Tonight and Forever Magical Romances Boxed Set

by D'Alessandro, Jacquie

  “No. There’ve always been dissenters. Their parents and grandparents might even have been behind the blackouts and demands for higher wages, which is what gave Malburn the idea for alternative light sources in the first place.”

  “So Gardiff is staging another strike by holding the scepter hostage.”

  “Yes.”

  “A bold bluff. Won’t he lose his power if the scepter is destroyed?”

  “Probably.” And this uncertainty was what kept Abia awake at night. “But since sorcerers’ power is a bit askew from that of other mystics, no one knows for sure, not even Malburn. Gardiff and his kind are willing to take the chance. They want to control light in the city.”

  “They risk the little power they have to become all powerful.”

  The spark of fury and frustration inside Abia burned brighter as she considered the wild risk Gardiff was taking with all their lives. So much could be lost. If mystic power weakened, would it never regain full vigor?

  Gardiff had to be stopped, whatever the cost.

  Nick rose, wandering around the room. “Why don’t you throw him in jail and sweat him out? If he can’t get to the scepter to destroy it, his threat is moot.”

  “One, because Malburn believes that every minute the scepter is separated from the mystic world, the greater chance its power will be lost forever.” Abia clenched her fist. “Two, we can't find Gardiff.”

  She had hope in the message she’d received from her team earlier, certain that if they could get his lieutenants in custody, the leader’s network would weaken. But, bottom line, she’d failed miserably in tracking Gardiff so far. And though she never made excuses, she found herself saying, “In the meantime, the recovery of the scepter pieces is going well. I have four of the seven. I’ll find the rest, and then we’ll turn our full attention to rounding up Gardiff and his minions.”

  “You want my take?”

  She lifted her hands, then let them drop. It’d been a long night, and she was questioning everything. Was she using her resources effectively? Was she even taking the right path? “I guess so, since I unloaded all this on you.”

  “You have a Judas in New Mystic City.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Nick wasn’t sure a Biblical reference was appropriate in a discussion with a witch, but his altar boy experiences were more familiar than his mystical ones. (This thought led him to wonder how he was going to explain his gifts to his family. They’d no doubt threaten to cart him off to Saint Katherine’s Sanitarium.)

  “Judas?” Abia asked, confused.

  “An inner circle traitor.”

  Abia’s face grew pale, then her vivid green eyes hardened. “That’s not possible.”

  “Bought off would be my guess,” Nick continued, undeterred.

  She surged to her feet, as he’d expect any leader would do when those she commanded were threatened. “That can’t be.”

  “Surely you’ve considered the possibility of an inside source?” Frankly, he’d be disappointed if she hadn’t.

  Annoyance stiffened every curve of her body. “Naturally. The Queen, Malburn and I discussed how Gardiff could have learned the scepter’s secret purpose immediately after the theft.”

  “Only the three of you?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “So you consider everybody else a suspect.”

  “I don’t—” She stopped and muttered a curse (hopefully not a cursing spell) under her breath. “That’s a harsh suspicion.”

  “I don’t get paid to be nice. I bet you don’t either.”

  “I can make tough decisions,” she shot back.

  With a shrug, Nick paced a few feet away. Her wand was visible, lying on the arm of the sofa. He’d had his fill of spells shooting at his vital organs. “How many people know the scepter’s true significance?”

  “Few.”

  “I suggest you focus at least part of your investigation on identifying those people.”

  She called her wand to her hand, and his apprehension increased.

  Watching an inanimate object fly through the air broke every natural law he knew. Yet the ballet of the gesture was beautiful. If he gave her the compliment, would she show him mercy?

  Instead of pointing the weapon at him and turning him into a toad or a rat—which he doubted his fledgling Crossover skills could manage to fight—she waved the wand in the air, as if writing on an imaginary blackboard with light instead of chalk.

