by Alice Bloome
“I’m sorry, Blair. But you must admit – it is amusing.”
“Not when it’s the 1692nd time you’ve heard the joke,” I retorted, “and every time it’s at my expense.”
“1692?” he echoed incredulously, and his grin widened. “1692 is---”
“The year the Salem Witch trials began,” I cut him off with another groan, and Paul laughed yet again as my face flamed at the realization of what my subconscious had made me do. “I’m sorry. It must be my hunger acting up. I haven’t had lunch---”
“That’s not good,” he said with a quick frown. “Let’s get you fed---”
“Oh, but I’m just here for a quick bite,” I protested, worried that he’d think I had been angling for a date. “I still need to head out of town after---”
Paul arched a brow, asking, “A date?”
“No!” The denial came out a little more heartfelt than I wanted, and when I saw Paul’s lips curve into an amused smile, I could only cringe internally while hoping for the floor to swallow me up. Twenty-six, Blair! Start acting like you’re twenty-six, and not an eight year old with your first schoolgirl crush.
Clearing my throat, I said, “It’s for work.”
“New case for CSI?”
I didn’t answer right away. Earlier, I had been too flustered by finally getting to talk to him that I hadn’t remembered to ask him any questions. But now that I was just a little less dazzled ---
If he had been able to see past the agency’s spell to recognize my CSI manual, what did that make him?
“You’re suspicious of me,” Paul observed in amusement.
I didn’t smile back. His perceptiveness – as well as his bluntness – was disconcerting, but when I shot him a guarded look, it only had his lips pressing in a straight line, like he was having a hard time not laughing.
Paul nodded towards the counter, where a red-faced Mr. P was bellowing orders to his kitchen. “You’ve known Pan for a long time, haven’t you?”
I nodded warily.
“And do you trust him?”
“I do.” Every neophyte had an undercover CIA agent assigned to him or her in case of emergency requests, and that was Mr. P for me.
“Then if Pan vouches for me, you will trust me, too, yes?” Paul didn’t wait for an answer, and his long-legged stride had him reaching the counter in a few moments. I watched him speak to the diner’s owner, his commanding height allowing him to stand toe to toe with the satyr even with his chef’s hat on.
So what did that make him, I wondered absently. Six-three? Six-four?
When Paul returned to my side, Nix was with him, and the younger girl was wearing her usual mischievous smile. “Hey, Blair. Pan asked that I take the two of you to the private room.” Her smile widened at my visible bemusement. “So if you’d follow me, please?” But I didn’t really have a choice, with Nix already curling an arm around mine as she dragged me with her.
“Since when did Panda’s have a private room?” I asked under my breath. I had been eating here almost every day since moving into town, and the diner wasn’t that large a place I could’ve missed noticing an extra room.
“From the very start,” was Nix’s cheerful reply. “Now, your turn. Are you and our regular mystery guy dating now?”
“Nix!” I almost tripped on my feet. “We are not dating.”
“Then he must be into you at least.” Nix’s tone was gleeful. “Why else would he ask to have dinner with you at the private room?”
I shook my head stubbornly even as my stupid bewitched heart skipped another beat at Nix’s words. Could it be true? Was it possible that---
“Wait a minute.”
I stopped dead in my tracks and forced Nix to a halt beside me when I realized where she was taking us.
“Why are we here?”
She had taken us to the far end of the diner, straight to the narrow hallway that led to the diner’s restrooms.
“Relax, Blair. This is where the private room is.” She glanced at Paul over her shoulder. “Shall you do the honors, sir?”
“Certainly, milady.” Paul’s gallant drawl perfectly matched Nix’s tone, but I wasn’t impressed. I had a feeling both of them were having fun at my expense.
Paul walked past us to rap his fist on the wall thrice, and a gasp escaped me as a second later, an arched doorway appeared in front of us, revealing a cozy but elegant French country dining space with red stucco walls and limestone flooring. A crystal chandelier hung over a two-seater table, and across it was a fireplace, with its crackling fire adding an almost musical element to the air.
