Tonight and Forever Magical Romances Boxed Set

by D'Alessandro, Jacquie

  Heading to the door, she shrugged into her jacket, wincing as the material brushed her shoulder wound.

  Nick followed. “When will you be back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then how am I supposed to help you find the scepter?”

  Abia had thought hard about this while working through her Reflection spell and as she’d tried to fall asleep. She couldn’t compromise Nick’s safety. She’d stayed with him last night both because he’d asked and because she’d wanted to make sure the sorcerers couldn’t track him. Nick was clearly better off in his world where he could defend himself. In the mystical community, without training, he was as defenseless as fledgling wizard trying to say on his first broom.

  Plus, with a traitor on the loose, she wasn’t sure who she could trust. “You’re not part of my investigation.”

  Anger turned his eyes silver. “Since when?”

  “Since now. It’s important that you live as you have been. If Gardiff learns of your abilities, you’ll be in danger.”

  “You can’t shut me out.”

  “It’s for your own good. I can’t be responsible—”

  He leaned toward her, his incensed face inches from her own. “I’ve been responsible for myself for a long time. I don’t need you to hold my hand.”

  He did, actually. “You need training, and Malburn can’t take the time right now. I need him.”

  “So hand me off to an assistant.”

  “I don’t want anyone besides me, the Queen and Malburn to know about your abilities.”

  “Surely Malburn can spare a few minutes. I’m a fast learner.”

  Her loyalty had to be to her mission. When she turned away, disturbed by his appeals, he wrapped his hand around her upper arm.

  “You can’t show me your world, tell me I’m part of it, then disappear again.”

  She sympathized with his frustration. She doubted he felt helpless very often. He certainly didn’t plead. She was his only connection to his true nature. A vital part of him was fighting for freedom.

  With a sigh, she relented. If Malburn couldn’t train him, she’d find a way. She hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks anyway. “I’ll send Conrad to bring you to me later.”

  He jerked her against him and laid his mouth briefly over hers. “Thanks.”

  Her heart hammered in her chest. Both desire and relief danced in his eyes. “No kissing,” she admonished.

