Beguiled

by Darynda Jones

  “No.” He shook his head. “I’m honored. But what she told me makes no sense.”

  “She sounds like my kind of girl.”

  “She said, and I quote, ‘Sometimes the fiercest predators and the strongest allies come in the smallest packages.’”

  “Oh.” I sat back in thought. “Well, okay, then.” Did she mean Theo? At a good inch or two over six feet, he wasn’t what I would call small.

  His eyes sparkled with humor. “Just so you know, every time my mother says things like that, things that seem completely off the wall, they come true in some shape or form.”

  “Like Nostradamus.”

  He nodded. “Very much like Nostradamus. Mom is just… Well, she’s Mom. Cryptic but profound.”

  I crossed my arms. “She sounds lovely. I’ll keep her words in mind.”

  “Thank you, Sarru.”

  “No, thank you, Theo.”

  His expression was everything I didn’t want, yet I appreciated everything it represented. How could I not? He’d moved here for me. Well, for the charmling. Same dif. But it was all so humbling. Him. His parents. The coven. Serinda. Gigi. And, lest I forget, even Annette and my dads moved 2,500 miles away from their home to be here.

  I had a clan. I had a wonderful, dynamic, loving clan, part of whom worshipped me, but we could work on that.

  Fourteen

  What does not kill you

  will likely try again.

  —Meme

  The rest of the interviews were far less eventful than Theo’s, thank the Goddess. We cleaned up while Roane grabbed us tacos and enchiladas from Howling Wolf. Serinda stayed for dinner, and the chief joined us to give us the bad news: They found no prints other than ours on the poisoned jar of parmesan. Aside from that, the two partials they’d collected in the pantry that didn’t belong to any of us were not in the system. We were basically back to square one.

  My dads showed up with baklava and a majestic stuffed snowy owl named Virgil. They tried to convince me he would bring me luck. The sales clerk assured them as much. I was beginning to doubt I had any of the good stuff left. Maybe the owl would help.

  “Of course she did,” I said to them, trying not to drool over the baklava that lay in wait. If it ended up being full of something deadly like thallium or drain cleaner, I didn’t care. I was getting at least one bite of that stuff. “She wanted to make a sale.”

  They laughed. “If it makes you feel any better, Virgil was her pet. He died at twenty-eight of old age. According to the clerk, he lived a happy, mice-filled life.”

  Suddenly more reverent of the creature, I asked, “Why would she sell him?”

  Papi lifted a shoulder as he took a Roane-approved bite of his taco. “I don’t know. She seemed rather insistent that we take him. Said she wanted him to have a second life.”

  “Sounds suspish to me, but thank you. He’s gorgeous.” I took the magnificent beast, his white feathers like snow—which was the whole point—and put him on the hutch in the dining room for the time being.

  Thankfully, we had a great, poison-free dinner. The chief had a city council meeting to attend. Gigi and Serinda went downstairs to look through some old texts—apparently there was an old spell that would reveal an intruder—while Annette and I finished in the kitchen. When we finished up, she went upstairs to check with her contacts, assuring me they could find out where Joaquin Ferebee was staying.

  And I once again missed my chance to seduce the enigma known as Roane Wildes. The wolves were on the scent of the hunter, and he took off after them.

  After enduring a full day of idol worship, nothing I ever dreamed I’d have to try to grow accustomed to, I started for the stairs when a hand covered my mouth from behind. I squeaked as a strong arm slid around my waist and pulled me back against a rock-hard chest. The scent of pine and sandalwood filled my nostrils with a hint of something deeper. Something richer. Musk, perhaps.

  Roane waylaid me in the hall between the kitchen and the great room. We lingered in the shadows, and I reveled in the feel of him while admitting to a certain amount of surprise. Despite the furtive glances from underneath his thick lashes, I’d wondered if he lost interest in me with my refusal. He’d been all business all day while I’d longed to touch him at every turn. To run my hand over his scruff. Down his stomach. Up his kilt.

