Finder (The Watchers #6) - Lilith Saintcrow Page 0,2

Rust wouldn’t notice the sudden increase in her visions; it was one more worry for a man who had plenty.

Now he would probably report it in debriefing, and Sarah would be concerned. The other Seers would be, too.

They’ll ask me if I want to move into the safehouse, and I’m going to have to say no. Then there will be that silence, the one that says I’m hurting their feelings and being stubborn. Though of course, they’ll be too polite to say anything.

There really wasn’t an answer that wouldn’t take them over old territory, so she decided to change the subject. “I’m going to miss you.” The heat was welcome, and her shudders eased. The peppermint in the tea helped too. “You’re a good Watcher.”

Of course, he didn’t press. No Watcher would. “Thank you.” He stood by the door, shoulders slumped, the long coat blurring his outline. The sword hilt rising over his left shoulder—he was one of those rarities, a left-handed Watcher—shifted slightly as he leaned against the wall. “I’ll miss your cooking, if they put me on patrol again.”

It was an attempt at humor, and she welcomed it. When he’d arrived, gaunt from the strain of the death, destruction, and mayhem Watchers were forced to face on a near-daily basis, he’d been almost nonverbal. It didn’t help that he’d signed up for it, that he’d been willing. No man entered Circle Lightfall’s combat arm unless he outright begged for the job.

But even willingness didn’t help when you saw what the Dark was capable of. Some creatures were just hungry, but others . . . well, they liked causing pain.

It made everything taste better.

She suppressed a shudder. Maybe she could get some more sleep tonight, if she stopped brooding. Her shoulders relaxed, her heart easing into a steadier rhythm. “It’s good to have an appreciative audience.” She took another sip, found the tea had cooled enough to only scald her halfway instead of instantly. Small mercies. “We’ll trim your hair tomorrow too, before we go.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Jorie.” Quietly, softly, as if he wasn’t the one carrying the guns and knives. Living with a Watcher was like being in a warm safe blanket—except when violence erupted or the Dark came too close. “I’m going to check the neighborhood. Unless you need me.”

I wish I didn’t need a Watcher. But I’m glad you’re here. “No, I’m all right. Thanks for the tea.”

“No problem. I’ll be back in a bit.” He straightened. The rectangle of glow in the bedroom door waned as he slid through, and she felt him on the stairs, his aura tightly controlled and contained as he tested the wards on the house yet again. Each Watcher got a little nervous near the end of a six-month stint, checking and rechecking her neighborhood for signs of Dark contamination that could rear up and cause problems for the next fellow on guard duty.

And, not so incidentally, treating her like spun glass, bolstering the protections on her little house, and just generally acting jumpy. Statistically, it was the most dangerous time for a witch under guard; any change in routine was hazardous. Six-month shifts were just long enough for the Watchers to get comfortable, long enough to treat all but the most stubborn cases of despair—and short enough that a number of Watchers got a chance to meet and possibly bond with a witch.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” she murmured, swirling hot, fragrant liquid in her mug. “I just wish it was a bit easier on them.”

I wish I could fix a location on these dreams, too. Is it the strain finally showing, or am I picking up something terrible? I wish I knew.

That was the trouble with Jorie’s brand of Seer’s talent. She could Find just about anything—provided, of course, she knew it was lost—but the flashes that came unbidden were all gruesome. Most of them were what the Seers called “slippage,” high-resolution surround-sound pictures of things that merely had a high probability of occurring. Slippage didn’t usually tell you how to prevent anything; it just let you anticipate the worst and hold your breath. Seeing was difficult and risky, made even more so by the fact that the future wasn’t absolutely certain.

There’s always a bit of wiggle room, Dorinda’s voice said inside Jorie’s head, a comforting memory from long-ago basic training after the Circle had found her in college. We like the wiggle room. A practiced Seer can even very gently, very delicately, tip