Cort leaned into Grey’s side and dropped a kiss on his jaw. “We will.”
With his powers, John was a threat to all humanity. And he was a threat to the Weavers because they never knew where the next attack was going to come from.
Clay looked at Wiley. “I haven’t found anything about John in the journals. Have you?”
Calder’s heart picked up a little at the mention of the journals that had been left behind by the Weavers Circle’s previous incarnations. He’d asked Wiley if there were any from the previous Water Weavers, but there were none. It was hard to believe, but then considering the small number found, it was likely that a good number had been lost or destroyed over the centuries. It would have been nice to know if the previous Water Weavers had suffered through problems with previous Fire Weavers.
Wiley shook his head to Clay’s question. “I haven’t seen a lot of details about past pestilent leaders, and the ones that have been mentioned have been killed off.”
“Damn,” Clay said softly.
Calder cleared his throat. “We need to find the last Weaver.”
“The goddesses are out looking for him now,” Wiley said as he ran his hand through his bright, blond hair. “I’m guessing that’s why we haven’t seen them recently.”
Flo, Jo, and Willie appeared as strange old women with wildly different personalities, but they had also gifted the Weavers part of their own magic in an effort to stop the pestilents. Almost like their own personal fairy godmothers.
They had been missing for a month, diligently searching for the Air Weaver. Willie was holding his powers much as she had Calder’s own abilities with water. He wished he’d had more time with Willie—he had so many questions.
But they needed the last Weaver in order to stop the pestilents for good. Unfortunately, in the past when the former Weavers had gathered, they’d all been killed. But this time, they had aces in the holes—soul mates who inherited powers of their own once they bonded to their Weaver.
Thinking of soul mates made him remember that thread between him and Lucien. A faded, tangled line. There was some kind of connection between them, but what? Not for the first time, he wished the past Weavers had found their soul mates, wished they had left more information.
But wishing was a waste of his time. He looked around the room at these men who had become so important to him. His brain still couldn’t make sense of it. He’d never felt such ties to anyone before. They were a family of sorts. Brothers.
And those brothers relied on him to keep his head.
They were right. Fighting with Lucien did put them all in danger. He made a vow then. To work this out with Lucien once and for all.
But not with sex.
Chapter Three
Lucien used a screwdriver to open the first can of warm beige paint. He’d dressed in his oldest jeans and a ratty, black T-shirt. Why ruin good clothes? He’d never been good at painting. In fact, he hated the activity with a passion.
But Clay wanted him to do this. Wanted him to find a way to get along with the Water Weaver.
Calder kneeled next to him and picked up the can to pour the paint into the pan. He’d set the rollers and brushes on the covered floor. Plastic crinkled under his knees as he shifted. The sharp smell of fresh paint filled the room. Dane had masked off the trim and the floor before bringing the paint in. Everything was ready.
He eyed Calder—who was studiously ignoring him—taking in his gorgeous Japanese features. Calder had mentioned inheriting his blue eyes from his white mother, but that was about all he knew about the man. “So…we’re supposed to talk,” Lucien started, trying his best for a neutral tone
Calder glanced up at him and nodded, his lips tight.
“That means you can’t keep ignoring me.”
Sighing, Calder stood and looked down at him. “What do you want to talk about? That we have some kind of strange connection or the fact that we can’t get along no matter how much I try? You…irk me.” His brow bunched and his nose wrinkled as if there was something distasteful about it all. “And I’m not used to being…irked.”
“Irk?” Lucien cracked a lazy grin. “Love that word.” And maybe he liked it even more that Calder had chosen it.
“Well, it fits.”
It was interesting to watch the storm gathering on Calder’s expressive face. For once, his own ready anger was nowhere to be found, and he could watch his companion in an almost detached fashion. He didn’t deny that he’d mercilessly picked on Calder. He didn’t entirely understand it himself. Was it because he had this incredibly expressive face? No matter how hard he tried, Lucien could read Calder’s every emotion as if he were thumbing through a book.
“Why do you always have to snap at me? Snarl at me? Why can’t you try being friendly?” the Water Weaver continued now that he’d worked himself into a good lather.
“I’m trying now,” Lucien replied, holding on to his same, easygoing tone.
Truth was, he had no idea why Calder rubbed him the wrong way. Part of it was attraction—he was honest enough to admit that. Calder was just his type with his trim, tight body.
Problem was, that attraction pissed him off. Why want something that he couldn’t have? He was supposed to be seeking a soul mate he didn’t even want, and instead, he was drawn to someone who was supposed to be more like a brother. It fucked with his head.
But that was his problem. Not Calder’s. He needed to stop taking his frustrations out on the man. It wasn’t fair to him or the rest of the Circle who had to live with them.
Lucien dropped his eyes to the paint, searching for a roller to use. They could be civil. He knew they could do this. “So, talk to me. Tell me about where you grew up.”
“Southern California, close to the water, which I was always drawn to.” He snorted. Lucien looked up in time to see a smile twist across his lips and his eyes roll in self-mockery. “Now I know why.”
Water Weaver who was drawn to water. Imagine that.
“You surf, right?”
Calder nodded. “Since I was pretty young. Stood on my first board when I was eight, and never stopped after that. I used to skip school to surf, and that was the only thing that could pull me away from school. I loved it. Loved learning.”
“Yeah, I noticed you read a lot. Especially those spell books.”
Calder shrugged as he took the pan filled with paint and one of the rollers to the far wall. “It’s not so much about the spells, but the journals that contain glimpses of our past lives. What we were like. What the pestilents were like. Snapshots of a lost time. Have you read any of them?”
Lucien replaced the lid he’d removed and lightly hammered it with a mallet to save them from a potentially horrible accident later. He gave a shrug. “I skimmed through a couple.”
“I heard there were none from the past Fire Weavers,” Calder said softly.
“It’s not really me.” Calder shot him a questioning glance, and Lucien huffed. “I know it’s my soul in a previous life, but that person didn’t live the life that I’ve lived now. So, it’s me but not.”
“There aren’t any from the past Water Weavers either,” Calder continued, his voice slightly sullen. Lucien’s heart ached for the man standing there looking for a connection and not finding it. Calder suddenly looked at him, brow furrowed again. “Do you think it’s odd that there are no journals from either of us?”