Walking back, Paul offered me his arm, and Nix relinquished her hold with flourish, saying with mock seriousness, “Please take care of milady, sir.”
“Oh, for Cronos’ sake.” But I was laughing and breathless as Paul winked at me before giving Nix his assurance in a deep, solemn voice.
Paul placed my hand on his arm, and my heart skipped a beat at the heat of his touch. I cast another look at our surroundings as he walked us to the table. Every inch of this place was wonderfully romantic, and I could see why it would lead Nix into thinking Paul was interested in me.
As Paul and I took our seats, Nix gestured to the wall-mounted chalkboard facing our table and told us about its spell-activated properties. “This is an interactive display so speak to it as you would with a regular server. You could ask for the menu, for instance, and you’ll see our regular items and private-room specials on the board.” As she spoke, the diner’s menu flashed on the board in beautiful, cursive handwriting.
“You can also have the board double up as a window.” The text vanished, and a steel-framed arch window appeared in replacement to reveal the outside world, with its overcast skies and endless rain.
“Lastly, just click on the board, and it should work as a buzzer. One of the staff will come in to assist you with whatever you need. I think that covers it so---” Nix stepped back with a smile. “Enjoy your dinner.” As she started to turn away, the younger girl caught my eye---
Oh no.
---and winked.
Really, Nix? Really?
I stole a look at Paul’s gorgeous face as the walls closed behind Nix’s retreating form, and the grin on his lips made me want to die in embarrassment. If not for Nix suggesting that Paul could be interested in me, I’d probably have left a long time ago. Pan and Nix were being so shamelessly obvious about everything, they might as well have the words She Has a Crush on You stamped on my forehead.
Paul requested for the menu, and text once again started filling up the chalkboard. Both of us ordered for steak and fries, and both of us requested for the steak to be medium-rare. For a moment, we stared at each other in surprise---
And then Paul said dryly, “If you’re going to say you also like your steak with coffee---”
My jaw dropped. That was what I was going to order, and I didn’t care a bit that convention dictated wine being the better pairing for steak.
“Seriously?” Paul asked with a chuckle.
“Coffee is my go-to beverage for everything,” I confessed sheepishly.
“That’s too adorable.” It was Pan who spoke, with his voice booming out from the chalkboard, and its tongue-in-cheek tone had me turning red and wanting to shrink in my seat. “All of your orders are a perfect match and you didn’t even plan it? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you two were a match made in Mt. Olympus.”
“Mr. P.!”
But Paul only laughed, asking in a good-natured tone, “Who knows?”
As Paul and the satyr discussed our options for dessert, I struggled to keep myself still while my mind went overboard. Who knows? What did he mean ‘who knows’? He was just…flirting, right?
“Blair?” I looked up to see Paul gazing questioningly at me as Mr. P disappeared from view, and the chalkboard turned back into a window display. “You look worried. Anything wrong?”
“Nothing much – except for Mr. P’s lack of subtlety.” It was excruc
iating to say the words, but it seemed stupid to pretend ignorance at this point.
“The old man means well,” he said gently.
Which meant exactly…what? I gazed at him with a touch of frustration, thinking that he turned being mysterious into an art form. He was just so good at it. He never seemed to be lying to me, but he never seemed to tell me anything he didn’t want me to know either.
“Have I made you mad?”
Paul’s softly spoken question startled me out of my thoughts, and I stammered, “E-excuse me?”
“You’ve been frowning at me for the past thirty seconds,” he informed me.
My face flamed. “I’m so sorry---”
“Have I done something wrong?”
I shook my head emphatically. “No, of course not.”
“Then what were you thinking of?”
“Nothing really.”
“It was something about me, wasn’t it?”
I couldn’t help but fidget in my seat. How did he know these things?
“Blair?”
