“Hello, Mother,” Gabriel said.
“My sons, it is so good to see you again.” She sent them each a smile through the bars of the cell door, her thin lips stretching in a way that made her nose look exceptionally pointed. Then she turned a scowl on her. “Raven,” she added by way of greeting. “I’m afraid our family reunion will have to wait until we’ve mitigated an unfortunate unpredictability.”
Gabriel frowned. “What unpredictability is that exactly?”
“I’ll need a strand of her hair,” Aborella said, pointing at Raven.
“You will have no such thing,” Gabriel snarled.
But the dragon queen swept her hand through the air, her citrine ring glowing gold on her finger.
Raven felt a tug on the side of her head. “Ow!”
Before any of them could react, a strand of her hair, root intact, floated through the door and into Aborella’s hands.
“What are you doing?” Raven ran for the door but was greeted with a repelling force like she’d run into the side of a rubber ball. Not only could she not reach through the bars, she couldn’t even touch them. She hurled every spell in her arsenal toward Aborella, but they all bounced harmlessly back at her.
Raven watched in horror as Aborella retrieved a second black hair from her pocket and a third, lighter one from an envelope she’d had tucked under her arm. Mumbling something, she began braiding the three together.
Backing away from the door, Raven clung to Gabriel’s side and whispered in his ear, “Can you understand what she’s saying?”
“Yes, she’s speaking Paragonian.”
“Tell me.”
“Three sisters at last are found, three hairs are braided round, three witches power bound, I tie thee, one, two, three.”
Aborella bent the braid into a knot.
“Stop her!” Raven said frantically. She wasn’t sure exactly what Aborella was doing, but she could feel it, like a needle passing under her skin.
Gabriel rushed the door but bounced back, presumably off the same force that had impeded her. He ended up back at her side, shaking his head. Tobias stood on her right, his eyes betraying his worry. The corners of his mouth sank grimly.
Aborella paused. “Now your blood, Empress.”
Eleanor made a tsking sound but pricked her finger with the sharp tip of her thumbnail. “If I must.”
“There is no other way than dragon magic, Empress.” Aborella pressed the braided knot into the ruby bead that bubbled on Eleanor’s finger, and Raven watched as the blood permeated the strands until each was made red from end to tip. Her blood felt hot in her veins.
Aborella began to untie the knot. “I break your link, one from another; I break your past, mother from child; I break your power, witch from witch.” With the knot completely untied, she began to unbraid the three strands of hair. “Together no more. Power no more. Three sisters no more.”
Raven gasped. It felt like she’d been stabbed through the heart with a giant needle, and a thread was being tugged through her flesh. She collapsed to her knees. The three hairs, now unbraided, dropped to the obsidian floor and burned into ash.
Gabriel rushed to her and gathered her into his arms. “What have you done to her?”
It was as if Aborella had extracted part of her soul. Raven felt hollowed out, completely empty. She clung to Gabriel, suppressing a sob. She wouldn’t give the bitch the satisfaction.
The door clicked and Aborella and the empress strolled into the cell. A threatening growl rumbled in Gabriel’s chest.
Aborella snorted. “Relax, dragon. I’ve simply neutralized your mate’s power at its source.”
The empress stared down her nose at Raven. “Now you will join me for dinner,” she said in a low, cool tone. “And if you try anything, Gabriel, or you, Tobias”—she leveled a stare at each of them—“I will kill her. Without her magic, it will take no more than a flick of my wrist and her neck will snap. Do you understand?”
Raven thought her mate’s jaw might crack from how tightly he ground his teeth, but he gave her a definitive nod. Tobias did as well.
At a snap of the empress’s fingers, two prison guards jogged into the room, one with arms laden with clothing, the other with a washbowl and a basket of bathroom sundries. Both were placed on the floor before them.
“Dress,” Eleanor said. “Clean up. Then we celebrate. Welcome home, my sons. The kingdom of Paragon has missed you.”
