I did the same before rolling onto my feet. My hands, knees, and shins were caked with loamy soil.
“Where’s the nearest hose?” I asked. Diego gestured toward the kitchen. Maritza and I followed him through the double doors.
Chapter 7
What was it about the brain—Magical, human, other—that equated the presence of death with the desire for sex?
Ripping my gaze off the mesmerizing sight of water streaming over Bas’s thighs and onto the sisal mat by the kitchen’s exterior door, I instructed him to hold the hose over my arms as I rinsed my hands. The fact that the skin around my breasts was tightening under my dress had nothing to do with the cold water sluicing dirt from my limbs. The man had the rangy build of a swimmer and arousal was a river running through me
“Why did you disrobe?” I asked. Bas spiraled his torso to one side and reached for the faucet. I might have stifled a whimper. Did I need to know he had a front V and a back V?
He caught me staring, then turned his attention to winding the hose in big loops before letting it flop in a pile. “Blood and dirt do not go well with linen.”
I shook the water off my fingertips and held my arms away from my body like an inky cormorant airing its wings. Bas had managed to keep his assets mostly dry. The pale cast of his skin invited me to dance, much as I had with Mictlantecuhtli. One step closer and the sculpted planes of his smooth, hairless chest would be—
“Alabastair, Berto’s getting restless.” Diego’s voice, an unwelcome intrusion from behind the screen door, couldn’t distract me from the rivulet forking a line of watery lightning across Bas’s sternum. I leaned forward and smeared a fingertip through the closest droplet. His nipples, two small, perfect rounds of brownish pink, pebbled.
My apprentice took in a short, sharp gasp before cupping my chin. “Mari,” he said. “Please, not here, not now.”
I nodded and moved inside. Heriberto, who had arrived here with the intention of following my sister into death, was shrouded by shriveled rootlets and desiccated leaves. And he continued to breathe on his own.
Alabastair joined Carlos and Diego where they crouched to either side of Berto. I went to James and whispered in his ear, “Your daughter may be able to supply what is needed to rejuvenate at least a few of your brave little plants. Would you like to let her try?”
He squeezed me to his side and tapped at his chest, fingers splayed. “I would. Much as I wish a happier life for Heriberto, had I understood how Alabastair intended to use them, I would have grabbed the damn marigolds. We always have plenty of marigolds.”
“You chose well,” I said. “Cosmos grows wild throughout central Mexico. Perhaps Heriberto will recognize the flower’s scent.”
Diego went to the sideboard and returned with an elaborate sterling silver ash butler and brush. He handed the items to Alabastair, and said, “There’s a receptacle in the pantry I think will accommodate all of the dirt. I’ll fetch it.”
I released James and went to my apprentice. “Do you have something in mind for the potting soil and what’s left of the plants?”
“I do.” From his crouch, he extended his arm and began to brush away the remnants of the Resuscitation.
“Might I have a few of the least-depleted seedlings for Leilani to practice on?”
“Be my guest. As soon as I finish sweeping him off, your brother and Diego will settle Heriberto in the guest room downstairs and give him a sponge bath. He’s likely to sleep for twelve to fifteen hours. I suggested the use of light restraints in case he tries to escape and do himself in by some other means.”
“Malvyn will use appropriate spells and a gentle hand, I’m sure,” I said, separating out handfuls of soil and plant matter. “I want to put these in a container. Perhaps you’ll join me for a cognac before we…talk?”
The tremor that passed through Bas’s body did not escape my notice. “I’ll get dressed.”
Alabastair re-entered the room fully clothed, spoke with Diego while the majordomo continued to sweep up the detritus left behind by Heriberto, then searched for—and found—me.
He settled soundlessly on the floor to my side. Leather groaned as he leaned against the sturdy chair. “Heriberto should be fine by tomorrow,” he said. “He needs someone to look after him, Maritza. His lack of personal hygiene is alarming.”
“We will see to his care.” I ran my hand over Bas’s shaved head, tracing his faint coronal and sagittal suture lines with my fingertip. Aside from the odd, greenish cast to his skin, he was unmarked by piercings or tattoos. “With you here to help us recover Moira’s ghost, he might find the inner strength to carry on.”
“Consider it done,” he said, accepting the snifter I offered. He swirled the cognac and leaned back on one hand. I had to twist sideways in my chair to see his face. The confidence with which he spoke, and the intelligence in his eyes, stole my breath. I almost missed his next words.
“I have always had a plan for my life, Maritza. My parents set goals. I set goals. I met those goals.” He turned his attention from his glass to me. “And I have always exceeded expectations.
“In reading what little I could find online about the Demesne, I have to say up front that the idea of being beholden to a familial…curse terrifies me.”
“As it does me.” I uncrossed my legs, tapped at the sole of his shoe with the pointed toe of mine, and sipped at my Croizet. “I live in the moment, Alabastair, and those moments cross dimensions. I am a mistress of needles, and of threads, and
