Tonight and Forever Magical Romances Boxed Set

by D'Alessandro, Jacquie

  That definitely didn’t explain the wacky clothes. Londoners had a reputation as conservative dressers. Burgess would have stood out in Vegas. Attending an Elvis impersonator show. As part of the back-up band.

  Maybe he was simply pompous.

  “Don’t worry if you’re dazzled by the lights or intimidated by our powers,” Burgess said, not bothering to disguise his condescending tone. “We’re actually quite protective of our weaker neighbors.”

  Yep, pompous.

  “He looks strong enough to me,” the woman next to Nick said, boldly staring at his chest.

  “Did Tippy style you?” the woman across from him asked. When he nodded, she added, “I absolutely love that suit.” She smiled broadly at the man next to her. “Martin looks fabulous in gray.”

  Burgess straightened his green vest. “She probably had to cast a spell to get the pants long enough.”

  Neither, apparently, was Burgess thrilled that Nick was a good six inches taller than him.

  “I’d use whatever tools were at my disposal to get the job done,” Nick said, keeping his tone firm and even.

  “Lieutenant Westin has been invaluable in the recovery of the scepter,” the Queen said.

  “I appreciate your confidence in me, and I hope everyone in the palace realizes I won’t rest until the artifact is returned to its proper place and Gardiff is in the dungeon.” Nick watched the people around him closely. “Commander Quinn seems willing to listen to his story, even negotiate a truce. But I think the sorcerer—and all who’ve assisted him—is a menace in the mystic world.”

  Something that might have been fear, but was without a doubt surprise, moved through Burgess’ eyes. Arrogant and guilty?