Chapter Two
London
Nathaniel Clarke lingered outside Relics and Runes occult bookstore, his pipe nestled in his palm. Not so long ago, he’d have fired the Turkish tobacco, loosely tamped within its bent rosewood bowl, in the comfort of his office, but smoking indoors was illegal these days in London. Bad for humans. He supposed when your lifespan was a mere hundred years or less, cutting it short by a decade or more for the sake of a smoke was reckless.
As an immortal dragon, Nathaniel couldn’t get cancer or any other human disease, and considering he could breathe fire, a little smoke was completely harmless to his composition. Humans, however, were important to Nathaniel, making up the majority of the occult book market. Plus he enjoyed the company of a few of them. He’d prefer to keep them alive.
No matter—it was early and Cecil Court had yet to suffer the tread of visitors’ footsteps, which gave him an opportunity to both enjoy his favorite smoke and make use of the enchanting properties of this particular tobacco blend. Specially developed by a friend—a wizard and master tobacconist—the heady smoke served a number of purposes. For one, it alerted him of imminent danger. This morning though, his use for it was far more mundane, to render his storefront irresistible to shoppers.
He flipped the top of his butane lighter and circled the flame over the tobacco, then let it burn out. A good false light. Ah yes, the scent was heavenly. He lit it again and took a ceremonious puff. The thick smoke curled along his tongue before he blew it out in a perfect, cloudlike ring that floated toward the summer sky.
“Honestly, Clarke, are you still flushing good money away on that dreadful habit?” Mr. Greene, owner of the neighboring bookshop, appeared beside him, broom in hand, and raised his bushy gray eyebrows. He stared pointedly at Nathaniel’s pipe. “You’re going to blow an artery if you keep that up.”
“Not everyone can be the picture of health as you are, Greene.” Nathaniel pointed a knuckle at the man and winked. “I’m of the mind to enjoy what years I have with a good smoke.”
“Because you’re a young chap. Wait until you’re old like me and regret comes to roost.” He straightened his sweater vest over his overlarge paunch.
“I daresay, I predict you’ll outlive us all.”
The elderly man chuckled. “From your lips to God’s ears.” He gave his doorstep a few half-hearted sweeps. “Speaking of regrets of the past and all that, have you heard the news this morning?”
“I haven’t had the pleasure.” Nathaniel puffed his pipe and blew a smoke ring over Greene’s head. Actually, he took no pleasure in current events. The world was in a constant state of wearying political angst. After three hundred years, he’d seen empires rise and fall. It didn’t matter to him which blowhard was in office or who was seen hobnobbing with whom. Nathaniel existed above it all. And if he didn’t like something, all he had to do was wait. Everything ended eventually, aside from him.
Greene wagged his finger. “Oh dear. I would have thought you’d be the first to know.”
“Hmm? What’s that?” He sent a tiny smoke ring through the center of a bigger one. The enchantment was taking hold. Already the brass around his door appeared shinier and the red paint that coated its wood gleamed as if he’d painted it yesterday.
“That fling of yours from a few years ago, the songbird from the States. You know, the pretty one.”
Nathaniel released his smoke in an uncontrolled and unattractive exhale. “You don’t mean…”
“The fish that got away, Clarke. You know the one. The woman. Ahh, I’v
e lost my head.” Greene tapped the heel of his palm against his temple. “Can’t think of it. Something… Clarissa! That’s it.”
“Clarissa is in London?” An uninvited tingle radiated from the back of Nathaniel’s neck, down his arms, and made his hands go numb. For the love of the Mountain, he did not need to hear Clarissa was in town today.
“She is! But that’s not why everyone’s talking about her. It seems she was performing for a corporate audience, the people who make those home gadgets. Tanaka Corp. Anyhow, her voice gave out completely in the middle of her performance. She had to be escorted from the stage. The Tanaka people were royally cheesed off over it. And, well, there are all sorts of rumors now going round about why. Drugs or whatnot. People are suggesting she might have to cancel her concert at the O2 later this month.”
