat up, folded the blanket, and laced up his boots, tying them quickly. Then he

stood, stretching, hearing Mari slide out of bed and click the alarm fully off instead of to snooze. The

sound of rain against the roof intensified, as well as the sound of water coursing through the gutters.

He played his usual morning game. Let’s guess her mood. Well, she’s going to the bathroom first,

usual enough. But she’s touching the wall in the hall, and that means she’s tired. He yawned,

tasted sleep in his mouth, and grimaced. A little tingle of Power to clean off his teeth, a little more to clean

off his boots and coat. It reminded him of life on the streets. Only he hadn’t had magick then. He’d had

to live with being dirty.

Mari liked him clean, though. Though like might be too strong a word. She seemed to tolerate him better

when he engaged in basic hygiene.

He made his way into the kitchen, listening for her.

Brushing her teeth first? She must really be upset. There, there’s the shower. Thank the gods the

water heater’s electric. If she had to take a cold shower, she’d turn blue all over.

He had to take a deep breath, looking at the avocado Formica counter. The kitchen was ugly, but he

barely noticed. His hands moved automatically, getting Mari’s coffee jar from the freezer, measuring into

the filter, adding filtered water to the coffeemaker, putting the whole mess together. He strained his ears.

She just dropped the shampoo. Bad night. She’ll be worn thin today. Have to watch out for her.

When she’s tired those damn visions hit her hard.

The coffeemaker gurgled into life. Hanson ran his hand back through his hair, feeling it cover his fingers.

He grimaced again, tapping a knife hilt. Got to get my hair trimmed. Wish you could do that with

magick. Maybe Mari…

He listened intently. Three other people lived in this house. College students all, renting rooms from the

man who owned the house. Hanson didn’t like any of them. The feeling was emphatically mutual. The

house’s owner, a greasy lounge lizard, had made some trouble over Hanson staying—something about

leases and occupancy—until Mari had spoken with him.

Just thinking about standing in the landlord’s orange shag-carpeted living room, while Mari smiled and

pleaded very politely with the man in the skintight bell-bottomed jeans and polyester shirt unbuttoned

almost to the waist, made Hanson’s skin tighten with rage. Remembering the reek of cigarette smoke in

the air and the man’s greasy eyes lingering on Mari’s earnest face and tumbled blond curls was enough to

make a growl rise in his chest. He could have ended that problem with a single bullet, but the potential

trouble for Mari had canceled that scenario.

It was a pity.

Mari’s blue and green coffee cup rattled against the counter. The floor groaned.

A Watcher’s rage could tear this whole flimsy house down.

Careful, he told himself. Duty and honor, Watcher. Don’t make things harder than they already

are.

A Watcher’s first duty was protection. It was hard enough looking after a foolhardy water witch, but

Mari seemed to have no regard for her own safety. The fact that Mari’s precognitive visions were so

strong they overrode her conscious mind added another dimension to the task.

He heard the shower shut off and imagined water slicking down her blond hair, dripping from her skin.

Taking another deep breath, he rested his fingertips on the counter. Don’t, Hanson. Just do your job,

okay?

And that thought conjured up miserable images of Astrid, lying broken and bloody in the shattered

wreckage of her smoking house, her white scarf tangled and bloody around her throat.

He’d failed that time. Circle Lightfall had sent him to protect her, and he’d failed. A stray Dark predator

had broken open her house, witch-wards and all, torn her apart and drained the Light from her while

he’d been busy fighting off the Crusade. And he’d been too miserably late to stop it, afraid of making

further contact and frightening her again, hiding in the shadows because he’d been too clumsy.

The Dark rose inside Hanson’s bones, spikes of broken glass and barbed wire dragged along his nerves.

He shoved it down. “Dammit,” he said softly, not caring that he was speaking out loud. “Think about

something else, Watcher.”

He poured the coffee—milk and sugar for Mari, just black for himself—and waited a few moments until

he heard Mari banging about in the bedroom, dresser drawers slamming shut.

Let’s see. I’ll bet she’ll wear the blue sweater. She’ll be feeling cold today. I’ll also bet she’ll wear

that pair of jeans with the plaid patch on the knee. Boots, too. Probably the navy-blue coat, since

it’s raining. Two final exams today. No wonder she’s nervous.

When Mari finally came yawning into the kitchen, Hanson carefully handed her the cup of coffee. He

watched her take a sip and nod, blowing across the scalding liquid to cool it. “Thanks,” she said. “Did

you get any sleep?”

He nodded, pushing his hair back from his forehead. “It’s a comfortable couch.”