  He grinned. “Whatever you say, Commander.”

  ~~~

  Abia paused in the doorway of the royal private chamber.

  The Queen, Esmerelda Simone Quinn Malone, Sovereign of New Mystic City, unparalleled beauty, formidable witch, revered leader, was frantically pushing buttons on a television remote control.

  She cursed when the screen hanging on the stone room wall remained blank.

  Her aunt and Malburn had been attempting to gain access to caporal broadcasting for months. Unfortunately—as with the ancient tradition of concubines the Queen’s grandmother had banished when she’d ascended the throne—they possessed the right equipment but had received the wrong kind of reception.

  Her sovereign's curiosity about things outside the realm of mystics was one of the aspects Abia admired most about her. Societies that didn’t embrace innovation died.

  Abia bowed. “You sent for me, Your Majesty?”

  The Queen impatiently waved a be-ringed hand for her to enter. “Yes, Abia, thank you.”

  Though her aunt sank into the chair behind her desk, Abia remained standing.

  With a flick of her wand, the Queen closed the door and set aside the remote. Her green-eyes—a trait all Quinns shared—narrowed. “Malburn tells me the caporal policeman is actually a Crosssover.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Dispense with the formalities, Abia. We’re alone. Sit down and tell me what’s going on.”

  As quickly and thoroughly as possible, Abia recounted her meeting with Nick Westin. She left out the kiss—both of them—but her aunt was gifted in sensing deceit and misinformation, one of the reasons she was such an efficient ruler.

  “So you spent the night in his apartment?” she asked pointedly, one black eyebrow arched.

  Abia stiffened. “I conjured separate beds.”

  “Though I expect you’d rather not have done so.”

  Her aunt was also gifted in wordy statements that you had to think about before discerning the full meaning. The downfall of being imbedded in politics, Abia supposed. “My duty is finding the scepter.”

  “Four of the seven pieces found?”

  “Yes. My team also arrested one of Gardiff’s minions early this morning. He’s being detained in the palace dungeons.”

  “And saying nothing, I understand.”

  “Fear of Gardiff seems to override worry over his fate. We’re hoping a few days of isolation will ease the sorcerer’s hold.”

  “Any leads on the remaining scepter pieces?”

  “Gardiff or his followers have to be renewing the Transformation spell often. IPSF Agents are rotating a twenty-four hour patrol in the caporal world so they can tune into mystical activity.” And she actually had an idea on that aspect where Nick might help. While sorcerers could conceal themselves with Shadow spells, caporals often sensed menace and danger without realizing their nature. Abia intended to ask Nick about police reports of ghosts or strange occurrences in Midtown. “We’ll have the scepter back where it belongs in a matter of weeks.”

  “It seems you have everything under control.”

  “As I should.”

  The Queen leaned back in her chair. “I expected nothing less. However, you could stand to relax once in a while.”

  “Relax?” Abia asked, surprised by the sudden switch in topic.

  “Yes. Your team treads on eggshells, fearing your impatience and demands for perfection. You don’t sleep. You don’t eat. I need you strong.” She offered Abia a small smile. “We all need you strong.”

  Offended by the implication she wasn’t handling her workload, Abia rose. “I’m solid enough.”

  “Certainly stubborn enough.” The Queen tapped her wand against her desk. “Go see my personal Protector and have him tend your wound.” She paused, her gaze locking with Abia’s. “And bring Lieutenant Westin to my table tonight for dinner. I’d like to meet the phenomenon personally.”

  Abia didn’t hesitate as she bowed, though she resented her aunt’s depiction of her team. She didn’t expect perfection. She wanted results. And what was this sudden desire for her to relax? Maybe she should skip off to The Golden Isles for good measure? Leave the power of the mystic world to drain, day-by-day? “As you wish.”

  The Queen said nothing until Abia had nearly passed through the chamber doorway. “Loneliness isn’t a virtue, but a burden. Take it from one who knows.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Nick released Conrad’s sleeve as he felt solid ground beneath his feet.

  He wasn’t sure whether he’d ever get used to mystic travel. Tornado travel would be more accurate.

  Getting his balance, he noticed the room where he’d landed was a great stone hall with an arched ceiling, reminding him of historical churches he’d seen when visiting Italy a few years before. Elaborate frescos decorated the ceiling, golden-framed paintings covered the walls. The same type of iron, Victorian-era lamp poles he’d first seen in Malburn’s shop provided light, each one containing a flickering flame and decorated by a unique crystal.

  Odd that something so basic could cause so much conflict.

  A tall, illuminated glass case drew his attention. Crossing to view its contents, he saw an empty brass rack and a black silk pillow resting in the bottom and realized immediately this was where the scepter once rested.

