“Oh, is that so?” Clayton finally said. “We don’t have those.” He looked at Mephisto for confirmation, as if he’d missed a new acquisition.
Hmmm. “We” again.
Clayton’s gaze flicked to Mephisto and studied him for a moment. The look of neutrality vanished. His lips pressed into a rictus line.
“Ms. Jensen is quite thorough with her searches and would like to determine this for herself,” Mephisto offered.
“I see.” Clayton jerked his head toward the door. “I’m going that way, let me take you there.” Before Mephisto could object, I followed him out the door.
Mephisto had returned to his favorite position at the window, his hands shoved in his pockets, his attention outside.
“Erin,” he said, just as we made it past the threshold. “This is done for you. I need there to be trust between us.”
“Okay, give me a name.”
After waiting for a few moments, I realized his deep chuckle was the only response I would get.
Clayton pressed his finger to the reader and opened the door.
“Do you live near here?” I asked, following him into the vast room that made Asher’s vault pale in comparison.
Like Mephisto’s library, there was wall-to-wall, glass-fronted dark-wood shelving. Lighting in each one. Mephisto wasn’t just stashing these objects, he was a collector, displaying his impressive, expensive, and from a quick perusal, illegal objects for easy access and view.
“Not too far. I prefer a less ostentatious community.”
“You just like to partake in it without owning it, right?” I teased.
“Of course. There’s nothing like pseudo-humility.” He flashed me a smile and let his duffel bag slip to the floor. He leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest, and watched as I looked over the assortment of objects.
“So you just come over for the pool?”
“And dinner. His cook is very talented.”
“Since he’s already here, you might as well take part in the feast, but you’d never be so brazen as to have your own cook.”
“Exactly, who wants to be that person?” Humor was in his voice and his face was genial, but he was watching me keenly as I moved from display to display.
“How long have elves been extinct?” I asked, feigning disinterest as I took an orb from a shelf to examine it.
“Over fifty years, I do believe. I haven’t seen one in that time.”
I glanced over my shoulder to get a look at him: flawless dusk-brown skin, defined jaw, full lips, warm chestnut-colored eyes. Nothing about his features would have placed him near the age of fifty. I’d guessed early thirties. Slightly younger than Mephisto. But he’d been around for longer than fifty years. But how much longer?
Clayton approached me and slipped the orb from my grasp and returned it to its spot. “This isn’t what you’re looking for.”
He stayed close to me as I perused the collection. His presence kept becoming a distraction, and I found myself weeding through the intricacies of their magic.
“Why is it so important to keep your anonymity?” I asked.
Instead of answering, he moved from me. Languidly walking around the room, he looked at the objects as if seeing them for the first time and realizing the magnitude of what the collection represented.
They had access to so much magic, and objects that could undo or create catastrophic things. And the fact that they had it meant they could use it. Or maybe not. I thought about Asher, who collected magical objects that he couldn’t directly use. But I wasn’t positive that he was collecting them indiscriminately. I believed that each one of them was somehow linked to his pack; I just didn’t know how.
Clayton watched me carefully as I moved to another shelf. When I opened one display case and found an object I’d never seen before, I took out my phone to take a picture.
“No,” he said firmly. The speed at which he reached me and closed his hands over mine shocked me. He guided my hand back so that I could return my phone to my pocket.
“Sorry, I haven’t seen anything like this before. I wanted to look it up.”
“But that’s not what you’re here for, is it, Raven?” he asked in an even voice. The closeness of his body made me stand taller and lean in, basking in his magic for a moment before I came to my senses. But instead of backing away, I inched closer. He dropped his head so that his eyes met mine.
“Are you immortal?” I asked.
His lips pinched and he withdrew into his thoughts. I was familiar with that look. He was deciding what information to give me. His eyes roved over me, then swept over the room. “I’m confident that you will best Ian.”
What the hell? That answered no part of my question.
“A simple ‘I don’t want to answer’ would have sufficed.”
“You will best Ian because you know what he is and all his magical abilities. You know that his tolerance of iron was created by a demon spell. It might be difficult to find and perform, but all spells can be reversed. That is why anonymity is important.”
One question out of two isn’t bad.
I should have moved, increased the distance, and removed the temptation. But I didn’t, and during that small window when desire overcame logic, the words slipped out. The wall he erected doubled me over, my head throbbing so hard it brought tears to my eyes. I braced against the shelving to stay upright. When it passed, I found Clayton’s reproachful eyes on me.
“May I have your phone, please?” His voice was cool and monotone, losing the effortless ease and mesmeric lilt.
“Clayton—”
“Phone. Please.”
Pulling it out of my pocket, I handed it to him.
“I’m removing the enticement. M will have it.” With that he exited, leaving me with the weight of my guilt. What if he hadn’t been able to stop me from taking his magic? I was positive that, like Mephisto, the effect wouldn’t be the same. But I’d attempted to steal his magic, because I couldn’t control my desire.
Dammit.