Mari’s expressive blue eyes met his. She had pulled her wet hair back into a ponytail, but as soon as it

dried, blond curls would tumble around her pretty face. She wore a threadbare blue sweater over a white

dress shirt, and a pair of jeans with a green plaid patch over one worn knee. Her earrings were

mismatched—one was a collection of tiny, blue crystal drops, and the other was a silver hoop. Four plain

bands of silver circled the fingers of her left hand.

Her head would barely reach his collarbone. Hanson found his mouth had gone dry. Blue eyes, slightly

cat-tilted, water-clear skin, her balanced cheekbones, and a wistful mouth all combined to make her

pretty when she was, as usual, solemn. It was when she truly smiled that the full measure of her beauty

came out, like the moon sliding out from behind clouds and glittering in still water. And of course, there

was the fact that she was a Lightbringer, glowing in the dark landscape of Power. The more Lightbringers

in a city, the less violent crime, the less unhappiness. They were gentle souls, the healers and teachers of

humanity, blessed with gifts normal people didn’t understand. Blessed, but persecuted by the Church and

hunted by the Dark, always in danger. If not for Circle Lightfall and the Watchers, there would be far

fewer Lightbringers in the world.

The shifting cloak of Power over Mari smelled of ocean and cinnamon, tides and spice. Since the spell

that made her and her friends Guardians of the city, the blue glow surrounding her had become ever more

visible to Hanson’s senses. And to the predators.

The Dark.

He pushed that thought away, too. This is going to be a day of unpleasant thoughts, he told himself,

and his fingers tightened on the coffee mug.

Mari was still studying his face. “I’m really sorry,” she said. “I can’t afford an apartment.” She glanced at

the other end of the kitchen. On that side of the house were the other three bedrooms, and her three

housemates who still slept. One of them, Brandon, was becoming more of a problem. The other two,

slightly psychic women attracted to Mari’s glow, were uneasy with Hanson and the unphysical smell of

Watcher he carried.

He had to try twice to talk through the lump in his throat. “It’s okay,” he said, unable to look away from

her face, from the fragile arc of her throat, the dark circles under her eyes. “I mean, Circle Lightfall could

help, but you don’t want that. Don’t worry, Mari. I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Maybe I could rent Elise’s other half of the duplex.” Mari looked down into her coffee cup. Then her

blue eyes came back up, fastened on his face. “But I can’t afford it, and she’s got bills to pay, too.”

“Mari.” He knew where this conversation was going. She would ask him what she was supposed to do.

He would make a suggestion, and she would back away, frightened, unless he dared to interrupt her. His

hands threatened to shake. If she kept looking at him that way, he would want to touch her jaw line,

skate his fingers over the softness of her skin, feel the narcotic jolt to his nerves. The temptation was

enough to make him start to sweat.

She sighed. “I know. All right. Look, I have my last two finals today, and I’ve got to get going.”

“Breakfast?” he offered.

The slight smile that touched her lips made his entire body tighten. “I’ll grab a pastry or two on the way. I

suppose you’re coming?”

That was an easy question to answer. “I’m your Watcher.

Where you go, I go.”

He meant to say it lightly, but her eyes widened and her smile faded. He could have kicked himself. Did I

have to remind her why she’s so afraid of me?

“Mari—”

“No,” she said at the same time, holding up her slim hand. He saw the blue traceries of veins in her wrist,

the delicate bones standing out under the skin. He stopped immediately, frozen in place. “Not another

apology, Hanson. It’s not your fault. I’m pretty certain of that.”

He waited until he could be absolutely sure she wasn’t going to speak again. Seconds ticked by, and he

heard another alarm clock go off. Gretchen’s, he guessed, by the annoying high-pitched buzz. “Mari?”

She finished her coffee in one scalding gulp, grimaced, and put the cup in the sink. “I’ve got to run. Come

on.”

He didn’t trust himself to speak again. He nodded, carried his own cup to the sink, dumping the rest of

the coffee out, and then set about rinsing the cups while she went back to her room to fetch her

backpack and books. The kitchen was pristine again except for the lingering smell of coffee. Hanson

looked down at his shaking hands.

Control. He watched as his fingers slowly went still again. His hands were scarred and callused, one

small healing scrape across the back of his left wrist from the Slider he’d dispatched yesterday. His

fingers were thicker, blunter, his palms ridged with the calluses of sword and knife. And the other

calluses, from trigger and recoil. Not like Mari’s slim fingers and beautiful, cupped palms. Okay.

Control. You got it.

When she came back, shrugging into her heavy wool coat, he held her backpack for her. “I’ll carry your

books,” he said, as he did every morning.

“Thanks,” she said, as she had every morning since he’d been allowed into her house. “Just don’t drop

them this time, okay?”

