Tonight and Forever Magical Romances Boxed Set

by D'Alessandro, Jacquie

  Nick’s thoughts seemed to be running on the same line, since he asked, “You want to kiss me or curse me?”

  “Can I do both?”

  ~~~

  Back in the city, Nick took his first comfortable breath in hours.

  The chain of events that had brought him to the familiar streets of Midtown was unreal, to say the least. “We couldn’t just pop into my apartment?” he asked Abia after the nearly instant journey.

  After Malburn’s wand-waving, Nick had no doubt a box of books would be waiting on his living room floor.

  How far he’d come.

  “I need to make sure I haven’t left spell traces here,” Abia said in answer to his question. “I don’t want anyone tracking us.”

  “How do you track a spell?”

  She paused in the act of waving her wand over the back door where he’d first encountered her. “Similar to your cops—the ones who wear plastic gloves. They test blood stains. We test spells.”

  “You know investigation techniques?”

  “I’ve watched non-mystic TV.”

  “Do mystics have TV?”

  “Not really. We have security bulletins in emergencies, though Malburn once tried to—”

  “To get a sitcom script past the Mystic Writers Guild?”

  “Something like that.” A bright smile appeared on her beautiful face as she turned to face him. “Lieutenant, you made a joke about the mystical world. Do you finally accept you’re not having a vivid dream?”

  “It’s Nick. And, yes, I’ve accepted. You, I could dream up. Malburn, wands, butlers who deliver messages and potions that either cause or cure hives, not so much.”

  “Why me?” she asked quietly.

  He matched her tone, finding it hard to resist sliding his finger across her silky cheek. “Non-mystics have been known to have detailed visions about beautiful women. I expect mystic men are the same?”

  “Women, too.” She cleared her throat. “Plus we have the added benefit of transforming visions.”

  “Uh huh. How does that work?”

  “Kind of like a 3D movie.”

  Nick wasn’t into much kink, but he was a guy, so a variety of fleeting, erotic images zipped through his mind. “That’s...interesting.”

  Her lips parted in a small smile. “It works rather well in recreating crime scenes.”

  Normally, he would have appreciated her all-business attitude. Why were unraveling the mysteries of the night so far from his thoughts? “We should talk about—” He wasn’t sure how to describe the intensely amazing kiss they’d shared. “Before,” he finished awkwardly.

  “Absolutely.” But when he took a step toward her, she laid her hand on his chest. “When I have the Queen’s scepter back.”

  “Scepter?”

  “I’ll tell you later.” She waved her wand over the door one last time. “Let’s—”

  She froze, and Nick’s cop instincts kicked in. Scanning the alley, he saw nothing, but he felt movement. Then a shape appeared a few feet away, an extended hand holding a wand the only distinctive feature. “Duck!”

  Abia dropped to her knees and sent a golden spark from her wand. A grayish stream shot from the opposition.

  Nick squatted and rolled beside her, squeezing the trigger of his pistol, though he knew the moment he did the weapon would be useless. As expected, the bullet passed through the shadow in front of him. He heard the faint pop when it hit the wall opposite them, the clang of metal when it hit the pavement.

  His instincts were at war. Charge or retreat? The tools he’d always depended on in the past were useless. What did he fight with?

  Beside him, Abia gasped. “I’m hit.” She cupped her hand over her shoulder and staggered.

  Nick steadied her. “Are you—”

  She interrupted his question by sending another spark of gold toward their attacker, who returned fire, the stream sailing past Nick’s ear.

  Even injured, she could defend herself.

  And he was in the middle of a war he barely understood. For the first time since police academy training, panic threatened to overwhelm him. He’d survived then because he learned to overcome his fears, to channel his emotions into action.

  You can stop them, he heard Malburn say as if the old man was standing next to him.

  Imagination or remembrance? Nick wasn’t sure, but he listened.