  Maybe. Or maybe he simply didn’t like the guy. Either way, he was gonna take a long, hard look at Roderick Burgess.

  ~~~

  With a sigh, Abia settled onto her apartment balcony’s pillowy sofa and let her head drop on Nick’s shoulder. “I’ve never been so happy to get out of my clothes.”

  “I could’ve done it faster,” he said practically. “And heroically stopped before you found something else to wear.”

  To comfort, she patted his chest. “We should hear from the team any minute about their mission. I’d rather Conrad not pop into my bedroom at an inappropriate moment.”

  Nick wrapped his arm around her waist and boosted so she straddled his lap. “I’m glad one of us can be patient.”

  Before she could tell him she wasn’t happy about waiting either, he’d covered her mouth with his.

  Her relaxed state was instantly replaced by need.

  The caress of his tongue fired her senses and desire built in her belly. She pressed herself against his erection and moaned at the restrictions of the cloth separating them.

  Heat billowed from his body, dispelling the cool night air and warming every inch of her skin. He smelled captivating, like the forest with a hint of musky spice. She wanted—

  She jolted as Black Magic leapt onto the back of the sofa. “Great Merlin!”

  Nick’s head jerked toward the disturbance, his whole body tensing when he noticed the cat.

  After briefly pressing her burning lips together, Abia made the introductions.

  Man and feline sized each other up. Magic cocked his head, as if reserving judgment without more information.

  “A witch with a cat?” Nick asked, looking wary, as if he sensed he was faced with no ordinary animal—which was certainly true. “No kidding?”

  Climbing off Nick’s lap, Abia shrugged. “All stereotypes have some basis in fact. Though the Queen illogically prefers dogs, annoyingly vocal pug puppies at the moment.”

  “Black Magic?”

  “He’s black, he’s magical. What else would he be?”

  “The reference means something entirely different in my world.”

  “Oh, like voodoo? Or evil old crones stirring bat wings and crow eyes in a big pot of boiling green potion?”

  Nick shifted away from the cat. “Exactly like that.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought you believed in that sort of thing.”

  “I try to keep an open mind about evil.” When Magic jumped gracefully onto his thigh, Nick cast her an imploring look. “How magical?”

  Abia scratched Magic behind his ears, which earned her a purr. “Well, he used to carry a tiny little wand hooked to his collar, but he had so much trouble drawing it—no thumbs, you see—we decided to—”

  Both man and feline stared at her in utter disbelief, bringing her tale to a halt.

  Then they stared at each other.

  “He can understand what we’re saying?” Nick guessed.

  “He can.”

  “But he can’t...talk.”

  “Not the way we do, but he manages to communicate in his own way. He can also perform minor spells.”

  Obviously annoyed by the minor description, Magic vanished from Nick’s leg and reappeared on the balcony railing.

  “The Travel spell being among those,” Abia added. “And, to be fair, he’s an invaluable spy for the IPSF.”

  “A cat secret agent?”

  Magic disappeared from his perch, then popped onto Nick’s lap again. There, he butted his head affectionately against Nick’s chest.

  Nick scratched his between his ears. “I guess we’re friends now.”

  “Promise to get him his own badge, and he’ll desert me for you in a blink,” Abia said dryly.

  “She’s still the boss,” Nick reminded the cat.

  Magic responded by leaping onto the back of the sofa.

  “He’s asserting his dominance by keeping his head above ours,” Abia told Nick. She pursed her lips as she studied her pet/agent. “You have anything to report about Roderick Burgess?”

  Magic nodded, then blinked.

  The Remembrance spell began like a movie reflected against the dark sky. Burgess was the star, his peacock swagger down the hall to his room as normal as ever. Once inside his apartment, however, sweat broke on his brow. He waved his wand, and his messenger butler appeared. Burgess laid a single piece of paper on his silver platter. Take this to my business manager, he said. The butler vanished.

  “Cool” was Nick’s single comment when the images flickered off.

  “Handy.” And frustrating, Abia added silently. “If he is communicating with Gardiff, he’s being more cautious than I would’ve given him credit for. For all we know, he could be commissioning another one of his signature” —she made air quotes—“suits for his next dinner party.”

  “We can ask the messenger to tell us what the note said and who he took it to,” Nick pointed out.

  “No, we can’t.” Abia rose to pace. “Minglers, messenger butlers specifically, are required to swear absolute loyalty to their employers. To betray that pact is punishable by a five-year sentence in the dungeon.”

  “But if the scepter’s power isn’t restored, there won’t be any need for Minglers.”

  “I can’t change mystic law in the next ten minutes,” Abia returned, annoyed, though she knew Nick was right. “At the party, I told Betsey, the witch on my suspect list, about the possibility that we’d have to compromise with Gardiff. Conrad followed her and said she went directly to bed after the party. The Queen told John, and one of her staff said he tucked his wife in bed, then spent the night with his mistress.”