  Illuminated outlines of words, people and locations then transformed into three-dimensional figures. Malburn first, then a regal-looking, black-haired, surprisingly young woman dressed in purple and gold who he assumed was the Queen, then others he didn’t recognize. Places included a white, castle-like structure, topped with dark red turrets, gray-stone streets lined with lampposts and a suspension-type bridge over a bluish green river that reminded him of the Caribbean Sea.

  His own image appeared, standing in the alley holding his pistol, his mute fury over the Statue spell, then the kiss they’d shared.

  Oh, damn. As his body warmed with the memory, his head quickly overruled. Was he meant to see this? Was he reading her thoughts?

  Curious as he was about her, he didn’t want to come by information without her knowing. In his experience, women were mercurial at the best of times, and outright deception led to screaming and crying. (And, in Abia’s case, possibly being transformed into a toad for the rest of his days.) “Uh, I can see—”

  “Shh!” she said, not pausing with her work. “I know.”

  O-kay. Nick settled on the sofa and watched the show.

  After several minutes, she dropped onto the cushion next to him. “It’s important to see the whole board when playing a game of war.”

  “It doesn’t hurt. Did you remember anything significant?”

  “No, but there’s something lingering in the back of my mind. It’ll come to me in time.”

  “Probably in the shower. That’s where my best ideas seem to happen. How old is the Queen, by the way?”

  Abia’s lips tipped up at the corners. “Only four years older than me. She was a late surprise for her parents, who were childless at the time. There was much debate on who would inherit the throne before her birth. She’s quite magnificent, isn’t she?”

  If you like exotic, raven-haired beauties with creamy skin and great power. “I guess. I haven’t met many witches.” He paused significantly. “Though obviously beauty runs in the family.”

  “Are you flirting with me, Lieutenant?”

  “Would it get me anywhere?”

  “In my bed, you mean?”

  “Sure. That’s a good place to start.”

  Her gaze bored into his. “I’m tempted, but this mission needs all my focus. I can’t afford an indulgence in personal pursuits.”

  “How proper.” He leaned toward her, and her enticing scent wound its way around him like smoke. He was sure she was the only woman who smelled exactly like that. His slid his finger over the back of her hand. “Sex isn’t meant to be, you know.”

  She drew a quick breath, then pulled her hand away. “I can’t.”

  “Whatever you say.” Nick rose, glancing at his watch. Their desire for each other was bound to overflow again—investigation or not. He could be patient. “It’s nearly four. Why don’t we get some sleep?”

  “Sorry. My pace has been so urgent, I forget others don’t run at the same speed.” She raised her wand. “I’ll go home and—”

  He grabbed her wrist. “Don’t.” His gaze met hers. “Stay here. I have a million questions.”

  “Which you’re going to divine in your sleep?”

  “No.” At least he assumed he couldn’t. “I just don’t want—” He didn’t want to lose their physical connection. She was his only link to another life, the other half of him. “Stay, please.”

  After her jerky nod, he moved back the furniture and lowered the murphy bed from the wall. One glance at the rumpled sheets had him wincing. He couldn’t remember
the last time they’d been washed. “Hang on, I’ve got a blanket.” A clean one, hopefully.

  “I don’t need to take your bed. I’ll—”

  “No. I can manage.”

  “Lieutenant, please.” She lifted her wand again. “Allow me.”

  With a few decisive flicks, his bed flipped into the wall, and she conjured a dramatic four-poster with piles of silk pillows and matching diaphanous drapes in silver, turquoise, pink and green that cascaded in luxurious layers to the floor. It looked like a prop lifted off the set of Hot Arabian Nights.

  This spell casting stuff wasn’t all breath-crushing, body-freezing tests of strength and will.

  By comparison, his worn navy sofa, where he intended to sleep, looked like something a bum might turn down. Despite the fact that his eyes were crossing in exhaustion, maybe he should have tried a bit harder with his seduction.

  Before he could comment, though, she followed his gaze. “Sorry. Give me a sec.”

