by Alisa Woods
She knew he heard every note. She could have sent him away, or at least into the next room, far enough to be out of range, but still close enough to do his job of keeping watch over her and her powers, ready to “contain” her if necessary. That he had fantasies of “containing” her up against a wall with his body and his hands and his mouth had literally no place in all the five days he spent watching her work. But she knew. The occasional spikes in lust, the furtive looks, the fact that she didn’t send him away… all of that said she wouldn’t resist that kind of arrest, should he actually get her alone for more than two minutes.
Except they had work to do. And lives to save.
It had been a sweet, sweet torment all week long.
But now that the International Gen-Magick conference had begun, his lusty thoughts had fizzled out, squashed by the very real threat not only to the conference-goers but to Mercy herself.
Because she’d insisted on being there.
“I don’t like this.” He squinted at the med-magick researchers standing and chatting in the wide hallway of the conference center. It was a break between panel sessions, and he and Mercy were striding past them.
“As you’ve said a hundred times.” She was keeping her voice low, but he could hear her annoyance trilling at him over the noise of the hall. He had trouble with crowds, but the low buzz of everyone’s emotional soundscapes was focused and calm enough that he could manage—except for the occasional flicker of attention sent Mercy’s way.
That repeated, pinging swell of men lusting after Mercy was setting his teeth on edge.
Her clothing choices had been erratic all week—shiny patent leather one day then nothing but lace the next. Today, she wore an alluring, short-skirt-and-bodice number with elbow-length gauntlets, black-lace leggings, and a feathery half-cape flowing from her waist behind her. The obsidian choker around her neck was the only thing she wore above the bust-line, leaving her shoulders bare, her unbound hair cascading… even her makeup was light, almost demure for her…
She was stunning, and Swift wasn’t the only one drooling.
Given he was posing as her assistant, he had to restrain himself from snarling at the other researchers. Or sending spurious attacks of intestinal distress—not strictly an emotion, but he knew how to mimic it. Of course, that would just bring Dalvi zeroing in on the complicated feelings running around his head. Lust. Fearful protectiveness. Something perilously close to the weightlessness of love…
It was a heady mix.
“In here,” Mercy said as she pivoted into a small conference room, empty except for the powerful ex-military witch awaiting them. Mercy’s underlying emotions were a mix of gritty determination, tremors of anger, and nervousness. As far as Swift could tell, she hadn’t even noticed the stares in the hallway. “Any word on Tobin?”
“Mr. Tobin Raine is still MIA from the conference.” Nia Lockwood, an ex-special forces witch, as he’d recently discovered, had also insisted on being at the conference—if nothing else, to check up on the FBI operation and make sure Mercy was in no danger. She was Ever Strange’s bodyguard but also a family friend and seemed to take that role for the family as a whole. In Mercy’s case, it was somewhat ridiculous, considering her whisper magick Talent, but Swift didn’t begrudge Nia her protective impulses.
He felt the same.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this meeting with Eliphas Storm?” Nia added. Her standard black-leather pants and trim jacket would have fit in well at the bureau.
“Positive.” There was no hesitation in Mercy’s voice or her emotional state.
“All right.” But Nia was as unhappy about that as Swift. “Raine still hasn’t checked into the registration desk for the conference or made an appearance anywhere in the hotel.” Nia gave a small nod in Swift’s direction. “The FBI has undercover agents in every panel session, and they’re embedded with the regular conference security personnel. It’s… adequate.” Her screech of annoyance told Swift she thought it was only minimally so—which raised his alarms.
“What’s the status of the security on the hedge witch panel?” He slipped a look to Mercy. “And this pre-panel meeting with Eliphas?” She’d already accepted her sister’s invitation to meet with the cult leader, but when they’d discovered Raine was scheduled to be on the Divination and the Role of Hedge Witches in the Modern World panel that Eliphas Storm was hosting, Mercy had insisted on attending the panel as well… and then the conference as a whole.