I finished going through Mephisto’s collection. Neither the Xios nor the Conparco Shield was there. Exiting the room, I considered searching for Clayton to apologize but decided against it. Instead, I returned to Mephisto’s office where I found him at his desk, perusing a book. He looked up and slid my phone to the edge of the table at my approach.
“I’m familiar with the many names that objects go by. In the future, take me at my word.”
I was sure Clayton had told him what happened, but how Mephisto felt about it was carefully hidden.
“Okay.” I grabbed my phone, slipped it into my pocket, and turned for the door. Mephisto called me before I could leave. At his approach, I was reminded of the numinous way he moved. His finger brushed lightly along my hand and he moved so close to me it was as if he was oblivious to what I’d done to Clayton. Or perhaps this was a test. Another magical seduction?
“I don’t like to be taunted,” I said in a raw, raspy whisper.
“I’m not.”
When he brushed the back of his hands against me, I leaned into his touch, into him, our lips brushing against each other. I inhaled him, bathed in his energy, and desired him in a way that felt torturous.
“Say them,” he whispered against my lips. My heart pounded in my chest; my breathing hitched. Was he serious? He wouldn’t be so cruel as to offer it only to wrench it away. I hesitated.
His tongue brushed against my lips when he moistened his lips. “Go ahead.”
Before he could change his mind, I said the words quickly, pulling the magic from him. It poured into me like warm chocolate, filling the part of me that felt constantly void. The hunger sated, cautiously I stepped away, fully aware that he was able to take the magic away from me. I kept inching back, step by step, until my back was pressed against the wall closest to the door.
“I said before there are consequences for me as well, just not death.”
Pressing my fingers against my lips, I
could still feel the tingle of his lips pressed against mine.
“Why?” I asked.
He shrugged and moved to his favorite spot. With his back to me, I realized he had no intention of taking his magic back. Or at least not at that moment.
“You seem to need it. It’s just for today. I’ll come to you around this time tomorrow for its return.”
Although he didn’t voice it, I could hear the tacit request not to disappoint him by trying to keep it.
“Okay,” I croaked out. “Tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 12
My fluffy furred paws padded softly over my floor to my bedroom to get a look at what I’d done. I was an ash brown Maine Coon cat, definitely not the lion I was aiming for. It failed despite the changes I made to the transformation spell. The only other time I’d shapeshifted, I hadn’t even used a spell. I was trying to Wynd but instead I ended up a cat. I’d figured a deliberate transformation spell would allow me to shapeshift to any animal. I was wrong. I was a cat. Just a big cat. Not a Big Cat.
Three hours with Mephisto’s magic and I had expected to be able to do more, because his magic was intense. When I borrowed magic from someone, their abilities, whatever they were, came easier. Simeon said that Mephisto had strong defensive magic and could Wynd. Maybe if I tried to Wynd, I’d turn into a lion.
Whispering the spell, I shifted back to human. My hair was a disheveled mess, face flushed pink, and perspiration glistened on my skin. What did I expect; I’d changed to a cat three times. Now I knew that I changed into a cat well. Three different changes and the only thing I managed was to transform into three different breeds of cat. Maybe that would come in handy at some point.
Showering and quickly getting dressed, I knew why Cory was always ready before me. When you had access to magic, a move of your hand and your clothes could dance from your drawer or closet and be neatly placed on your bed, ready to wear. My clothes were doing a choreographed performance as they swooped through the air. Effortlessly, I made my towel soar across the room and dive into the hamper. With limitless access to magic, would doing something like that become mundane?
Back in my living room, Mephisto’s strong magic strummed through me as I scanned over the magic books sprawled on the sofa. The spells in them didn’t appeal to me as much as trying to Wynd. Making a last-ditch effort, I shored in the magic and concentrated. Hand extended in front of me, I shuddered and watched it become translucent for over a minute and then return to solid. It was on my third attempt that my stomach clenched with pain.
Shoving the books aside, I plopped on the sofa. Cory couldn’t be used as a resource because he wasn’t able to Wynd. I considered calling Tetchy Lexi, who had managed to do it and bring someone with her. I glanced at the clock and decided against it. There was something else I wanted to do.
The building was dark, the solitary light illuminating the battered metal door the only source of light in the darkened alley. The few windows that faced it were covered by privacy glass. With a flick of a switch, you couldn’t see through them. Tonight, it was set so no one could see in. During the day, it looked like nothing more than an abandoned warehouse. It was around ten, when the things that needed to be hidden were.
At the doorway, I could just imagine the windblast of energy and magic that would meet me once the door was opened. One knock, that’s all I did. Anything more would go ignored.
“Erin?” the tall vampire said. He smiled. His teeth had a red tint to them. Most vampires were attractive, or at the very least average but charismatic enough to convince a person to be their dinner. They learned to tamp down the ominous mien that surrounded them. They lured you into their trap by pretending to be innocuous. This vampire either couldn’t or chose not to, which meant he was getting his meals from people who loved the danger of it. Grups, humans drawn to badly behaved supernatural beings. Despite his dark and foreboding countenance, his appearance was the opposite. Pale skin, jaw-length platinum-blond hair.
