Banishing the Dark
Page 67

“Six months.”
I covered my mouth with my hand. “You haven’t taken me in like a refugee. I live here.”
“Since October.”
My brain fired through all the missing pieces of my memories, thinking back to the first day of our road trip, when he was quizzing me on the way to Golden Peak. “Oh. My memory loss isn’t a holdover from my coma, and I didn’t get drunk that night.”
He groaned, exhaling heavily as he draped a forearm over his eyes. “No.”
“H-hold on. This has the stink of dirty magick all over it. You did a memory spell on me!”
“It wasn’t my idea.”
Anger flared. “Whose idea was it, then?”
He lifted his arm briefly to squint an accusing look at me.
Crap. I bit the inside of my mouth. “I asked you to?”
“Argued it until I couldn’t see any other option.”
Oh. That did sound like me. “Why?” But as soon as I said it, I knew. “My mother. To keep you out of danger.” But that didn’t seem like Lon. He was too proud, too selfless, to care about his own safety. The only person he’d worry over would be—“And Jupe. To keep Jupe safe, too.” That sounded right, but there was something he wasn’t telling me.
“The spell is temporary,” he explained. “We wanted to keep certain things out of your mind in case your mother tapped into your dreams. And since she did exactly that last night, and the spell was active, then I guess it was the right decision. I just didn’t know it would be so broad.”
“You didn’t expect me to forget about us.”
“We didn’t expect that. We.”
Right. Because this was my idea. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want to risk you remembering everything.”
“Like now.”
He grunted.
I fell onto my back beside him and stared up at the pendant lights dangling from the library’s ceiling. Had I done this before? Had crazy monkey sex with him on this rug? It was surreal to think about and gave me a nasty headache. Yep. That was magick, all right. Pretty freaking good magick if I hadn’t realized it until now. Then again, Lon always could work a decent memory spell.
My arm bumped his. I immediately heard an erratic mix of angsty emotions, from regret to begrudged resignation to something that felt a lot like guilt. And that’s when the other emotion jumped back into my head, the warm-honey feeling I couldn’t identify before, only this time it had an undertaste of ache.
I pushed up and leaned over his face, pulling his arm away from his eyes. “Lon Butler, you’re in love with me.”
He reached up and ran his fingers along my clavicle. “Nope.”
“Liar.”
“You’re just some girl who shows up for dinner and ends up hogging all the covers.”
“Double liar.”
“And you aren’t in love with me, either. You just stick around because I’ve got money and a nice cock.”
“It is pretty nice,” I admitted.
Merriment sparkled behind his squinting eyes. “You seem to be fond of my kid, too, but I really can’t figure that one out.”
“Well, that’s . . . that’s—”
My mouth fell open again. I kicked my leg over his hips and straddled him.
“Where is it?” I said, reaching for the chain around his neck.
He grabbed my hands. “Hold on, Cady.”
“No, you hold on. Let me see it. Now.”
We wrestled for a moment, but he finally gave in and scooted it around the chain from where it had twisted to his back. There it was. That big-ass stone swirling with gold and green.
“I saw it last night, when you passed out on the bed after the snakebite. I thought it was Yvonne’s.”
“Yvonne’s ring was normal,” he said quietly.
“No halo.”
“No halo. And she ‘lost’ it a couple of years before we got divorced, which probably meant she sold it for drug money. But either way, it’s long gone.”
“Oh.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
I felt the grin coming on, and I just couldn’t stop it. “That’s my ring.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He calmly shifted me from his stomach to his thighs so he could sit up. The ring swayed on its chain.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.
“You think so?” Oh, the feeling of pleased satisfaction that fluttered through him. I could enjoy him feeling that for days and never get tired of it.
“I’m sure I’ve oohed and ahed over it already.”
One brow lifted. “Not quite.”
“I turned you down?”
“Christ, I hope not.”
“Oh, shit. You haven’t asked me yet.”
He confirmed my horror with a clucking noise. “Things have been busy around here, in case you haven’t noticed. I’d originally planned to give it to you in France a week or so ago, but our trip got waylaid.”
Holy shit. That was the reason for the déjà vu sensation I felt when we were talking about vacations. “You gave me plane tickets for Christmas. The French Alps. We joked about it—sex vacation.”
“You remember that?”
“Barely.” I squeezed my eyes shut and groaned. “Oh, Lon. I’m so sorry I spoiled it.”