  Conrad, the messenger butler, bowed. “The Queen requests your presence for cocktail hour in her chambers.”

  “Thanks, I’ll—”

  Before Nick could finish his statement, the air whirled an
d Abia appeared at his side. “I’ll take charge of him, Conrad.”

  The messenger vanished, leaving Nick alone with the woman of his dreams.

  Literally.

  Abia was dressed, not in head-to-toe Goth, but in close-fitting dark gray pants topped by a hunter green, Victorian-style jacket that fit to her waist, then flared and fell to her knees. Her red hair was straight, though one long curl wrapped like a comma around her breast on each side.

  Nick recovered enough to point at the cabinet. “The scepter’s case.”

  “Yes.” She hooked her arm through his. “We thought if we left the case so obviously empty for all to see, mystics in the city would be more angry at Gardiff.”

  As her enticing, flower-spice scent warmed his blood, he fought to remain focused. “Smart. One of them might see something that’ll lead to his arrest.”

  “Let’s hope so. Plus, donations to The Great Hall Preservation Fund are up by forty-five percent.”

  She took him on a short tour of the room, pointing out various artifacts and their significance, but Nick found concentration difficult. He’d missed her during his long day of study, of worrying which world he truly belonged to, of wondering if he’d blown any chance with her by his impulsive kiss. Desire itched across his skin like a rampant rash, and he frankly wasn’t sure if his need was due to her or the world she’d opened to him.

  Purposefully, he tuned in to her words instead of the fact that she breathed, moved and smelled like heaven.

  “The King,” she said as she stopped in front of a wall mural. “Our current Queen’s father, as he led our army to assist Ireland’s king during a leprechaun uprising outside Dublin.”

  Nick choked back a laugh. “Leprechauns?”

  “They’re quite fierce, even with the height disadvantage.”

  Given the scowl on her face, Nick decided pressing the point wasn’t smart. He’d like a repeat of those kisses, after all. And much, much more. “There are other mystic cities besides this one?”

  “Oh, sure. Several scattered thorough Europe, one island nation in the south Pacific and two here in the U.S.” Abia rolled her eyes. “Though the West Coast Queen lives in Orange County. My aunt can’t get her to move from her elaborate backyard pool long enough to offer much support for our issues.”

  “Politics are complicated, no matter the society.” Nick studied the mural more closely. The King was depicted with long, black hair like his daughter, though his contained more than a few silver streaks. “If Malburn is 433, how old was the King when he passed?”

  “Oh, he hasn’t passed. He’s retired. The sovereign doesn’t have to die in order to transfer his or her crown. At a hundred twenty-one, the king decided he deserved a few comforting golden years.

  Another reason to be mystic. Triple digits was a pretty good life span. “How old’s the Queen?”

  “Thirty-six.”

  “And you’re four years younger than her. That makes us the same age.”

  Abia’s gaze met his. “You have a good recall for details.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “When it matters.”

  You matter.

  He didn’t voice the thought aloud, but he was pretty sure she understood. The chemistry between them transcended the difference between their worlds.

  “Malburn’s advanced age is unusual,” she continued as they walked across the hall toward a series of paintings on the opposite wall. “Generally, mystics don’t live past one-thirty. And mass epidemics come around every few generations. My parents died in the last one.”

  Nick’s heart lurched. “Your parents are deceased?”

  She nodded. “Since I was fifteen. Malburn raised me.” She shrugged, but there was a world of resentment in the jerky move. “I was better off.”

  Nick had seen evidence of child abuse often. It was naive to think the mystic world didn’t suffer, too, but the idea of anyone touching Abia in violent anger made him sick. “They hurt you?”

  Her startled gaze found his. “No.” Her fingertips skimmed his wrist as if she was trying to settle his thoughts. “Couldn’t even if they wanted to. I could transform anybody in the palace into a teapot by the time I was five. I truly would have been a terror if Malburn hadn’t taught me discipline.”

  He noticed her uncle got credit for her powers—and that she’d glossed over losing her family. “Why were you better off?”

  “They had no discipline,” she said briefly.

  Nick wanted to probe for details but didn’t want to open old wounds. “How’d you stop the epidemic?”

  “The King’s Protector found a cure. Not soon enough to save the eighty-four who died, but he prevented further spread of the virus.”

  A pair of couples, also dressed in the same mashed-up Victorian-meets-modern style as Abia, passed by. One woman whispered to the man next to her, the other dropped into a brief curtsey. “Y-your Grace,” she mumbled, her eyes wide, before they all shuffled away.