  I’d also wondered if he was going to hold me to his ultimatum. Marry him or else. Part of me balked at both the idea and the threat. I would not be forced into marriage. But as much as it pained me to admit, part of me was flattered that he would want to spend his life with me. He wanted some kind of guarantee. I could respect that, but we’d only just met. In the flesh anyway. If one didn’t count the six months I was incommunicado, we’d literally just met a couple of weeks ago.

  And yet here he was. Holding me tight. Burying his face in my hair.

  “I give up,” he said softly.

  I wrapped one arm around his as it slid around my neck and the other fell to my side. I reached around and pulled his hips closer. He pressed into me, his interest evident, the hard outline of his cock pressing into my backside. “What exactly are you giving up on?”

  “Marriage.”

  The disappointment that spiked in my chest and stole the air from my lungs surprised me even more than this encounter. I hadn’t wanted to get married. So why the disappointment?

  “That didn’t take long,” I said, trying to conceal my regret.

  “It’s not fair to try to force you into something you’re not ready for. I just want you to know, I can wait.”

  “You can?”

  He lifted my chin and angled my head so he could cover my mouth with his. The kiss was the stuff of legend. And romance novels. And, possibly, porn movies. Intense. Passionate. Desperate. He tasted like honey, the barest hint of sweetness as he dipped his tongue inside me. I sank against him, giving way to any and all things he wanted to do to me, but he broke off the kiss to look at me. His eyes glittered in the low light, his expression severe.

  “How long?” I asked. “How long can you wait?”

  “Until the stars burn out.” He kissed me again, a fervent and all-consuming thing. But he let go just as quickly, his movements almost reluctant.

  “So that’s it?” I asked, breathless. I turned to face him. “You’re promising not to leave? Then what? I just get to pine over you until I say yes?”

  “No.” He pushed me against the wall and pressed into me again, this time the evidence of his interest hard against my abdomen. “That’s not what I mean.” He eased my legs apart with a knee and sent a hand between them.

  I’d changed into sweats before dinner. They offered little protection against his advance. The passion he stirred rose up heavy in my abdomen.

  He trailed kisses across my jaw and nipped at my ear, sending tendrils of ecstasy spiraling up my spine as he pushed a hand down the front of my sweats. His fingers burrowed beneath my panties, sliding lower until his fingertips brushed over my clit.

  I grabbed his wrist, but he pushed inside me, the promise of an orgasm tightening my muscles around his fingers.

  Then he stopped. His breathing heavy, he slid his hand around to cup my ass and put the other on the wall behind me, his jaw tense.

  So close.

  “Roane?”

  “You have company,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “What?” I looked toward the door. “Who?”

  “Parris.”

  “What the fuck?” I scraped a hand over my face. “She can wait.”

  “No. You need to interview her. Get into her head. Maybe she’s seen something and doesn’t realize it. That woman doesn’t miss a thing.”

  “You mean, do what I did to Theo?” I eased away from him. “Roane, I can’t. Not ever. Especially to a mundane.”

  He put his head against mine, still recovering himself. “Theo was protected by powerful magics. I think that’s what caused his seizure. The two magics warring with each other. One protecti
ve and one invasive. You won, naturally—”

  “Naturally?”

  “—but I think maybe it was an overload to his system.”

  “So you don’t think that would happen to a mundane?”

  “I don’t. They have no protection. And I think you’ve already been doing it unwittingly.”

  Alarm bells rang out in my head. “When? Did I hurt someone? Did I steal their souls?” I looked around for any extra souls lying around.

  The inevitable knock sounded at the door.

  “Just try to find out if she’s seen anyone suspicious hanging around. If what you’re saying is right, someone is messing with people’s memories. And that can only mean powerful magics.”

  “Okay, I’ll try. But seriously, we have to get back to this ASAP.”

  He nodded. “Agreed.” He pulled his hand out of my sweats and waited for me to go to the door.

  As I started for the door, he said, “Just so you know, I still want a yes. I’m not swaying from that. But I can wait.”