The low, persuasive note in his voice was undoing, and I said reluctantly, “I was just thinking about how mysterious you still seem to me.”
“Ah.” Paul leaned back against his seat. “Is that all?”
“Yes.” I felt like fidgeting even more now, with the way a half smile started to play on his lips.
“Ask me what you wish then,” he invited.
I gave him a wary glance. “I can ask you anything, really?”
“Anything.”
“Then---” I took a deep breath. “What do you do for work? Are you CSI? CIA? NSA? How were you able to---” I broke off when the smile playing on his lips turned into a smirk.
“I should’ve known you’d ask about that of all things.”
“You said I could ask you anything,” I said defensively. If he was expecting me to flirt, then he was doomed for disappointment.
“I did, didn’t I?” His fingers moved as he spoke, and I found myself gaping as he conjured a plain black card out of thin air. He offered it to me, and as soon as my fingers touched its surface, gold embossed letters randomly started to appear.
P R O N E L I T
My brows furrowed. “How do you read this? Prone Lit? PR One Lit?”
Humor gleamed in his eyes. “Tap it again.”
I did as asked, and a tiny gasp escaped me as the letters started rearranging itself.
I…N…T…
Oh.
My.
Goodness.
Paul was an INTERPOL agent?
Chapter Four
When one spoke of the greatest conspiracies of all time, most people thought of JFK’s assassination and Elvis Presley’s death, Roswell and Roanoke, and more recently, the much talked about Illuminati. All of these, however, paled in comparison to the secret that the likes of Homer, Dante, and even Shakespeare carried to their graves: the immortals of Greek mythology were real, and Mt. Olympus was the gateway to Heaven.
While supernatural agencies like CIA and CSI were concerned about human protection, INTERPOL had another objective entirely, and that was to defend the home of Olympians. INTERPOL stood for the Interdisciplinary Phalanx of Olympus, and consisted of the most powerful immortals and supernaturals.
For Paul to be a part of such an organization…
“Now I know why you always look like a blond James Bond,” I exclaimed unthinkingly.
Paul threw his head back with a laugh, and my face flamed as I realized just how silly my first thought was.
Why, oh, why did I always end up acting like an idiot where this man was concerned?
Dinner should have been intensely awkward after that, but thankfully Mr. INTERPOL Detective was too skilled a conversationalist to let it happen. As we worked our way through Mr. P’s perfectly grilled steaks, Paul left me no chance to feel self-conscious as he swiftly engaged me in shoptalk. “Officially speaking, INTERPOL agents have been instructed to inform the public that Zeus is only having a temporary mood swing, and so it’s nothing to panic about.”
I choked. “A mood swing that can potentially lead to a Category 4 hurricane isn’t something to panic about?”
Paul grimaced. “I understand why you might find that incredulous, but right now, it’s the best we can do to prevent mass hysteria. We didn’t want anyone panicking unnecessarily and remember the last time Zeus unleashed his full wrath.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought of that at all. Paul was talking about the last Great War that the gods fought and eventually won. Theirs was a pyrrhic victory, though, since the recapture of demons came at the expense of the dinosaurs’ global extinction.
“Can it really get that bad?” I asked uneasily.
“Worse,” Paul said grimly, “since this time Zeus will be on the enemy’s side.” He leaned back against his chair, and his gaze turned contemplative as he looked at me. “You mentioned earlier that you were heading out of town. I’m assuming it’s related to Zeus’ case?”
“Yes.” I told him about the photos included in my case file, and how one particular thing stood out in all of them when compared to older photos of the thunder god.
“You’re sure about the gold dust?” Paul asked.
“It would be ideal if I could confirm this in person, but since I’m not allowed on Mt. Olympus, I’m just relying on my guts.” I held my breath then asked, “You know what it could mean, right?”
Paul’s lips twisted into a smile. “I can’t think of any self-respecting immortal who wouldn’t.”