Swift had been shadowing her all day, but the exhibits and panels she’d attended so far were standard magitek—genetics and magick, new medical technologies, some research on magick applications with animals. In theory, Raine’s “demonstration” of his bio-weapon could have been conducted at any of the sessions—or in the ballroom during lunch for that matter. They had no intel on when or where within the sprawling hotel/conference complex the attack might occur—they weren’t even sure the bio-weapon “demonstration” would happen here. But Mercy’s theory was that the highest likelihood for the attack was during the hedge witch panel Raine was scheduled to participate in—and she personally wanted to be there. Swift suspected she had some kind of secret plan to attack Raine when and if he showed, using her Talent before he could deploy his bioweapons. Dalvi had cleared it, although Mercy didn’t know that—and Swift was there to “contain” her if it went south. Swift was also authorized to use his Talent to bring in Raine himself. Either way, Mercy’s meeting with Eliphas and attendance at the panel were excellent cover.
Swift simply didn’t like her being on the front lines.
Nia’s annoyance amplified. “I asked the bureau to post extra plain-clothes security in the hallway during the panel, but I don’t have anything for this special meeting with Eliphas.” She narrowed her eyes at Mercy. “Totally optional, in my opinion. And optional means unnecessary and dangerous.”
“The one in danger here is Verity,” Mercy shot back. “This asshole has her swept into his cult. This is my chance to figure out how deep she’s in.” She flicked a look at Swift. “Plus, I want Agent Payne’s professional opinion on him.”
Professional opinion? She wanted him to read Eliphas emotionally. Swift gave her a nod because of course, he would be checking the hell out of that guy, and not just to keep Verity safe. But Eliphas wasn’t the main threat here.
Nia was flicking looks between the two. “Okay.” Then she turned her scrutiny on Swift. “PsyOps boy… what’s your Talent again?”
“That’s on a need to know basis.” And there was zero need for Nia to know. “But I’ll be by Mercy’s side for the entire conference, including the meeting with Eliphas.”
Nia whipped her head back to Mercy. “I want in on this op.”
Mercy shook her head. “Only family allowed. I lied and said Swift was my secret fiancé.”
Swift had a physical reaction to that—a gushing of warmth through his body that was something like liquid happiness. Which was insane. This was their cover. He shouldn’t be so fucking happy about something pretend. He’d had plenty of people who’d pretended to love him—including his parents and other grifter family—but thanks to his Talent, he’d always seen through that bullshit. But this was the first he’d heard that he and Mercy would be posing as lovers—again—and that he’d been upgraded to fiancé.
“I’ve got it covered,” he assured Nia, trying to tamp down her zinging suspicion. Although now she seemed more suspicious about the relationship, not his Talent.
“I can see that.” Nia pursed her lips, and Swift could hear the embarrassment trickling through Mercy’s soundscape. That quenched some of the happiness still gurgling around in his belly. Was she embarrassed about being seen as attached to him? “All right, fine,” Nia continued. “Do your recon op on the cult leader while we’re here. Just keep your ears open. I expect Raine to make a splash out of this, and I don’t like that kind of surprise.” She sighed then faced Mercy. “I’d really hoped you and your father would
have cooked up some kind of antidote to these drugs by now.”
Mercy frowned. “We’re close. Well… close might be an exaggeration. We were able to decode the seeker magick.” She tipped her head to Swift. “The formulas in the text? They were wrong in such a way that to make them right—to magickally make them right—gives the steps to the spell. A spell meant to be cast on the drugs. That seeker spell guides the gene drives in targeting all the DNA sequences involved in expressing individual Talents. With that spell, we could make our own drugs.” She flicked another look at Swift. “Well, someone could. And once we know how to make them, an antidote—or reversing spell—shouldn’t be too far away.”
“Wait, what? You know how to make the drugs?” Nia’s eyes went wide. “You’re not giving this magitek to PsyOps, are you?”
Swift steeled his expression, but he was cringing inside. It was only a matter of time before the bureau, PsyOps, and frankly, the military found out what Mercy had discovered. It was out of his control then. So far, there hadn’t been a reason to report it back to Dalvi.