  I smiled inwardly as I walked to the door. I opened it to a blast of arctic air, and a brunette with a bottle of wine in each hand beamed at me.

  “Girls’ night?” she asked, her voice full of hope, her grin infectious despite the red nose.

  I waved her inside before she froze to death. “I’d love a girls’ night.”

  Annette peeked over the upstairs balustrade. “Did I hear girls’ night?”

  How was that woman still awake?

  Parris shimmied inside and held the wine up to her.

  “I’ll get the glasses!” She ran down the stairs, spry for a five-footer. But I was a little worried about her. She was coming up on probably forty-eight hours with only a couple hours sleep. If that. I’d have to check her room for coke later. I’d confiscate it, of course. Save it in case I ever needed a pick-me-up.

  “Oh, hi, Roane,” Parris said, skidding to a halt.

  “Parris.” A man of few words. Annette grabbed glasses out of the dining room, and Roane took the wine from Parris with a congenial “Allow me.” More few words. I liked ’em. There were so many things I would allow him to do, especially after his performance in the hall.

  After Roane poured us each a glass of wine, checking for arsenic and/or plastique, he gave me the A-OK. Then he was gone. I didn’t know where he ran off to, but I had a feeling he didn’t go far. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

  Parris, whose smile would’ve been prettier had she’d foregone the lip injections, sat on the sofa with me while Annette took a wingback.

  After about half a bottle of wine each, the conversation veered toward the strange and bizarre things happening lately, and I made the mistake of commenting on the fact that a couple of the upstairs windows had been broken.

  Annette pointed at me accusingly. “Maybe they wouldn’t be if someone hadn’t turned me into a bird.”

  I gaped at her, then laughed nervously. “She’s kidding. It’s a thing we do. We were in a play. And what’s wrong with birds?”

  “Why couldn’t you turn me into something sexy like a cat? Or a cougar?”

  I was not touching that. “Annette, you don’t have to not be a bird to be sexy.”

  “What?”

  “That came out wrong. Bottom line, you were the sexiest bird I’ve ever seen.”

  She dropped her head against the wing. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “You’re not just saying that?”

  “I would never.”

  She released a dreamy sigh and, after a rough start, we did indeed talk girl stuff. Hairdressers. The best nail techs. Spray tans. And I couldn’t help but wonder if there were spells for such things. Still, Parris seemed a little obsessed. I got the feeling the woman led a lonely life, though according to her, the fact that she and her husband lived in two separate houses was her idea.

  “Stretch marks,” Parris said, adding to the list of malfeasance we were going to discuss with whoever was in charge once we crossed the Earthly bounds. We had grievances. And suggestions. A few tweaks here and there.

  Annette shouted a hearty “Amen, sister!” seconds before she passed out cold. Whether her blackout was from her lack of sleep or the bottle of wine she singlehandedly finished off in under half an hour was debatable. But at least she was asleep. She needed the Z’s. Unfortunately, there’d be hell to pay when she woke up, slumped over the arm of the chair like she was.

  I made sure Parris had gotten more than her fair share of the second bottle. Once she was sufficiently buzzed, I gathered my magics, leaned closer, and locked my gaze with hers. It seemed that once I locked gazes with someone, they couldn’t look away. For lack of a better phrase, they fell under my spell.

  Parris’s grin vanished, and she leaned closer, too.

  I lowered my head and said, “Parris Stephanie Walsh Hampton—”

  “How do you know my full name?” She slurred the words, and I knew it wasn’t entirely the wine’s fault.

  “—what are you searching for?”

  In an instant, her life rushed at me in force, making my head spin. She was an open book. One I didn’t particularly want to read. But it did give me a new respect for her. She came from humble beginnings. She’d been bullied growing up. Glasses. A severe overbite. Prominent ears. And yet when I saw her reflection in the mirror, she was all kinds of adorable.

  Sadly, her peers had not been kind. Even her third-grade teacher bullied her, and my temper flared with that knowledge. She’d never learned to love herself. Not until she married well and had some work done. But even now, she searched for only one thing: perfection. When all she needed was a love and acceptance of self.