Oh, thank Gaea! I did get it right then. My body relaxing in relief, I asked, “Which of Midas’ casinos do you think Zeus would have visited?”
Although Midas’ golden touch hadn’t disappeared throughout the centuries, it had certainly tarnished over the years. Unlike his palaces of old, his modern-day casinos could only boast of gold-plated scrolls adorning the ceiling’s plasterwork. Fake gold was all around us, and if the grapevine was to be believed, his reduced powers were the result of Apollo’s divine punishment.
I asked Paul if he knew what the Phrygian king could have done to earn the Olympian’s wrath, but before he could answer, the doors to The Golden Court had already opened, and a woman in a glittering gown was welcoming us inside. I could tell she was a naiad just by her scent alone; she smelled of freshwater the way Mary Lou at reception bore the scent of forests.
Like all nymphs working for Midas, Adriana earned her keep by luring men in and sweet-talking them into spending their fortune on the tables. Unfortunately for Adriana, Paul was no gullible mortal, and so the tables (pun intended) were turned, with all of the women in the casino falling under the immortal’s thrall.
I guessed that took care of the women, but what about---
Oh.
Paul had chosen one of the roulette tables to play in and right away won his first bet. A small crowd of men immediately swarmed around him, cheering, and its size more than doubled when Paul declared he was sharing his winnings with his loudly supportive fans.
Riiiiight.
With all eyes on the handsome detective, I quietly slipped away and headed straight to the back of the VIP area, where the security room was. There were several armed men inside, but thankfully they were all mortals, and so all it took was a quick aerial illustration of a spell symbol using my CSI-issued wand and all five men fell to the floor, fast asleep and snoring.
Since witches in training like me couldn’t yet cast spells on our own, we had to rely on agency standard tools to perform magic on the job. These tools were pretty efficient and easy to use, but the downside was that they also came with a limited-time effect.
And right now I had just about fifteen minutes before the guards woke up. After connecting my phone to the casino’s security system, I quickly made a call to Lana Spears, my agency-assigned partner in tech support.
“I’m in.”
“Understood. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
CSI might be a supernatural agency, but it did
n’t mean we couldn’t rely on human technology if we had to. Anything that could be useful would be used, and in this case I needed to have Lana hack into the casino’s system so she could do her own kind of magic.
And yes, we did have to hack it since Midas was notorious for being uncooperative when it came to any kind of supernatural investigation. This, too, supposedly had something to do with Apollo, but the rumors had always been pretty vague and inconsistent when it came to actual details about their row.
“I have confirmation,” Lana said ten minutes later. I heard a series of quick taps on her keyboard, and a video file showed up on my phone. I clicked on the file, and I saw Zeus seated on one of the casino’s baccarat tables and surrounded by cheering onlookers. As he leaned forward to reach for his winnings, I saw a pretty brunette edge her way to the front of the crowd---
There.
She had slipped something in his drink, and when Zeus turned to her, she murmured something to him that made the thunder god laugh heartily. He kissed her full on the mouth just before reaching for his glass and taking a swig.
Cast it.
I had just seen a woman successfully attempt to poison or brainwash the head of the Olympian pantheon, and I could only shudder in fear as I thought of what that person hoped to achieve.
Paul already had his car running by the time I snuck out of the casino. I hurried to it as fast as I could, but I still ended up wet and shivering like a drowned little mouse when I finally got into the passenger seat. Zeus’ so-called mood swings had gotten worse in the past hour, and the sound of every raindrop striking the ground reminded me of a ticking bomb.
“Sorry for getting your car wet.” I glanced down at my wet clothes and almost gasped – my blouse was completely soaked and see-through, revealing the cotton cups of my bra. My head shot up, and my embarrassed gaze flew to Paul.
I saw his hazel eyes dip down, and my throat tightened.
Oh, Gaea bewitched.
That look could only be interpreted in one way.
Paul Theodore…was interested in me.
Chapter Five