“Hmm.” Nathaniel ground his teeth. Clarissa was a witch, a powerful one, and if her voice had given out, there was a dark reason for it. He stared down into his pipe. Today might be a good day to close up shop and take a holiday. Bora-Bora sounded like a nice diversion.
“So you hadn’t heard. You two don’t keep in touch then?”
Nathaniel sighed. “No. It was a fleeting affair. She has her career, and I have…” He gestured vaguely in the direction of Relics and Runes.
“Righto! Dodged a bullet, I’d say. Bad luck to have a woman that beautiful, if you don’t mind my saying so. My Minerva, rest her soul, wasn’t a looker, but she was a dab hand in the kitchen. That’s the type of woman you can rely on. Good cook. Loyal soul.”
“If only there were more Minervas out there.” Nathaniel pictured the heavyset woman with wild gray hair who’d passed away a few years ago and carefully kept his expression reverential.
“God broke the mold when he made her.” Greene wiped a tear from his eye and glanced at his watch. “Is that the time? Oh dear. We’ll be opening soon. I’d better ready the shop. Good day, Clarke.”
“Good day.” Returning the man’s little wave, Nathaniel watched him disappear inside his shop, then leaned against the doorframe and closed his eyes. So Clarissa was in town. It didn’t mean anything. And her voice giving out could have a number of causes, perhaps a virus of the throat or a nodule on the vocal cords. She was probably visiting a doctor even now. With any luck, she’d be on a plane back to America in no time.
He opened his eyes. Bringing his pipe to his lips, he allowed the thick smoke to linger on his tongue before slowly and deliberately blowing a perfect ring… that morphed into a crimson heart as it floated toward the clear blue sky.
“Fuck.”
He whirled and fumbled with the door, setting his pipe on the counter and mumbling incoherently as he passed the books on witchcraft, Jungian theory, the tarot cards, the crystals, the grimoires and the yoga magazines, to the small greenhouse of magical herbs at the back. He plucked two potted rosemary plants from the sill and hurried to place them on either side of the front door before ducking back inside again.
“With any luck…,” he mumbled. Where were his cards? He needed to read his cards.
The bell above the door rang.
“Jesus, Nathaniel, rosemary? It only protects you against those who would do you harm. When have I ever wanted to hurt you?”
Clarissa stepped across his threshold as if she’d been summoned by his earlier use of her name, like the devil or a demon. A real possibility now that he thought of it. Her blond hair was covered in a rose-colored scarf, and large dark glasses hid her blue eyes. But there was no mistaking her lithe figure and catlike grace. Or her scent. The floral and earthy notes of lilies and moss hit his nose.
She reached up and removed her glasses. “I think I’m being followed.”
“Then you’d better be on your way. Where’s your security?”
“Everyone wants to know what happened last night.” Her gaze roved over his face. His suit. “You look exactly the same. I mean, I knew you didn’t age, but my God. Is that the pocket square I bought you?”
“I hear footsteps in the alley. You should go before the paparazzi arrive.”
She shuffled closer to him. “Hide me. Please!”
The door opened. Cursing his own stupidity, he curled her into his arms and cloaked both of them in invisibility. He pressed a finger to his lips, although she of all people knew to remain silent.
Two men entered the store, one tall and suave, the other looking like he’d slept on the floor of a pub the night before. Both had cameras ready. They swept through the rooms, searched behind the counter.
“I know she came in here. I saw her,” the taller one said. He eyed the still-smoking pipe. “Hello?” he called. “Anyone here?”
The slovenly one squinted his eyes. “There’s a lower level.” The two jogged down the stairs to where Nathaniel shelved the books on fairies and druids among other things.
Nathaniel lowered his finger from his mouth, but not the invisibility that cloaked them both.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming back here after all this time,” he whispered to her.
“I need your help.” Her lips were red. He had a strong desire to smear her lipstick.
“No.”
“Believe me, if I had any other choice, I would have made it. You’re the only one who can help me.”