  When the next stream exploded, he moved his body between Abia and the attack. Abia gasped as she fired from her wand, but the opposing spell had already landed. Heat spread through his chest. His fingers tingled. Breathing became difficult.

  “Force it out,” Abia ordered.

  “How?” he gasped.

  “I don’t know.” Another stream shot from her wand. “Just do it!”

  Going against every instinct and all his training as a cop, Nick holstered his pistol and concentrated on expelling the odd, foreign feeling spreading through his veins. Before he could do more than force out the air in his lungs and take a decent breath, Abia grabbed his hand. “We need to get out of here.”

  Still lightheaded but noting her pale face, Nick nodded. “My way this time.”

  Without waiting for her reply, he took off running to the end of the alley. The mystical world apparently survived on secrecy, so their greatest defense was exposure. When he reached 8th Avenue, he hailed a cab and urged Abia inside.

  Through the window, Nick shoved his badge in the driver’s face. “NYPD. Drive.” After giving his apartment’s address, he turned to Abia.

  Only to see a liquid red stain spreading through her fingers.

  “Is that real blood?” he asked, his gaze fixed to her shoulder.

  She stared at him in disbelief. “Of course it’s real.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be some kick-ass w—”

  He stopped his impulsive question with the instant realization that he wasn’t in a world where the word witch would be welcome. At least not unless it was Halloween.

  His world, his future, his very existence had shifted in a matter of hours. And yet little had changed. Bad guys wanted power, money and blood. Good guys fought to stop them.

  He battled on the right side, as always. As expected by three generations of Westins before him.

  But the enemy wasn’t like any before.

  As stripped off his jacket to press it against Abia’s wound, he didn’t see how he could lean on his family or how his silly resistance to a hives potion could possibly help them now.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Who attacked us?” Nick asked the moment he’d settled Abia on his living room sofa.

  Abia strived not to wince against the burning pain in her shoulder. “Probably a couple of Gardiff’s minions.”

  “There was more than one? I felt movement, but saw a single shape—a hand holding a wand.”

  Somewhat surprised, Abia glanced at him. “There were two sorcerers in black cloaks.” Maybe Nick hadn't adapted to her world as quickly as Malburn had thought. “Your abilities will become stronger as you use them, remember.”

  Frustration moved across his handsome features. “The on-the-job training was a little abrupt. I guess there isn’t a Crossover Academy.”

  “Since you’re the first known one in nearly three hundred years, we hardly thought it necessary.”

  “Really? Three hundred—” Nick waved off his shock. Clearly he had more on his mind than making mystic history, which pleased Abia. She didn’t have the time or patience for an ego. He retreated to the kitchen a few feet away and returned with a cloth he tied around her wound. “Will antibiotic creme help?” he asked, extending a plastic tube.

  “Anti-what?”

  “I guess not. Do you need a doctor?”

  The wound had been reduced to an annoying burn. “A Protector, in my case. And no. I’ll be fine.”

  To distract herself both from her discomfort and his disturbing proximity, she glanced around his living space. Certainly nothing like the Queen’s palace where sh
e’d been provided a collection of rooms befitting her position. Nick’s place was one room, the living area separated from the kitchen by a long counter, the bed presumably tucked into the wall to her left.

  But even she understood the exorbitant rental rates in Manhattan. For a cop to live in this borough meant he’d invested well and early, came from a wealthy background or had gotten an incredible deal from his landlord.

  There was little clutter in the apartment. A Yankees pennant (signifying some type of sports team, she thought) hung on the wall above the widescreen television. The screen was blank, causing her to briefly consider asking how the thing was activated. The mystery was driving Malburn crazy.

  A poster of a scantily-clad woman caressing an oversized beer bottle (she recognized that easily, as she’d seen countless caporals enjoying the beverage) was pinned to the wall beside the door. Another poster was a curious depiction of a sparkler, the kind caporal children waved around on holidays. Though, in her mind, the image could be interpreted as the lighted blast from a wand.

  Perhaps subconsciously Nick had been aware of his gifts long before they’d become apparent.

