Page 22 of Just a Little Wicked (Wicked Sisters #2)
Erikson’s gaze on her was intense. He leaned, so that his cheek was close to Winter’s, and she could smell whatever it was he’d used on his face that morning—something spicy and woodsy.
She tilted the phone so that he would be in the picture better, but he didn’t ease away from her.
“That’s why Winter’s having extended and more frequent visions,” he said, “and why she’s started seeing into the past, isn’t it?
Her power has been steadily expanding ever since you stopped suppressing it with your potion. ”
Aunt Rose nodded. “That’s what we believe.”
Except Aunt Daisy’s potion had stopped working four years ago, so why hadn’t Winter felt her power growing in intensity until the Grimms appeared in her life last spring? Why hadn’t pastsight surfaced until Erikson did? The timeline didn’t fully add up.
Aunt Rose and Aunt Daisy shared an uneasy grimace.
“What?” Winter demanded. “What’s that look for?”
“There’s more,” Aunt Rose said hesitantly.
Frigging hell.
Aunt Daisy touched the center of her forehead, her thin leather gloves gleaming softly in the blue glow of the screen. “Did you know that for many years, Rose and I have experienced some sort of telepathy.”
Winter’s jaw dropped. “Are you messing with me? You know we’ve always joked about that, right?”
Aunt Rose gave her a secretive smile. “When it first began, we assumed it was a natural byproduct of being Wicked twins, but then you and Missy never seemed to exhibit the same talent.”
Missy and Winter definitely did not have twin speak. Their personalities were about as different as a pineapple is from a loaf of bread.
“Every Wicked has a dominant curse, the one that must be fed and acted upon, but it appears that in more powerful Wickeds, there can be extra power left over when the dominant curse is satisfied. That excess power can be channeled into a number of smaller outlets, or talents. Think of it as bonus chaos, if you will. For Daisy and me, we naturally channeled it into telepathy. Over the past month, we’ve met a number of women with similar capabilities. ”
Brenda’s eye popped into the screen again and she whispered loudly, “A few years ago, I learned I could give people headaches, too.”
Aunt Daisy nodded to Winter. “Your powers are growing, and right now, your dominant curse—seeing visions—is utilizing that excess power. But soon, you may experience alternate capabilities from what is unused.”
“She’ll end up with more excess than most, considering where she started,” Erikson pointed out.
“Likely, yes,” Aunt Rose agreed.
“Which means her ‘lesser’ talents could even rival a weaker Wicked’s dominant talent.”
Winter pressed her fingers to her lips. She found it difficult enough to force back the visions as it was. She already teetered on the brink of mental collapse some days. What if she ended up having so much excess power that it manifested in deadly ways she couldn’t control?
Dread slithered into her stomach and coiled tight.
Was that what had happened when she’d played the violin at the ocean? It hadn’t felt like a manifestation of her powers; it had felt like a stripping of her powers. But then, she’d never experienced an excess before, so what did she know?
All she was certain of was that it was more important than ever that she kept a rigid lock on her powers, and that she never fell into the Shadow Council’s hands.
No matter what she had to do to prevent it.
“Winter, what happens if you can’t find the Witch?” Aunt Rose asked, thankfully switching topics. “You cannot work for the women who murdered your mother. You’re too powerful to be on the council. If they find a way to use your visions . . .”
Winter’s heart was so heavy with worries that her tongue was barely able to form words. “I know. But I can’t let them harm my family, either.”
Her aunts’ expressions were filled with concern. “We know that, love. We know you’ll sacrifice your life and your morals to keep us safe, and I’m afraid they know it, too.”
“We’re going to find Atlantes,” Erikson interrupted, his jaw set with determination. “I’ve tracked down spirits hiding in abandoned mines hundreds of feet below the surface of the earth: I can find a single Witch.”
Aunt Rose gave him an approving nod. “We’re counting on you.”
Winter said her goodbyes and promised to keep them updated. “Please don’t tell Holly and Missy. I don’t want to ruin Holly’s wedding. Not yet.”
The aunts seemed uneasy about keeping secrets, but eventually agreed it was in Holly’s best interest.
“Unless it becomes necessary,” Aunt Rose warned.
“Right. Until then.”
When Winter hung up Erikson said, “You didn’t tell them about what happened on the coast between us.”
“I didn’t think it was relevant.”
He studied her, his eyes searching her face in a way that would have made her squirm if she weren’t so utterly exhausted.
Erikson Grimm gave off such a disarming, model-like charm, that it was easy to overlook the fact that he was a frighteningly intelligent man with deceptively sharp instincts: he’d figured out what her aunts were suggesting within a matter of moments, which made her wonder if he’d already suspected her powers were growing before they’d even called.
It galled and ashamed her that she’d so easily believed the good-time mask he wore for the world.
She of all people should have known that not everyone was what they seemed.
To her relief, he didn’t dig further. Instead, he said, “Charlotte still hasn’t found anything on Atlantes Blackwood. Have you checked in with Stacy?”
She shook her head, fatigue tugging her body deeper into the disgusting, polyester cover. She sent a quick text to Stacy, even as her eyes began to drift. A strong palm wrapped around her arm and tugged her to her feet.
“Get undressed before you pass out, Elf.”
She grunted. The unusual number of visions combined with . . . whatever had happened on the shore . . . had drained her to the point of collapse. She batted his hand away and slurred, “Can’t.”
“Let me help you.”
She nodded consent. Tomorrow she would be mortified that she let him tug off her long-sleeved top, leaving her in nothing but a thin ribbed tank.
Tomorrow she would want to die remembering how she let him unbutton her jeans and peel them down her thighs, exposing her hot pink boyshort panties.
Tomorrow she would be extra cranky to make up for how he pulled back the comforter and tucked her in like a child.
Tomorrow she would forget the way he swept a stray piece of hair behind her ear and murmured, “Goodnight, Winter.”
But for tonight, she simply let him take care of her.