  “How considerate.”

  “And a potential point of blackmail.” Her mind raced with the possibilities. “It could be any one of them. Plus, two of them can’t stand me, and would love to see me negotiate.” The very idea caused a bitter taste in her mouth. “Betsey and I went to school together, and she always resented my royal lineage. John thought he should have gotten my job instead of a position on the beautification board.”

  “But who’s desperate or greedy enough to risk their mystical powers for the potential of besting you, the Queen, everyone?”

  “Before a few weeks ago, I would have said none of them. This betr
ayal goes against everything mystical. But somebody’s betrayed us.”

  “Burgess looks good for it,” Nick said matter-of-factly, then snagged her hand as she paced by him and tugged her into his lap. “So we wait and see where the information pops out again. In the meantime, we’ll muddle along.” He brushed his lips across her cheek. “Finding ways to distract ourselves.” He flicked his tongue over her earlobe, causing her pulse to gallop instead of her thoughts. “Doing our humble part to save magic.”

  A brief puff of purple smoke preceded Conrad’s arrival. “Pardon me, Your Grace.”

  “I can’t catch a break,” Nick muttered.

  Abia pushed herself to her feet. “Yes, Conrad. Has the team returned?”

  “From Captain Evan.” He bowed and extended his silver platter, and Abia grabbed the note.

  MysticNet

  Inter-Palace Security Force

  Piece six secured without incident and delivered to Master Wizard Malburn. Team has returned to headquarters. Activities were not observed.

  Relief spurted through Abia, quickly followed by her gut tightening. One more. And when she got her hands on that despicable sorcerer...well, she’d spend every waking moment plotting the spell she’d use to drop on him when she found him.

  If she found him…

  “Thank you, Conrad. Have a good evening.”

  Conrad vanished.

  “They found the piece?” Nick asked.

  Abia nodded.

  “Everybody’s safe?”

  “Yes.”

  “So now we find Malburn to get the last one.”

  Abia studied the banked heat in Nick’s eyes. “Tomorrow. We’ll find him tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Your Grace?”

  Nick woke to the sound of Conrad’s voice coming from Abia’s den. He tried to tug her warm, naked body closer, but he grasped only smoke.

  Damn.

  Morning had come abruptly after a pleasure-filled night, and he was no closer to finding a way to tell Abia about his feelings than they were to finding Gardiff.

  With a groan, he hoped wasn’t pitiful, he lifted his head from the soft cotton pillow and rolled out of bed—slowly, but he managed. He tugged on the pants and shirt he’d worn the night before and wondered idly if the Queen’s job offer could be amended to allow his palace apartment to be connected to Abia’s.

  He could almost hear his mother’s incredulous words—You’ve known the woman two weeks, and you’re already moving in together?

  Well, she’s not exactly a woman…

  Then, his father’s reaction. I guess she’s not Catholic.

  Both scenarios sounded bizarre. Maybe the meeting of the parents could wait. He should probably get the love of his life’s commitment to something besides joining her security team first.

  Knowing about the secrecy pact between a messenger butler and a mystic, he didn’t bother to button the shirt before he wandered into the den.

  “Good morning, Lieutenant,” Conrad said, bowing.

  Abia turned toward him, her eyes heating when her gaze drifted to his partially-bared chest.

  Was there anything hotter in the world—either one—than a woman who wanted you?

  “Mornin’,” he said, finding his voice gravely. He and Abia hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep. “Something wrong?”

  “Gardiff wants to meet,” Abia said.

  “Personally?”

  “By Mystic Chat.”

  Do what? There were times Nick wondered if he’d need a couple hundred years to understand all the secrets of this world. He’d have given anything for a cup of coffee. “You’re gonna chat with Gardiff?”

  “Mystically,” Abia clarified. “Sort of like the way you communicate on your computers.”

  “As in video and audio? Those communications can be monitored with the right equipment.”

  She brandished her wand. “Right here.”

  Nick had actually been thinking of something more electronic. He’d seen that stick do some amazing things, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to put complete faith in magic. Suggesting this to Abia, however, didn’t seem wise. “Won’t Gardiff anticipate you’re able to trace him?”

  “Probably. He’ll think he can outsmart us.”

  “Can he?”

  In a single lift of her chin, Abia suddenly looked every inch the duchess. “No.”

  In Nick’s experience, underestimating an enemy was the first step to a failed operation. Was he saying that to Abia? Hell, no. “Is there coffee anywhere?” he asked instead.

  Conrad extended his silver tray. A steaming mug rested in the center, naturally conjured by magic.

  Nick could smell the rich, dark coffee from four feet away. He grabbed solace and took a grateful sip. As far as he’d observed, the supposedly lower powers of Middling mystics were way more helpful than any others.

  “I have a secret weapon to battle Gardiff, you know,” Abia said into the silence.