“No.” It was out of the question really. Not after how they’d left things.
The two men jogged back up the stairs, visibly baffled. “Gone. Just gone,” the tall man said. “Into thin air.”
“Are you sure it was her?”
Tall Man rubbed his chin. “Could’ve been a decoy, I suppose. It was odd she had no security.”
“There’s a back door,” the short man said, pointing with his chin.
They rushed into the courtyard. Nathaniel waited until he could no longer hear their footsteps or their voices before he dropped the invisibility.
“Next time I’ll let them find you.” He dusted off his hands as if holding her had filthied them.
“That hurts, Nate. It really does. After all we’ve meant to each other.”
“Ancient history.”
“But a pleasant one. As pasts go, I’m happy with ours.”
“Speak for yourself.” He smoothed the sleeve of his jacket and moved behind the counter. Better. He’d prefer a lead wall between them, but the counter would have to do. “Enjoy the pleasant weather.” He gestured toward the door.
“There’s something wrong with my voice.”
“See a doctor.”
“It’s not that type of problem,” she whispered.
The bell above the door dinged and the first customer of the day strolled in. Nathaniel greeted the man, who beelined straight to the section on witchcraft.
He shrugged. “I don’t know anything about vocal performance. But best of luck to you.” He gestured toward the door again.
She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, then approached the counter. “Please… Nathaniel… If you ever cared for me… If what we had ever meant anything to you… I need your help.”
He narrowed his eyes on her. “You can do it yourself.”
Slowly she shook her head. “No. I. Can’t.”
Realization dawned and he leaned forward to sniff her throat. As usual, she smelled of lilies and moss, but the magical tang that always accompanied her scent was missing. Clarissa’s magical Bunsen burner was on the fritz. Interesting. Not interesting enough for him to feed his heart into a meat grinder by allowing her back into his life, but interesting.
Still, it was impossible not to remember the good times what with her standing right in front of him. He met her gaze and held it.
“Nathaniel?” she pleaded.
“No,” he said again. And he meant it.
Chapter Three
The most tangled ball of emotions twisted in Clarissa’s chest. Without a shadow of doubt, she believed Nathaniel was the only person in the world who could save her career. Her former lover and mentor was a powerful dragon. Everything she’d ev
er learned about magic started with him.
That was the problem. She’d treated him terribly. Rejected him at the moment he was most vulnerable and left without explanation. Of course there was an explanation, but not one he wanted to hear. Not one he was willing to understand at the time. She was so young then, barely twenty. And he was ancient. Although he looked to be in his early thirties, he’d lived in London for three centuries and in his native land for even longer.
They’d barely spoken over the past decade. With her tour schedule and the chip on his shoulder, the hiatus wasn’t surprising. But she’d never thought it would come to this. Some part of her had thought that what they’d shared was sacred and that if she ever needed him—really needed him, like now—he’d be there for her.
She pressed her hips against the counter and leaned toward him. “Nate…”
He frowned.
“Nathaniel…” She made her voice soft and inviting. “I’m begging you. I will pay you anything.”
“Don’t insult me.”
“I will do anything.” She loaded her expression with promise and held his dark stare. By God, he looked good in a suit, but then the supernatural creatures that acted as his servants excelled in the domestic arts. Few others would understand the bespoke three-piece was handmade, its classic style owing to the fact it might have been created eighty years or more ago. She parted her lips and whispered, “You know I’m not lying.”
His eyes narrowed. Those fathomless pits sparked with amethyst fire as he registered her offer, making her wonder what lecherous thoughts had crossed his mind in the moment. Nathaniel danced with the dark arts. If she leaned closer, she might catch a whiff of sulfur clinging to his perfectly tailored suit. At best, the predatory gleam in his eyes was sexual. More likely though, he was thinking of spells that used witch’s blood or worse, her ground bones.
“Careful, Clarissa, you have no idea the things I’ve dreamt of doing to you over the years.”
The Dragon of Cecil Court (The Treasure of Paragon Book 5) Page 2