  Only a few framed photographs provided clues to the background of the man. One of Nick with a group of men wearing pressed, brass-buttoned blue police uniforms, another of him impressively shirtless, standing next to two other men on a beach. The last one was him with two older people, no doubt his mother and father, and a dark-haired girl in front of the Eiffel Tower.

  He noticed her looking around, since he said, “I’d give you a tour, but you can see pretty much everything from here.”

  “It’s nice to see you value your job, your friends and your family.”

  His gaze scanned the room. “How did you know that?”

  “The photos.” She also noticed the navy fabric covering the sofa where she sat coordinated with the blue, gold and green patterned fabric of the upholstered chair in front of a computer unit and the lamp on the small wooden table beside her. A woman’s touch.

  But Nick wasn’t married. Caporals and the mystic world had a similar practice of gold bands to signify their relationship status, and Nick didn’t wear one. His mother or sister had decorated? No, not his mother. He had too much pride and independence to accept her assistance.

  “Your sister did a lovely job on the decor with the limited space,” she added.

  Nick’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know that? You never touched your wand.”

  “Like you, I have observance skills that don’t involve magic. What’s her name?”

  “Mary. She’s a junior at Princeton.”

  “Smart girl.” Abia didn’t have siblings—none she knew about anyway. With her irresponsible parents, anything was possible. Since they’d been gone for nearly twenty years, though, she figured illegitimate children would have been uncovered along with all their other embarrassing indiscretions by now. Not exactly an appealing topic with a man she’d known mere hours. “Thanks for getting us away from Gardiff’s apprentices, by the way.”

  “Malburn said you’re extremely powerful. Why couldn’t you beat them?”

  Abia stiffened. “Unfortunately, it’s not that easy. Sorcerer power is different from that of witches and wizards. The spells don’t battle head-to-head. Like a basketball player trying to win a baseball game.”

  “Another sports reference?”

  “Your people seem to thrive on them.” She fought against her defensive attitude. “I was injured.”

  Obviously frustrated, Nick tunneled his hand through his hair, causing ripples through the silky, blue-black waves. “I’m used to protecting people.”

  “You did,” she insisted. “You got us out of there. I wouldn’t have thought to use the tools available in the caporal world.” Now that spells weren’t flying in every direction, she found the energy to smile. “You think fast in a crisis.”

  “I’ve been trained to.”

  “You’ll be trained to use your Crossover powers, too. Malburn will see to it.”

  “Excuse me if I don’t jump for joy.” Nick sank onto the sofa next to her. “A Flame spell—which, by the way, needs no explanation—going wrong? Is he really as brilliant and dotty as he seems?”

  “Yes.”

  “But we need him on our side?”

  “Most certainly. Our side?”

  He shrugged. “I’m in. Not sure I had a choice once Malburn started casting spells on me anyway, but since the other side started shooting, I’m definitely in.” His gaze drifted briefly to her shoulder. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’ve been hit worse.” Though it had been a long time.

  “You wanna tell me about it?”

  Rehashing mistakes was never Abia's favorite way to pass the time, but especially now, when so much was at stake. “Not particularly.”

  Nick nodded, then laid his arm across the back of the sofa, comforting but not touching, and she appreciated both the effort and the restraint. “So what’s going on?”

  Abia saw little benefit in hiding the truth, though Nick would be the only person outside her four-wizard team, the Queen and Malburn to know the true nature of her investigation. “Gardiff has stolen the Queen’s scepter, and the IPSF has been charged with recovering it.”

  “Scepter? Like the stick thing with a ball on top that a king or queen would hold?”

  Abia mouthed the words stick thing with a ball on top. The man did have a way of expressing himself. “Yes.”

  “Been there before. The mayor’s car was stolen last summer. It was a hell of a mess.”

  “The scepter is a bit more important than a vehicle.”

  “He drives a Jag.”

