“No luck?” she asked, hoping she sounded appropriately sympathetic despite the small stab of relief that went through her. If he was here, then he must not have been able to find the magic-worker he sought.
“None at all,” he replied. His gaze moved from her to the bottle of sauv blanc in its metal cooling sleeve, the extra glass she’d set out in the vain hope that he might be back in time to have a drink on the patio with her.
“You look like you could use a glass of wine,” Cat said. “Come and sit down.”
“A drink might be helpful.” He came over and pulled out the other chair, then sat in it somewhat heavily.
Without speaking, Cat poured a generous amount of white wine into the other glass and handed it to him. He took it from her and allowed himself a large swallow.
“That is better. Thank you.”
“No problem.” She sat up a little straighter and sipped at her own wine. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“What is there to talk about?” His shoulders lifted. “I am able to sense workers of magic when they are anywhere near me, sense if theirs is the kind of magic that would be useful to me. I found no one like that in New Orleans. Oh, there are witches there, but only the ordinary kind.”
“‘Ordinary kind’?” Cat echoed, lifting an eyebrow. “Should I be offended?”
He sent her a weary smile, one that still managed to make her knees feel somehow weak, even though she was sitting down. “I meant no offense, Catalina. Only that it is a dark magic which will send me back to my world, and the Dubois witches and warlocks are much like the Castillos and all others of witch-kind that I’ve encountered so far. They have no wish to take the left-hand path, and while that is admirable, it does not help me at all.”
“I didn’t realize it was dark magic,” Cat said, feeling a bit chastened. She supposed if she’d thought about it, such a spell would have to be, since demon summoning was some of the blackest magic of all, and a spell to send a demon back to his own world would have to tap into some of the same energies.
“Not as dark as what brought me here, since at least in this case, it would be a spell cast to return to the natural order of things. Still….” Loc didn’t exactly sigh, but he did let out a breath before he retrieved his glass of wine and sipped from it. “Since today’s witches and warlocks tend to avoid any magic that has any hint of the forbidden to it, there is no one who can do what I need, it seems.”
“No one in New Orleans,” she said gently. As happy as she was to have him back here, and not disappeared off to his own plane of existence, she didn’t want him to think that he’d already exhausted all his resources. “Maybe the person you need is in a small town somewhere. Maybe they’re in…Poughkeepsie or something.”
His lips lifted slightly at her whimsical comment. “Possibly. But it would take a lifetime to visit all of America’s small towns, let alone all the towns and villages of similar size across the globe. I’ve traveled to many, many cities, thinking that a practitioner of such magic would more easily hide him- or herself in a place with a large population. Perhaps I was going at this from the wrong angle, however.”
It did make more sense for a dark warlock to conceal himself someplace where there were a lot of people around. After all, Simon Escobar had managed to hide his true nature for years, first in Southern California, and then in the greater Phoenix area. No one seemed to have had any idea that he was there, or what he was up to.
But just because that kind of strategy had worked for Simon, it didn’t necessarily mean that every witch or warlock who was messing with the wrong kind of magic had decided to do the same thing. Cat could see all sorts of reasons why a smaller town — or not even a town at all, but an isolated house in the middle of nowhere — might be a far better choice. It was hard for people to figure out what you were up to when there was no one else around to see what you were doing.
Cat wasn’t sure whether she should say any of this to Loc, however. He was intelligent, and had certainly been around far, far longer than she had. No doubt he’d done the mental math, too.
“It sounds as though you’ve been pretty methodical about it,” she said.
“Possibly too methodical. For someone others have called ‘the Lord of Chaos,’ I am not being terribly chaotic.”
Both his voice and his expression were rueful as he delivered that statement, and he leaned back in his chair and drank some more wine once he was done speaking. Cat pursed her lips, considering his words. What he’d said seemed true enough — she hadn’t seen much evidence of chaos in his behavior, although she supposed Simon Escobar might have something different to say on the topic, if he were around to say anything at all. The demon lord had definitely thrown a giant monkey wrench into Simon’s plans, that was for sure.
“Why do they call you that?” she asked frankly.
To her relief, Loc didn’t appear offended by the question. He reached for the bottle of wine where it rested in its silvery cooler, poured a bit more for both of them, and then replaced it. Glass in one hand, he regarded her for a moment before saying, “It was a name given to me long ago by someone who had summoned me to do his bidding. Because he was sloppy, his magic had called me here, but it could not compel me to do what he asked. He ended up sending me back, calling me the Lord of Chaos and cursing my name. Word got out, I suppose, because that is what I have been called ever since.”
“Do you get summoned a lot?”
“Not after that,” he said, a glint in his dark eyes.
Clearly, he didn’t have too much of a problem with the moniker that had been attached to him for God only knows how many centuries. “So what’s your real name?”
The amused expression left his face. “You couldn’t pronounce it.”
“Really?” Cat had the feeling that wasn’t the whole reason why he didn’t want to give it to her. Maybe if she knew his real name, she’d be able to control him, just like that long-ago warlock had attempted to do…the same thing Simon had tried and failed at so miserably, thanks to Miranda.