Leaning against the doorframe, he gave me a long inquiring look. “It’s been a long time.” He looked over his shoulder at the clock. “You almost didn’t make it.” He extended his hand to me. “Two.”
“Kane, it’s up to two hundred dollars now!” I exclaimed, glad I’d stopped coming here to get my fix. Magic fighting was like UFC but with magic. That made it sound classier than what it was. It was magical street fighting. The STF spin job painted magical beings as people who used their magic sparingly and only when necessary. Most of that was accurate. But there were supes who loved their magic, wanted to push it to the limits, revel in the raw, unrestrained depths of it. Fight with it, with minimal rules or restrictions. This was the place to do it.
“I’m not here to watch,” I informed him.
Brow raised, the corner of his lips lifted to expose his fangs. “Do you need to go first? Where are you parked?” He knew the deal with me; I’d only come one time to fight using Cory’s magic. Cory rarely gave in to my needs like that, but he had sensed something in me needed a release. I didn’t want to use magic for a spell or for a job. I wanted to be reckless and push my abilities to the limit.
Not to give anything away, I nodded.
“Welcome back to the Dome,” Kane said, moving aside and letting me in. It hadn’t changed. He was definitely making a profit from his setup because he put zero effort into making it look nice. It was a large open space. The walls were painted plum with variations in the color from where it had been patched and he hadn’t bothered to color match the repair. The exposed ceiling added to the industrial feel. There weren’t any benches or cushy seating, just chairs—folding chairs. He hadn’t even sprung for cushioned folding chairs.
The fighting area, or “presentation” area, as Kane liked to call it, wasn’t any better. There wasn’t an octagon or walls to protect the spectators from injuries, which was why most people stood. There weren’t even padded floors to cushion falls.
I suspected that was the draw of the place; it was just dangerous. Magic and adrenaline filled the air. People didn’t participate for the meager cash prize but for the same reason people spar. The rush and the ability to dominate another person with your skill and power.
From my quick glance at the audience, thirty had come for the show.
Phone in hand, Kane’s mouth twisted as he looked at it. “You’ll be paired with a witch, Wendy, but she calls herself the Maestro.”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “Let me guess, the Maestro of Magic.”
With a spark of amusement in his eyes, Kane nodded. “No one wants to be paired with her. She was going to sit this one out but since you’re here . . . Are you good with that?”
Did I have a choice? Entering last minute, I was lucky he let me participate.
“Yeah, I am.”
“Good. Most people don’t last more than a few minutes with her. You’ll be out in no time.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
He grinned, treating me to his stained fangs. “I didn’t say you’d be the loser, I just said you’d be done in no time.” The look he gave me bordered on charming before he extinguished it like an unruly fire. “But if past performance is an indicator . . .” He left the remainder to my imagination.
He placed a red band around my wrist, to be thrown into the center of the room if you were in a position where you wanted to concede. The magic battles weren’t violent—well, they weren’t supposed to be. But when dealing with displays of magic where one wielder is attempting to overpower another, the situation tended to invite some level of violence.
Kane placed a reassuring hand on my arm as he entered the center of the room to announce us. I received lukewarm applause—purely obligatory so that my entrance wouldn’t be met with uncomfortable silence. Announcing Wendy sent the crowd into a roar. The gust of smoke that obscured her disappeared. Standing several feet from me was a woman dressed in blue slacks and a black wizard robe. I craned my neck to look at Kane. I knew my face showed exactly what I was t
hinking.
Really?
His smirk and arched brow seemed to urge me not to judge a book by its cover.
But I couldn’t help it. I was a proponent of letting your weird flag fly. Put it right out there for the neighbors to see. But there had to be a line. And that line was a woman in her thirties rocking a wizard robe. How was I supposed to take her seriously?
As I approached the center of the room, my eyes widened. Dear fates, she had a wand. Witches didn’t need a wand. No one needed a wand. How was this the opponent that people feared? I ignored the black round glasses. Shrugged off the shaggy long dark hair. But the wand that she waved with exaggerated flair just made everything about her laughable.
She didn’t belong in the Dome. This wasn’t fight club material. The robe-wearing wizard with the haughty sneer commanding a certain level of veneration belonged on stage, performing for children. My mind quickly went to Claire, who didn’t look like she belonged anywhere near a government agency, but there she was, one of the best agents they had.
Wendy’s confidence made me stand taller and assume a defensive stance.
The Dome fights weren’t formal and there were minimal rules. Kane intervened when things got out of control.
“Present” was the only indicator that we were to fight. The spark that came from the wand wasn’t impressive, just a thin line. I expected it to be a little shock, but instead it wracked through my body and I folded over in pain. Her brow cocked, her way of telling me not to underestimate her. And I didn’t.
I retaliated with a wave. There wasn’t anything harmless looking about the colorful thrum I pushed in her direction. It hit against the protective wall she erected. The next wave of magic that I sent shattered the field. Eyes widened, she looked at the remnants of it, sediment floating in the air around her.
A look of appreciation moved over her face. “Impressive. No one breaks my walls.”
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