“Not if I have anything to do with it.” Mercy sighed. “However, decoding the seeker magick is as far as we’ve gotten. We just haven’t had enough time. I still don’t know how they activated the Talent switch at the free jumper’s event, much less what they’ll be using today. Could be anything.”
“But first they have to install the switch,” Swift offered up. “Which means getting the drugs to whoever it is they plan to use for the demonstration. We found out they slipped the drugs into the water bottles at the free jumpers event, so the bureau has screened all the food and water coming into the event—if they planned to set up the demo that way, maybe we’ll get lucky and stop it at the source.”
Mercy gave a small nod, but she was still frowning. “Maybe. But I doubt it. They’ve planned this out for some time. I can’t imagine it being that easy to stop. And once the switch is installed, it’s permanent.” Her frown turned into a scowl, and she had to be thinking of her father, an early victim whose magick had been permanently destroyed.
“Not if you get on that antidote,” Nia said pointedly.
Mercy just sighed with that. “They could always make more.” She lifted an eyebrow to Swift. “Any word from MCD about that?”
Swift shook his head. “They’ve locked down Raine Magitek, but there was nothing in the headquarters that suggested the drugs were manufactured there. The bureau’s still sifting through all the documents and files, but that original cache I pulled down was all we’ve found related to the bioweapons development. And I’m sure Violet has a backup of that somewhere. Or Tobin took it with him when he went to ground. Both of them are still at large. For all we know, they’re off manufacturing cratefuls of drugs wherever their original production facility is.”
“So, you don’t have the scientists, the plans, or the drugs.” Nia scowled. “Fantastic.”
Swift gave her a pinched look. “We’re working on stopping a mass killing at the moment.”
Nia harrumphed like that was the least they could do. And she wasn’t wrong.
The earbud in Swift’s ear whispered the changing of the shift of undercover agents throughout the conference. He glanced at the time on his phone. “Time to go.” He looked to Mercy. “If you’re sure you want to do this meet with Eliphas first. Might be better to get a good spot for the hedge witch panel.”
“No. Verity’s expecting us.”
“I’ll be at the panel, waiting to kick Tobin’s ass if he shows,” Nia said. “Just so you know.” She was far from alone in that. Although, with the security at the conference, Swift would be surprised if Tobin could even make it in the door.
“Let’s go.” Mercy led the way out of their side room. The hallway had cleared out as conference-goers had hustled to the next session on their schedules. Nia peeled off and headed to the room where the panel would start in about twenty minutes. He and Mercy strode to the elevators, where Verity Strange, the youngest of the Strange sisters, had arranged to meet them.
She grinned and enthusiastically embraced Mercy, whose emotions erratically pinged between thrumming annoyance, a high-pitched anxiety, and a deep, resonating love.
Verity pulled back and exclaimed, “This is going to be amazing! Just wait—you’ll see!” She was a flighty bounce of joy and adrenaline, just as breathless as her words and as light as the nearly see-through dress she’d donned for the conference. The drapes of sheer white fabric showed every curve of her slender body and contrasted strikingly with her long red hair… like she was a cross between fairy nymph emerging from the forest and a virginal bride just stepping into the bedroom. “Hey, Swift.” She gave him a knowing look, catching him staring—Mercy must have told her sister about his fiancé status because Verity was lightly scolding him with her eyes. The buzz of jealousy from Mercy would have been satisfying except Swift didn’t want her to think he had any interest whatsoever in her younger sister. Before he could say anything or think of what on earth to say—Holy hell, your sister’s hot but it’s you that I want? seemed like a bad choice—Verity stabbed the elevator button, and the doors immediately opened. When they stepped inside, she used a keycard tucked in her conference badge to swipe them access to the penthouse level of the hotel.
As the elevator rushed them upward, Mercy said quietly, “What am I walking into here, V? I hope the amazing Mr. Storm doesn’t think he can convert me because… that’s not going to end well.”
Verity’s bubbles fizzled, and she gave a slight frown. “I told you. He’s just interested in hearing about your work. But you should listen to him, Mercy. He knows more than you can possibly imagine about our world—and the realm beyond.”