Not that Cat wanted to do such a thing. She wasn’t really sure exactly what she wanted, only that she liked sitting here with him, talking and drinking wine, and letting the warm, grass-scented breeze blow over them.
“Loc is good enough,” he said, in a tone that didn’t seem to allow for more discussion on the topic. But then his expression suddenly brightened, and he reached into a pocket and pulled out a green velvet jewelry case that looked far too large to have been hidden in his jeans. “I got this for you, though.”
“For me?” Cat asked, staring down at the case. It was the sort of thing that usually hid a very expensive piece of jewelry. “Why would you get something for me?”
“Because I thought you would like it,” Loc replied, sounding careless…a bit too careless. “And to say thank you for your hospitality.”
She would have to open it. Part of her really didn’t want to, because she was worried that maybe he’d stolen it, seen it in a shop window in New Orleans and decided to bring it back to Santa Fe with him. After all, he was a demon. Did he even have much concept of right and wrong?
Holding her breath, Cat slowly opened the case. A gasp escaped her lips as the air she’d been holding in abruptly escaped. That was…a necklace for a queen. Or maybe a movie star on the red carpet at the Academy Awards or something, but not for Cat Castillo, who lived in jeans about ninety-five percent of the time and had to be forced into a dress.
Those huge teardrops of green stone had to be emeralds, and the necklace of black rhodium was studded with diamonds as well, smaller ones in the links that formed the necklace itself, larger ones of at least a half-carat apiece sitting on top of the joins between the links. It was fabulous, mesmerizing…and she absolutely could not accept it.
“I can’t,” she said, while Loc stared at her, his expression puzzled.
“You can’t what?”
“I can’t — I can’t take this from you. It must be worth — �
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“Eighty thousand dollars,” he said calmly.
“How do you know that?”
“Because that is what the Dubois witch who sold it to me said it was worth.”
“She — she sold it to you?”
“Of course. You did not think I stole it, did you?”
Warmth crept into her cheeks, because of course that was exactly what Cat had been thinking. She swallowed. “How in the world did you have that kind of money?”
Now Loc smiled, as if he’d determined why she had been so worried about the necklace’s origins. “Catalina, I can have all the money I need. You see?” He pulled his wallet — a battered brown leather thing, the same kind she’d seen her brother Rafe carry — out of his jeans and began pulling hundred-dollar bills out of it and setting them on the table. The breeze threatened to begin blowing them away, and she quickly grabbed the half-empty wine bottle and set it on top of the stack of bills before they could escape.
“Okay, I get it,” she said, knowing she sounded more than a bit shaken. “That’s — I guess I should have realized you’d have a way to pay for things as you were traveling.”
“This was the simplest thing I could think of,” he admitted. “The currency changed, of course, depending on where I was, but I found very few places that wouldn’t take cash.”
Probably not. The world seemed to run on plastic these days, but that was mostly for convenience. Cat had no doubt that Loc had been able to convince waiters and shopkeepers and hotel clerks to take cash. And if he didn’t have to worry about exchanging currency as he went from place to place, all the better.
“But….” she began and trailed off, not sure what she wanted to say.
“But what?”
“I’m not sure that giving you crash space is enough to merit a piece of jewelry that’s worth so much.”
“I think it is. Shouldn’t that be enough?”
Flummoxed, Cat stared down at the necklace. The slanting afternoon sunlight warmed the heavy teardrop cabochons of the emeralds, making them almost look as though they were glowing from within. “I don’t even know where I would wear it.”
“To this art competition you spoke of?”
He actually had a point there. On the opening night of the exhibition, there was a fancy reception held at the gallery that was hosting the event. The dress code was “dressy cocktail,” which could be interpreted as almost anything…except blue jeans. She still hadn’t picked out a dress because she’d been waffling on whether she even wanted to go or not.
“Maybe,” she allowed. A thought struck her, and she asked, “Would you go with me? They have cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. If you’re still here, of course.”
Loc looked genuinely surprised by the request. “You wish me to take you to this party?”
“Well, technically, I’d be taking you, but yes. It’s a week from now, and I know you’re still looking for someone to send you home, but — ”
“I have been here eight months, Cat,” he said, cutting her off. “I believe I can manage an extra week.”
Well, that seemed to settle things. She wasn’t sure where she’d found the brass cojones to ask a demon lord out on a date, but….
“I think I would like to see you wear it before then, however,” he said, and got up from where he sat so he could come over to her. Before she was able to utter a protest, he’d lifted the necklace from where it rested in the box and draped it around her neck, fingers brushing against her skin for the barest of seconds before he locked the clasp in place.
Her heart was racing, but Cat didn’t know whether that was from the weight of the expensive jewels encircling her throat, or from that featherlight touch of his fingertips. He’d been very close, too, body scant inches away from hers before he took a step backward and went around the bistro table so he could resume his seat.
“It looks very well on you,” he said.