  I’d judged her so harshly, and guilt bubbled up inside me like acid on metal. I tamped it down. Now was not the time. I searched her memories for anything unusual with Percy. Any strange comings and goings. Anyone watching the house that didn’t belong, but I quickly realized something. While her childhood memories were bright and crystal clear, her newer memories were less so. That made no sense. They should be more prominent. More accessible.

  And then it hit me. Her memories had been tampered with. Anytime I tried to access a thought that seemed unusual to her, out of place, a shadow jumped across the silver screen of her mind like the bad editing of a B-rated horror movie, dark and blurry and suffocating. I tried harder to breach the thick curtain, but the memories slipped further and further away.

  When I tried a third time, worried now about Parris’s mental well-being, the shadow that had flickered in and out of her memories looked directly at me.

  Me.

  Not Parris.

  It lifted a finger over its mouth and released a shushing hiss.

  I pulled out immediately and scrambled off the couch, falling to the floor. Roane was there in an instant and helped me to my feet, but Parris had yet to move. To blink. She was in the exact same position as when I went in, and I held my breath, praying she wouldn’t have a seizure.

  “Roane,” I whispered, wrapping both of my arms around one of his.

  We waited a good sixty seconds. Then, right when Roane sat in front of her, she shouted, “Beavers! Because Brazilians hurt like the dickens.” She blinked and focused on Roane, her entire attitude changing. “Oh, hey there.” She giggled and leaned closer. “Have I ever told you how much I enjoy your yard work?”

  Relief flooded every cell in my body. So much so, my knees almost gave beneath me, and I sat beside Roane.

  “Wow,” she said, shaking her head. “That wine is much stronger than I remembered.”

  “Clearly.” I pointed to Annette.

  Roane looked at her, then glanced at me from over his shoulder. “You asked me to remind you about the thing in the morning.”

  “The thing?”

  He gestured toward Annette, then Parris.

  “Right. Crap. I forgot I have to get up super early.”

  “Oh, goodness.” Parris checked the time on her phone. “It is late. Can I—”<
br />
  “I got it,” Roane said, gathering the wineglasses. He nonchalantly inhaled the vapors of what was left over as I showed Parris to the door.

  “Thanks for coming over,” I said, waving goodbye.

  She stumbled but caught herself.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Wonderful.” She waved goodbye.

  I closed the door and hurried over.

  “Was that Parris?” Gigi asked as she and Serinda walked in.

  “Yeah, girls’ night. Roane, what’s going on?”

  He sniffed Annette’s glass. Then, without the slightest hesitation, he jerked her off the chair and laid her on the ground.

  “What’s wrong?” Gigi asked, hurrying over.

  Serinda followed, her brows knitting in worry.

  “Ricin,” he said.

  I fell to the floor beside him. “Ricin? Like the poison?”

  “In the wine.”

  I shook my head, completely confused. “Roane, we all drank from the same bottles of wine.”

  “Both of them?”

  “Yes. We—”

  Before I could get out another word, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and tilted my head back. Then his mouth covered mine. He kissed deeply, almost desperately, then eased back and frowned at me. “I don’t understand.”

  I clasped onto his biceps for balance. “What?”

  “Georgiana,” he said, using her new name despite the audience. “What is going on?”

  Gigi knelt beside us and examined Annette. “Put her on the sofa, will you, love?”

  He obeyed, gathering Annette into his arms and laying her on the sofa. “Her breathing is fine. Completely unobstructed. Her heart rate is normal. But she ingested ricin. From the taste and smell, copious amounts of it.” He bent and kissed her too, pushing his tongue inside her mouth for just an instant. He straightened and spit into Annette’s wineglass then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. When he looked up at Gigi, he shook his head. “Ricin.”

  My heart skipped several beats. “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t either. A dose the size of a grain of sand is enough to kill, and she’s fine.”

  “Gigi?”