Swift could almost hear Mercy grinding her teeth.
They quickly arrived, and Verity swept them out of the elevator, gliding ahead and beckoning them with a giddy smile on her face. A short walk down a spacious hall, plus Verity’s beaming smile to get them past the security guard at the door, and they were inside a palatial hotel suite that appeared bigger than Mercy’s apartment—and Swift had been substantially impressed by that.
Apparently, being a cult leader had monetary benefits.
Verity led them across the marble floor to an enormous open room with a spectacular view of the city. Standing at the window, his back to them, was a man who was surely the leader of the worldwide magick-cult that had swept up Mercy’s little sister along with countless others… but he looked more like a playboy surveying his turf.
Eliphas Storm turned as they approached, revealing that his white, mandarin-collared shirt hung open, displaying a muscular chest that said the thirty-five-year-old man—Swift had read his bio—spent considerable time in the gym. With his bare feet, shaved head, and tight black leather pants, the cult leader was obviously going for the monkish sex appeal that would draw in young witches like Verity Strange. He was pale-skinned, square-jawed, and conventionally attractive, but he’d shadowed his green eyes so extensively above and below that it seemed like he was wearing a mask… complete with feather-tipping at the eyebrows.
Swift’s first skeptical impression solidified into a complex and deep dislike. Then the man smiled warmly at them, his gaze admiring for Verity and Mercy both, while his emotional soundscape was silent—not even the steady hum of a monk’s dispassion—and Swift knew before the first words were out of the man’s mouth…
Eliphas Storm was a sociopath.
“I am so pleased to meet you, Mercy Elizabeth Strange.” Eliphas took Mercy’s offered hand in both of his, drawing her close and damn near bringing her hand to his bare chest.
Swift’s skin crawled, and it was all he could do to keep the tight smile on his face. Mercy’s reaction was nearly the same as his—a kind of automatic revulsion—but there was something warmer underneath. Something bubbling up from below…
Attraction. It was a visceral flush through Mercy’s body as Eliphas’s hand warmed hers, growing stronger the longer he held it. As Mercy’s revul
sion battled her attraction, Eliphas’s smile just grew. What the fuck? Was he using some kind of touch-magick on her? Mercy’s revulsion was losing the battle, and her deeply sensual exhale made Swift twitch with a sudden need to punch Eliphas in the throat.
Instead, Swift lurched forward, sliding his arm protectively around Mercy’s shoulders and drawing her out of Eliphas’s grasp while thrusting his own hand forward to shake. “The pleasure is all ours,” he said, his voice rough.
A fleeting smirk passed Eliphas’s face—no more than a fraction of a second, but Swift’s trained senses caught it—then the cult leader grasped Swift’s hand and shook it. But he held it too long, peering into Swift’s eyes, and that same response bubbled up from deep inside him. Allure. Attraction. A sensual feeling like Swift’s entire body was being warmed by every sex-laden thought he’d had about Mercy, only now those thoughts were being pulled to the surface and directed at the charismatic cult leader.
“I had no idea Mercy had taken a lover,” Eliphas said, his smile turning heated.
“Fiancé.” Swift pulled his hand out of Eliphas’s grasp. What the actual fuck? Was the guy a natural incubus? Swift could induce any emotion—including sexual ones—but he had to do it on purpose. Incubi did it almost by instinct, given they feed off that sexual energy. Swift couldn’t tell if Eliphas was getting off on this—whatever this was—but he was somehow inducing some kind of sexual response. Even in him. Definitely in Mercy. Verity was totally fucking gone—her emotional state was completely in Eliphas’s thrall, and he wasn’t even looking at her.
Swift reached out with his Talent, intent on shutting all that shit down, but when his reach found Eliphas’s mind, it was like grasping mist. There was nowhere to hold, nothing to manipulate, no emotions to shift or induce or change. He shoved hard at the mist but got exactly nowhere. Even with sociopaths, he could manipulate their minds, dredging up the dead parts of their emotional capacity, but this guy… nothing.