She reached up to touch one of the emerald drops. It felt slightly warm against her skin, probably because it had been lying in the sunlight for a few minutes. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Thank you, perhaps?”
Of course. She managed to smile at him and then said, “Thank you, Loc. It’s beautiful. It’s an antique, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I think so. I suppose I should have asked something of its provenance. I was occupied with other matters at the time.”
Like trying to find out if there was anyone in New Orleans who could help him. Cat had the feeling he was leaving out something of the story, but she supposed it really wasn’t any of her business.
“The party and the hors d’oeuvres you spoke of are still in the future,” he went on. “What about dinner tonight?”
“We can have something here, I suppose. Obviously, you can get me whatever I need to make something.” That sounded safest. She’d rather not have to cook for him every night — although she did make a mean pan of chicken enchiladas — but staying in seemed far, far safer than venturing out to dinner someplace where they’d have to be seen together in public.
Obviously, Loc didn’t share her thoughts on the subject. “Wouldn’t you rather go to dinner somewhere? You have already made breakfast for me — I can’t expect you to be my cook the entire time I’m here.”
Since she’d been thinking basically the same thing, Cat didn’t have a retort ready. About the only protest she could offer was, “There aren’t a lot of places to eat around here, unless you go down to Santa Fe. Or there are a couple of restaurants at the Buffalo Thunder Casino.”
“Is it close by?”
In for a penny…. “Yes. It’s just about five minutes away.”
“Is their food good?”
“Quite good, yes.” And expensive, at least in the casino’s top-shelf establishment, but with the way Loc could peel hundred-dollar bills out of his wallet without blinking an eye, the cost of the meal really wouldn’t be a problem.
“Then we will go there.” He glanced down at his faded jeans and dark T-shirt. “I assume I will need to change.”
“We both will,” Cat said. Her attire was just as casual as his, and wouldn’t really be appropriate for the casino’s fanciest restaurant, especially on a Friday night. “Assuming we can get reservations, that is. They’re usually pretty busy on weekends, especially during the summer.”
“That will not be an issue.”
“You can fix reservations?”
“Of course.”
Of course. She supposed she should have thought of that. It seemed that Loc could handle pretty much everything that came his way…except for finding someone to cast the spell he needed to go home.
“It’s almost six now. Why don’t you get a reservation for seven-thirty? That’ll give us enough time to get cleaned up.”
The smile he sent her was almost indulgent. “Oh, it doesn’t quite work like that. It’s more that when we arrive, a table will be ready for us.”
Did she want to ask how he made that happen? Probably not.
“Okay,” she said. After lifting the bottle off the stack of hundred-dollar bills he’d produced, she handed them back to him. “I’ll cork this up and put it in the refrigerator, and I guess you can save those for paying for dinner tonight.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Was she? Maybe, a little bit, but that didn’t keep her nerves from knotting up her shoulders. “I’ll meet you down in the entry at seven-fifteen.”
He nodded, and she made her escape, box that had held the incredible necklace clutched in one hand, the half-empty bottle of sauvignon blanc in the other. At least she knew what she planned to wear — she had a dead-simple draped silk tank in a shade of green that would go perfectly with the emeralds. A skirt would be too much, but with the only pair of dressy jeans she owned and some high-heeled sandals, she might be able to pull it off…maybe.
Look on the bright side, she told herself as she got out of her faded jeans with the frayed hems and into a nice new dark pair. It�
��s not as if anyone is going to believe this necklace is real.
Her fingers went up and touched one of the emeralds. The necklace was like something you’d see in a museum, or maybe a catalogue for a high-end auction house such as Sotheby’s. For all their money, Cat knew no one in her family owned anything quite so impressive. The Castillos were not about flash, because it attracted attention. And no witch clan wanted to draw any more attention to itself than its members absolutely had to.
Well, this necklace was probably going to attract a lot of notice. Even if it were actually fake, it was still big and…flashy wasn’t exactly the right word, because the cabochon drops gave it a certain earthy gravitas, but it was definitely impressive.
As she’d thought, her silk top went perfectly with the jewels. She didn’t have enough time to wash her face and start from scratch, but she put on a little more makeup than she normally wore, darkening her lids with some shadow, using a sheer lipstick in a dark wine color rather than her usual nude gloss. A few minutes with a big-barrel curling iron to give some body to her hair, and she figured she was done.
Mostly.
When her grandmother Isabel had died, she’d left careful instructions to have her jewelry divided equally amongst her grandchildren. Cat had inherited a pair of delicate diamond drops in white gold, as well as a diamond eternity band and matching bracelet. These items hardly ever saw the light of day — she realized the last time she’d worn the earrings had been for Rafe and Miranda’s cathedral wedding — but they would work well with the necklace, coordinating with it rather than fighting it the way other emerald pieces might have.
After putting on the diamond earrings, Cat paused and surveyed herself in the mirror. Her reflection looked impossibly glam compared to the way she presented herself most days, and she wondered if she’d gone too far. The last thing she wanted was for Loc to think she’d done all this to impress him…even if, deep down, she sort of hoped she would.
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