  Given the limited space, she stacked the furniture against the walls and managed a duplicate of her bed, this time with the more masculine colors of deep purple, black and gold.

  She paused, taping her wand against her lips. “Oh. One last thing.”

  A stone fireplace appeared in the corner of the room, crackling with burning logs and sending a wave of warmth across his body.

  All in all, mystic powers were pretty damn cool.

  The amazing beds would normally have fueled his already stoked attraction to Abia, but given everything they’d gone through in the last few hours, all he could think about was collapsing into the pile of pillows and checking out until noon. (Though he made a mental note to ask Malburn how he could go about hiring a mystic to set a similar scene—with one bed—for a future seduction.)

  “I’ll set my phone alarm for twelve,” he muttered, his gaze locked on the inviting sheets.

  “Ten,” she returned, sweeping her wand over herself and instantly shifting her black leather Goth outfit to a silky jade green pajama set.

  Nick wondered briefly about the feminine curves so easily accessible, but the lethargy creeping through him took control. “Deal.”

  They dove simultaneously for their beds.

  Nick was certain he’d be asleep before his head fully sank into the pillow, but though his body was exhausted, his thoughts refused to rest.

  The whole, incredible night washed over him in a wave of shock. He was a cop, a New Yorker, half-Italian and part mystic.

  He’d risen quickly through the ranks of the NYPD, a fact he’d attributed to his family legacy. And maybe his talents had been a legacy...just not a blood-related one. For that matter, was he the only Westin with Crossover abilities? Was this an inherited trait, like dark hair or gray eyes? His father and grandfather would think he was nuts if he even hinted at the events of the last several hours.

  And while the sights he’d seen and the experiences he’d had seemed like something out of a children’s fairytale, he knew in his gut he was exactly what Malburn claimed.

  His captain always told him he had a no-fail bullshit meter, so Nick wasn’t about to deny his instincts now.

  He’d fought off the spells aimed at him, but that wasn’t his only evidence of his mystic gifts. Part of him had always been restless, unsettled. Relationships with other cops were superficial, relationships with women lasted no more than a few weeks. He was close to his family, but at times felt separated from them even when they were all in the same room.

  He’d been a loner his whole life, and now he’d found an entire world he belonged to.

  Or did he?

  Other mystics would no doubt be suspicious of him; other cops would think he was crazy. He could never truly be home in either place.

  A few feet away, Abia sat up, distracting him. “Are you asleep?” she asked softly.

  “No.”

  “I can’t get comfortable.”

  How? Sultans had been provided less luxury. “Maybe there’s a pea under your mattress.”

  “A what?”

  “Nothing.” He pushed away his worry. At least he had Abia’s investigation to focus on. He had the rest of his life to contemplate the meaning of the rest of his life. “It’s a little warm.” Though that could simply be due to her proximity.

  Abia directed her wand at the fireplace, lowering the flames. “Better?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lifting her arms, she twisted her long mass of flaming hair on top of her head. The gesture exposed the smooth nape of her neck and lifted her breasts beneath her shirt. He longed to press his lips to the spot where her pulse beat beneath her ear. He wanted his hands gliding across her silky skin, her lips exploring his, their bodies so tangled there’d be no hope of separation.

  Hell. Now he was hot again.

  He rolled out of bed and headed to his closet, where he changed into cotton pajama bottoms. He’d planned to sleep in his jeans and t-shirt so he wouldn’t make Abia uncomfortable, but that bird had already flown.

  As he headed back to the main room, her question stopped him. “What do you think you’re wearing?”

  “Pajamas.”

  “Wh-where’s your shirt?”

  “On the floor.” He climbed beneath the sheets. “Think you could come up with soothing music?”

  “I doubt that would do much good now,” she muttered, though seconds later a haunting violin filled the room.

  Nick tried to let the music calm him, but he could feel Abia’s restlessness. “It’s difficult to suspect those you work with everyday.”