  Whatever that was. Mystical transportation was much more efficient than scraps of tinted steel rolling around on rubber circles.

  “So you’re part of the Inter-Palace Security Force?” Nick asked, bringing her back to the central topic.

  “I’m commander of the Inter-Palace Security Force.”

  Nick’s eyes widened. “I guess you’re as powerful as Malburn said.”

  “Yes. Plus, the Queen’s my aunt.”

  “Ah.”

  “Didn’t I mention that?”

  “Not that I remember. So she and Malburn are brother and sister?”

  “Oh, Great Merlin, no. The Queen is my mother’s sister. Malburn is actually a great-great-great—” She paused, counting. “Well, lots of greats ago uncle. He’s four-hundred-thirty-three, you know.”

  “Four hundred—” He stopped and shook his head. Abia had sympathy. He had a great deal to learn about the mystical world. “There really was a Merlin?”

  “Of course. King Arthur was the fairytale.”

  “Naturally. So why is this scepter so important? Besides the fact that it belongs to royalty.”

  “To most mystics, the scepter is simply an ancient symbol of the Queen's sovereign leadership. Only a few know it’s actually the source of our powers.”

  “Wouldn’t an object of that significance be protected with alarms, guards...spells, whatever? How did Gardiff break the security?”

  Abia cleared her throat. The protection of the scepter, as well as everything and every soul in the palace was her responsibility. She didn’t like being made a fool of. “Unfortunately, since not many mystics know the scepter’s secret purpose, it was kept in a public display case in the common area of the throne room along with several other royal treasures. Somehow, Gardiff the Sorcerer learned of the scepter’s true value—and I still don’t know how he managed that—drugged the night guards and took off with it. He then disassembled the scepter and transformed the pieces into ordinary objects.”

  “Like a dagger, a candlestick, a letter opener and a plate.”

  “Exactly. He hid them in your world, then told the Queen if she didn't meet his demands he’d destroy the scepter.”

  “And his demands?”

  “More power—literally. Sorcerers’ strengths are in crystal making, which has been reduc
ed to an artistic endeavor, since crystals no longer provide the energy source for lights in the mystic world.”

  “Crystal power?”

  “Like your electricity and light bulbs. However, about sixty years ago, a spell was discovered that allowed us to light the city without crystals or fire, which had been previously banned because of its volatility.”

  “Let me guess, Malburn’s discovery.”

  Abia wasn’t surprised by Nick’s conclusion. Dear Malburn, always experimenting. He never could have anticipated a crisis would come of his miraculous invention. “Yes. A side effect of his experimentation with the Flame spell.”

  “Microchips changed our world.” When Abia angled her head in confusion, he added, “They power computers.”

  “And I imagine the people who make those chips are rich and influential.”

  “Very.”

  “So you can understand Gardiff’s ambition.”

  “Understand, yes. Advocate, no. I guess all the other sorcerers are behind him.”

  “Not at all. Naturally, they were all worried when the spell was first discovered. The Queen held a summit to address the issue, and the Agreement for Artistic Crystals was decided. Sorcerers formed a cooperative union and sold their designs as works of art instead of practical use. And the Queen placed the first order from the Crystal Guild, installing a unique design on top of every lamppost in the city as a tribute to their craftsmanship. Other mystics followed suit, and crystals are now the most common gift for weddings, births and commencements. Their work is quite lovely.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out an aqua-colored crystal ring, which glowed in her palm. “I have a variety of colors and wear them for official occasions at the palace.”

  “Looks a bit like stalagmites I’ve seen in caves.”

  Amused, Abia pursed her lips. “Yes, well, they do get carried away with their creativity sometimes. IPSF generally looks the other way, but—” She stopped as Nick’s eyes narrowed. He no doubt believed that caporal scientist nonsense about acidic rain runoff creating the beautiful formations. She was rather proud of the disinformation campaign, though. Her own grandfather had developed it.

  Nick handed back her ring. “But not all sorcerers are happy with their artistic role.”