  “No kidding? What?”

  “Not what, who.” She smiled. “You.”

  Huh? “Maybe I can borrow some surveillance equipment from the department, but it’d take some pretty creative storytelling to slide the requisition past my captain.”

  “No, no.” Abia expelled a frustrated sigh. “We’re going to have to find a better way to channel those caporal instincts of yours.”

  Really? Nick stared at her over the rim of his mug. Last night she’d told him his technique and creativity were very un-mystic-like. And much appreciated.

  She must have sensed the direction of his thoughts, since she cast an uncomfortable glance at Conrad before she said, “While I’m talking to Gardiff, he’ll cast spells to conceal himself and his location. You’ll be immune to those spells.”

  Well, duh…

  The plan to keep his Crossover abilities a secret was looking more clever by the second. But then something she’d told him several days before threatened to burst the bubble. “You said a sorcerer’s powers are different from witches and wizards. Are you sure my talents will work?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  Nick guessed that was the best they could hope for at this point. “Is anybody documenting all this experimenting I’m doing? I’d like to make life for generations to come a bit simpler.”

  “Malburn’s got that covered.”

  “He’s happier than I’ve ever seen him, Your Grace,” Conrad said, though his grave tone contradicted his message. “I do believe he might see his fifth century.”

  As if he knew he was being discussed—and, face it, no telling what the wily little wizard could do—Malburn appeared in a cloud of vibrant purple smoke. “You must let me observe the proceedings, Abia.” He literally floated around the room, the toes of his silver slippers skimming the wooden floor. “If Nick can resist Gardiff’s spells, the balance of power will shift. We’ll have a hold on the sorcerer rebellion.”

  Abia stiffened. “We don’t want to dominate them, Uncle. We want to get along with them.”

  Malburn peered at her with ageless eyes. “Some mystics can’t be reasoned with, my dear.”

  Nick remained silent, though he agreed with Malburn. Rehabilitation worked in many cases, but some criminals were beyond help. For these, who posed a threat to society, the only answer was forced isolation. He’d visited the dungeons, and they weren’t a place to aspire to, especially for a race of people used to the freedom and power of mystics. Gardiff was going to fight with everything he had to prevent that destiny.

  “Gardiff isn’t a normal mystic,” Abia insisted. “He’s an anomaly.”

  “I realize that.” Malburn fluttered to the floor in front of his niece. “My point is that if we can capture him and render him powerless, others with the same desires will be warned.”

  “There’ll be others,” Nick said, feeling a need to insert reality into the golden picture. “There are always more schemes, shortcuts, grabs for power and complete evil.”

  “There’s litt
le crime in NMC,” Abia said, glaring at him.

  “But the ones you have are significant,” Nick pointed out.

  “No use scowling, Abia,” Malburn offered. “He’s certainly right.” His gaze turned speculative as it drifted from his niece back to Nick, making Nick fully aware of his rumpled clothes.

  “Problem?” Abia asked, an edge to her tone.

  Malburn frowned, then waved his hand. “No, no. Just thinking too hard—a frequent disadvantage of a brilliant mind.”

  “And debating the intricacies of criminal behavior isn’t going to get Gardiff into custody any faster.” Abia crossed her arms over her chest. “We have a plan. I say we proceed.”

  Nick could argue the benefits of studying Gardiff’s motivations, but the fact that the other side didn’t know about his abilities was as good an advantage as any.

  He turned to Malburn. “I need training on Mystic Chat.”

  ~~~

  Abia stood at the head of the palace conference room table and took inventory of her team. Nick, Malburn, Evan, and his two lieutenants, Sven and Song from the scepter recovery mission.

  Their faces were hard with determination, echoing her own state of mind.

  They were going to get that little bastard Gardiff at any cost.

  With the sorcerer’s contact imminent, part of her wished she’d told only one person about her fake desire for negotiation. Then they’d know the identity of their betrayer absolutely. But as expediency was more critical, they’d have to leave that revelation for another day. She’d narrowed a dozen suspects to three in less than twenty-four hours, and she was confident she’d have that mystic locked in an adjoining cell to Gardiff in time.

  “I’ve kept this team tight for a variety of reasons,” she began. “I want to thank you in advance for your loyalty and continued secrecy of this vital mission. The fate of the mystic world lies on our shoulders. Let’s get this son-of-a-bitch in custody.”

  “He’s coming,” Nick said quietly.

  As soon as the prediction was out of Nick’s mouth, the screen at the other end of the room swirled with dark, clashing colors of black, red and yellow. A dark soul, paired with fury and creativity wasn’t a good sign. Though Abia had already suspected these aspects of Gardiff, seeing them displayed so vividly, so certainly, she had to swallow a shot of rage before speaking.