  She sighed. “I’m troubled by plenty of things, but I’m not worried about my team. They don’t know about the scepter’s power.”

  Surprised and impressed, Nick asked, “How’d you manage that?”

  “I didn’t tell them.”

  No denying logic. “They think they’re simply recovering a symbol of royal authority. Not something with actual force.”

  “Exactly. But the list of those with true knowledge includes personal friends and advisors of the Queen.”

  Nick winced. He hated treading political waters. “That’s a reason to lose sleep.”

  “Indeed.”

  She said nothing more, and he thought she’d finally drifted off, but then her whisper came out of the dark. “Do you feel different?” she asked. “Knowing you’re a Crossover?”

  He considered his encounter with her in the alley, meeting Malburn, their kiss, battling against the spells cast against him, his helplessness fighting the sorcerers.

  Their kiss.

  “Indeed,” he confessed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Breakfast while sitting opposite a bare-chested Nick Westin was the most torturous experience Abia had ever encountered.

  And that included hunting for and delicately capturing a collection of slugs after the Queen’s temper had gotten the better of her and she’d turned her entire advisory council into the vile, slimy creatures.

  If only the lieutenant was slimy…

  But no, he was perfect. Absolutely, unbelievably perfect. With his lean muscles, broad chest and golden skin, he made every sense in her body stand at attention. She wanted nothing more than to forget her duties and obligations and run her hand across every inch of his amazing physique.

  “Sorry the bagel is stale,” he said, startling her from her reflections. “I usually grab something at the deli on the way to the station.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Do you eat...normal food?”

  Great Merlin. How was she supposed to fight this? Switching between confidence, curiosity and hesitation, his personality had charmed her beyond physical attraction.

  “I usually have eggs and fruit,” she said. Though that was far from describing the palace’s vast selection of delights at mealtimes. “But I must say I’ve been craving a good eye of newt lately.”

  “Eye of—” He paused with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “You’re putting me on.”

  “Perhap
s.”

  Shrugging his muscular shoulders, he obviously decided she was teasing. “What is a newt anyway?”

  “No idea.” She smiled as she picked up her juice glass. “Your people came up with the term.”

  “Could you have waved your wand and come up with eggs benedict?”

  “No. Mystic powers have limits. I can’t conjure food and water out of nothing. And surely your local deli wouldn’t be happy if a couple of fresh bagels suddenly disappeared.”

  “An interesting theft investigation, though. What other limits—”

  Before Nick could finish his question, a cloud of purple smoke appeared in the kitchen, followed by Conrad. The messenger bowed. “The Queen requires your presence, Miss Abia, on a most urgent matter.”

  Abia pushed to her feet. “Gardiff?”

  “I’m sorry, your grace, but her Majesty didn’t divulge the purpose of the meeting. She simply asked me to inform you of its occurrence twenty minutes from now.”

  Twenty minutes? Something was up for her to demand an audience so quickly.

  “Your grace?” Nick asked. “Who’s Grace?”

  “I am.” Abia waved her wand, sending the empty dishes flying through the air to the washer caporals used instead of a Cleanse spell. “It’s a title. Like lieutenant. I have to go.”

  Conrad bowed. “The Queen looks forward to your appearance.”

  And with another puff of purple smoke, he was gone.

  Nick’s gaze jerked from the washer to the dissipating smoke, then to her. She wished she had time to offer more explanations. The spells that were second nature to her had to be overwhelming to him.

  “How’d he find you?” he asked.

  “Mystical GPS. Thanks for helping out last night. I need to go back to New Mystic City. You’ll be all right here?”

  “I have cases besides the candlestick theft I can work on. Plus, Malburn’s homework.”

  Once Abia removed the beds and fireplace, returning the apartment to normal, the box shifted itself to the center of the room and unpacked its contents. Books were lying on every flat surface, their pages flapping as if inviting a reader. Her uncle did enjoy enchantments way too much.