Possession-Blood Ties 2 by Jennifer Armintrout Page B

limped to the refrigerator and opened it, then sniffed a potentially suspicious carton of orange juice. It seemed safe enough. But his balance was not. He slammed the carton on the counter, grabbing the edge for support, but tumbled to the floor. The Mouse was at his side in an instant, helping him to his feet and guiding him to a chair.
    “I don’t need your help,” he sniped, but accepted it anyway. The Mouse took a glass from the cabinet, then, almost as an afterthought, grabbed another. Her hands shook as she poured the juice.
    He considered offering some comfort to her, but dismissed it. He’d already been kind to her, and he didn’t want it to become a habit. “On the news, they said they’ve called off the search for the three of you. And the church has burned down.”
    “That’s impossible.” She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “They must have been talking about something else.”
    “Stacey Pickles?” He watched the recognition flash in her eyes before he continued. “They think you died in the desert.”
    “They’re looking for me?” Hope, then bleak terror crossed her face. “Why do they think this place has burned down?”
    “I don’t know. There are spells, called glamours, that make a person see what the caster wishes them to see. But to make a whole building disappear, and do it convincingly to fool many people…that takes power I don’t believe exists.” He shook his head. “Are you going to give me any of that juice?”
    She came forward slowly, like a wild animal unaccustomed to humans, and set the glass carefully before him. “They brought you back from the dead. They must know something you don’t.”

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    The very notion that she would speak to him so boldly struck him as ridiculous. He laughed and took a long swallow from his glass. The juice was as thick as blood, but cold and with an unpleasant texture. “I can’t get used to this.”
    “To what?” She didn’t sound as if she cared.
    That alone made him wonder why he’d spoken to her at all. The solitude, he guessed, not only of the last few days, but his long death, as well. It was enough to keep him talking.
    “Living like a human. It’s been so long since I’ve had to fuel my body with food and liquid. It’s unpleasant.”
    “No. What will be unpleasant is starving to death when the food runs out.” Her expression was grim.
    “That won’t happen. At least, not to me,” he said by way of reassurance. “Your life depends on it, remember. You’re supposed to be caring for me.”
    She looked insulted. “I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about me. They’re not going to worry about keeping me alive after they’re done with you.”
    He pulled one of the chairs from the flimsy Formica table and sat. “And what, exactly, is it they’re going to do with me?”
    “I don’t know.” She chewed her lip. “Something bad.”
    “Madame, your powers of perception astound me.” He closed his eyes, mind working furiously. What he needed was a plan, some currency to bargain with the Fangs for information. What he needed was—
    “You talk funny. Where are you from?”
    What he needed was for the Mouse to stop talking. “England. But most recently I was confined to a watery blue purgatory. I don’t remember the address.” He paused. “Were you there? When they did the ritual?”
    Her eyes grew hollow and faraway again. Her voice came out in a whisper. “Yes.”
    “What did they do?” Cyrus pulled another chair from the table and motioned to her to sit.
    “Were there specific words they said? Did they read them from a book?”
    She remained frozen in place, staring blankly at the tabletop. There was a ring from a cup there, and she seemed to have fixated on it. “I don’t remember.”
    He tamped down his impatience. It wouldn’t do to frighten her again, not when she’d begun to communicate