“Given the choice between dropping a book and seeing you hurt, Mari, I’d drop a book every time.” He

tried to say it lightly, but failed.

“You’re so serious,” she told him, blond curls already beginning to spring free and tumble around her

face. She was pale today, dark shadows under her blue eyes, a vertical line between her dark-blond

eyebrows. “Lighten up a little, okay?”

He nodded. If you wanted me to, I’d dance a jig right here. Just ask, Mari. Ask me for something,

anything. “Okay.”

She examined him for a few more moments, and then took her backpack, her hand brushing his.

A spike of narcotic pleasure jolted all the way down to his bones. Lightbringer, he thought, staring at

her bowed head while she slung her backpack over her shoulder and sorted through the stack of books,

taking four of the heaviest. “Gods,” she mumbled. “Just a little more work on that thesis, and I can get a

real job and get up early to slave for a wage instead of paying to do it.”

He took the books, both hoping and fearing the brush of her fingers again. It was better than being

around other Lightbringers. They made the Dark melded to a Watcher’s flesh hurt, as if rusted spikes

were being driven through his nerves. It was every Watcher’s dream to find a Lightbringer whose

presence didn’t hurt. One that could actually stop the agony.

Most Watchers never made it that far. They fell to the Dark or died of despair. To find the witch that

could actually ease the pain of being a Watcher was like opening up a Cracker Jack box and finding a

million-dollar lottery ticket inside. Especially since almost every Watcher had only one last chance to

redeem himself.

Hanson’s last chance was flipping through the leftover books, making sure she didn’t need any. “Okay.”

She glanced up at him. “Hanson?”

He shook himself into full awareness, adjusting his long black leather coat so it hung correctly, hiding

most of his weaponry. He would have to check with Dante. Things had been too quiet lately. Never

trust the quiet, the Watchers said. “Yes?”

“Just checking. Come on, I’m almost late.”

Just checking? Like I’d be anywhere else. He followed her down the hall and out the door, determined

not to make any mistakes today.

Chapter Three

Rain spattered the library windows, but inside mellow electric light lay quietly against bookshelves and

bowed heads, students studying or catching a quick nap. Mari tucked a stray curl behind her ear and

walked up to the checkout desk, hitching her backpack a little higher on her shoulder. She wasn’t wet.

The walkway between here and the Dolroyle building was covered. Two back to back, hour-and-a-half

final exams and a bolted sandwich in the cafeteria, another quick gulp of coffee, and she had four and a

half hours to work on her thesis before she had to get to the Rowangrove to help Theo put out some new

stock.

“Hey, doll face.” Crutcher pushed her steel-rimmed glasses up on her wrinkled forehead. “Back for

another go at that thesis?”

“Got two pages to go and the rest of the bibliography to finish out,” Mari said, smiling. The smile was

genuine, relief and fresh worry. Brewstonski and his essay questions. The man should be barred from

teaching. Mari accepted the stack of books and papers, letting out a slight groan at their weight. “Then

I’m free for a few weeks’ worth of biting my fingernails until the exam results come in.”

“Well, you’re bound to carry through. What’s your G?” Crutcher’s pink lacquered acrylic nails drummed

on the counter. I don’t know why they call her the Dragon Lady. Mari’s smile widened. She’s

perfectly nice.

“Three nine seven,” Mari confided. “Would have been a four point, but Brewstonski nailed me on an

exam two quarters ago and that was half the course grade. He saw reason when I quoted one of his own

books back to him to prove him wrong, but I only barely squeaked through. He almost cost me a

scholarship.”

“He’s a bastard,” Crutcher agreed. “He sends students away in tears. Man’s a sadist. Did you want that

copy of Cicero’s De Amicus?”

Mari’s heart leapt against her ribs. “You got it?” she whispered. “Really?” Then her face fell. “Oh, damn.

If I get it now I’ll never finish that bibliography. How about I work like a demon for the next four hours

and take the Cicero at the end of that?”

“Stronger woman than me.” Crutcher’s thin lips tilted into a brief smile, her crimson lipstick feathering at

the edges. “I’d have said to hell with the thesis. Probably why I’m a librarian. I’ll keep it safe for you,

never fear. Where is your young man today?”

The question was like a pinch in a sore spot. Mari shrugged, hoping she didn’t look too guilty. Crutcher

always asked about Hanson, seemingly fascinated by him. “Around, I guess. I don’t know.” The thought

that he was probably watching her right now, maybe somewhere out in the rain, invisible to any of the

nonpsychic people, didn’t send a shiver up her spine. Instead, it was oddly comforting. “He might be

along later. Why?”

“No reason. Just wondered.” But Crutcher’s sharp, watery eyes were a little bit too narrowed. “Well, go

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