  The encounter was a great transition to a topic he’d wanted to broach with Abia. “Malburn helpfully provided a Quinn family tree for my homework. You’re a duchess.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “Sounds pretty cool to me.”

  “Oh, yeah. People sucking up to you so they can use you for their own ambitions or requesting a palace job for their wastrel brother-in-law, often bowing and curtseying whenever they come near you. Normal maybe for 1820, but not for today, and certainly not in America. Being born into a powerful family doesn’t make you special.”

  “Did someone suck up to you, use you for their own ambitions, then betray you?”

  She cast a sideways glance at him. “I should have known you’d jump on that detail.”

  “I’m a detective.”

  “During the panic of the epidemic, I was matched with a family friend by my parents. They died. The guy decided I didn’t meet his standards. End of story.”

  What the hell kind of idiot was that guy? Nick wondered.

  “The Queen has recently decided that by setting me up with every eligible man in the mystic universe, I’ll get past my anger and disappointment.”

  “And have you?”

  Abia stopped in front of a large painting depicting a wizard with shaggy red hair battling a flame-spewing dragon. Staring hard at the scene, she mumbled, “Some things change you forever.”

  An unfamiliar spurt of jealousy moved through Nick. Did she still care about this guy?

  Abia shook herself out of her reverie. “Besides old gossip about me, what else did you learn from your research?”

  “Almost too much to absorb. I have a million questions.”

  “I’m sure. Malburn is eager to help. He knows magic better than anyone.” She indicated the painting. “In his younger days...”

  Nick angled his head. “That’s Malburn?”

  “He was a serious warrior.”

  Nick had a hard time assimilating the fierce painting with the little old wizard he’d met. It was sort of like finding out your grandpa was a ladies’ man as a teenager. “Any developments in the search for Gardiff?”

  “My team arrested one of his followers—that’s why I was called away this morning. He’s keeping silent, but I’m hoping a few days in the dungeon will get him talking.”

  A chime echoed through the hall before Nick could ask her more.

  “Good evening, mystic creatures,” a melodious voice announced. “The Royal Hall is now closing. Please make your way safely to the exits or, for those who have the ability to do so, feel free to use a Travel spell to hasten your next destination. Thank you for visiting The Hall, and have an enchanted evening.”

  Several clouds of purple smoke preceded the arrival of uniformed guards who took their place in various spots around the room. A few visitors moved toward the door Nick had entered, but most disappeared amid varying colors of smoke.

  He was curious about the rainbow of colors, as he’d observed only shades of purple so far, when Abia slid h
er hand into his. “Time to go,” she said.

  To his surprise, she didn’t cast a spell but guided him down an arched hallway in the back of the hall. Naturally, seeing as they were in New Mystic City, she didn’t open the sturdy-looking wooden door they approached. The door simply evaporated.

  Casting a glance over his shoulder, Nick noted the door re-solidified the instant they cleared the opening.

  Once again, Abia sensed his curiosity. “Only members of the Queen’s household can enter the castle’s domestic chambers. A specific protective spell has been cast on the door to allow limited passage.”

  The red-carpeted hall they were currently walking down was more decorative than the last. Elaborate gold and crystal lanterns illuminated wall murals that reflected sparkling paint and glittered with actual jewels. “I saw pictures of the castle when I was reading today, but Conrad brought me directly from my apartment into the Great Hall. Any chance I could see the outside?”

  “Later, when there aren’t so many people in the streets.”

  After leading him down another mural-lined hallway and up several flights of stairs, they finally reached a door guarded by two broad-chested warriors, dressed in tailored purple shirts, black vests and black leather pants. They held wands at their side instead of firearms.

  “Your Grace,” they said as they bowed. “You and your guest are expected.”

  Abia inclined her head. “Thank you.”

  Giving Nick brief, curious glances, the guards turned and allowed them to enter by pointing their wands at the door, which dissolved into a lavender fog.

  Nick had no idea what the future held for him, and he was almost positive he couldn’t pull off the purple shirt/black leather look, but he knew that passing through that smoke led to an inner circle that few mystics ever glimpsed, much less regular schlubs like him.

  They entered a small sitting room. A curved-backed sofa upholstered in purple and gold perched in front of a mahogany coffee table. Two similar-styled chairs with white silk coverings sat like bookends on each side.

  “What’s with all the purple?” he whispered to Abia as she guided them to the sofa.