Knights of Obsidian

by Shannon Lynn Cook

  Gray grins at the Hound but continues, “And she, Jonathan, and I are getting ready to leave. Eric’s at his post, keeping an eye on things here.”

  I glance at Rafe and then back at Gray. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Stay with Rafe—do not leave his side.” He points at me like I’m ten years old. “Do you understand?”

  Sure I understand—they need me out of the way. I might as well have stayed in the room.

  “Got it,” I snap.

  Parker looks between us, her eyebrows drawing together with concern. Before they go, she flashes me an apologetic look, like she’s sorry she’s taking off with my knights and leaving me here. I watch them go, wanting to run after them and demand they let me tag along.

  “How much do you hate her right now?” a woman says from my side, surprising me.

  I glance over...and then down. “Hey, Chloe,” I say, unsure where she and I stand. She’s kind of a prickly little Squirrel.

  “Let me let you in on a secret about knight marshals,” she says, crossing her arms. “They never stick around for long.”

  She then turns on her heel and walks away, disappearing into the crowd.

  “Someone got burned,” Rafe says.

  “That’s Chloe,” I tell him. “Have you met her?”

  Rafe shakes his head, “No, but she looks familiar.”

  “Eric’s been chasing after her, but so far, no luck.”

  “No kidding.”

  I flash him a smile and then start toward cosmetics. “Hey, while we’re here, I want to check out something.”

  “Is this about the boots I promised to replace?” he asks, falling into step beside me.

  We weave through the crowd, walking toward cosmetics. “No, but you still owe me those.”

  It’s incredibly crowded today. Cameras go off every few seconds, music blares from various sections, and different lines are being announced from stages. I should be having the time of my life, but it feels so…unimportant in light of recent events.

  “I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Rafe says when I pick up a tiny container of the Chaletta multi-use brightening and anti-wrinkle cream. Though it’s less than an ounce, I know it’s going to cost me a pretty penny. But Maisy is going to need more to study than what’s left in my little sample jar.

  I smile at my knight, refusing to speak about it here, and head to the register to pay for my purchase. Rafe nearly chokes when the total comes to two hundred and five dollars, plus tax.

  “It’s amazing,” the girl gushes. “You won’t believe the results.”

  I’ll bet it is.

  Before we leave the cosmetics counter, I stop in front of the Le Paon makeup section and browse the concealer.

  Rafe narrows his eyes at the display. “What is this?”

  I flash him a look. “Makeup. You know, foundation, blush, concealer…”

  “I got that part.”

  “Georgette Don Patrick uses it—I haven’t been sleeping well since Redstone, and I’ve had these awful dark circles.”

  As I talk, I flip the container over, looking to see where it’s produced. I’m sorry, but I won’t pay forty-seven dollars if it’s imported from overseas.

  “Paon means Peacock in French,” Rafe says.

  I find the distribution information—Georgette Don Patrick Cosmetics. No wonder she uses it—it’s hers. “That makes sense.”

  “It does?”

  I tap the name on the bottom. “It must be part of Georgette’s line.”

  He stares at me blankly.

  “Georgette is a Peacock,” I tell him, wondering why he’s looking at me like that. “You just said Paon means peacock—she named it after her faction.”

  “Georgette Don Patrick? As in the director’s wife?”

  “Yes…”

  “I read the file on the plane.” He glances around and then steps closer, lowering his voice. “Georgette is an Owl.”

  An alchemist? Just like Maisy?

  “Are you sure?” I ask, and my brain starts skittering places I don’t want it to wander.

  “Positive.”

  Just then, the girl attending the display decides to join us. “Would you like a free makeover?” she asks.

  I make the poor girl jump when I bark out a horrified, “No.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up, and she takes a step back. “O…okay.”

  Rafe grasps my shoulders and propels me forward. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart. Go ahead.”

  I flash him a look over my shoulder. He shoots one right back.

  “I don’t mind waiting,” he says as though he’s an indulgent boyfriend.

  I find myself in the chair. The girl immediately jumps to work, using a wipe to wash off what’s left of my previous makeup. “You have fabulous cheekbones,” she says.

  I murmur my thanks, terrified I’m about to have stolen Peacock’s essence smeared all over my face. Surely not, though. Not Georgette.

  But she was the one who was nudging my suspicions toward the face cream…

  “Tell me about the line,” Rafe says casually, leaning against the makeshift wall. “Has it been around long?”

  “It belongs to designer Georgette Don Patrick. She introduced it less than six months ago, and it’s taken off like crazy. We only use the most natural, skin-loving ingredients.”

  I shiver as she squirts a small amount of the foundation primer onto a wedged sponge and try very hard not to leap out of the chair when she dabs it over my face.

  “So the line is doing well?” Rafe asks.

  “Oh yes. In fact, half the models here are wearing it.”

  That gets Rafe’s attention. “Really?”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  Rafe picks up a container of pressed powder and studies it. “What are the natural extracts?”

  She gives him a friendly smile. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say—it’s kind of like a secret recipe.”

  “Oh, you can tell me,” Rafe says, smacking her with a hefty wallop of charisma.

  She blinks and then glances at him again, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “I’d tell you if I could, but I honestly don’t know.”

  Disappointed, Rafe nods to me. “That’s all right. Go ahead and finish up.”

  Five hundred and twenty-two dollars later, we leave with a little of everything—and I look like a runway model. My lips are full, my skin is smooth and dewy, my eyes are bright, and my lashes are the color of midnight. If this stuff doesn’t end up being tainted with magic, I’m buying the entire line.

  It’s as we’re walking to the room that I notice something on the side of the bag.

  “It looks like you got something too,” I say, turning the glossy white gift bag so he can see the Sharpie phone number written on the side.

  Rafe snorts out a laugh and turns the bag around, not-so-subtly proclaiming his disinterest.

  We’re supposed to meet the team in the suite in five minutes, and I’m itching to wash my face. Sure, I look good. But this is seriously creepy.

  We walk through the door and find the guys are already here…the guys and Parker. And look—Parker is next to Jonathan on the couch, laughing at something funny he just said.

  That’s cool.

  I try very hard not to meet his eyes. The last thing I want to look like is a crazy, obsessed almost-ex girlfriend, but I can’t help it.

  The Griffon’s eyes widen as he takes me in, and he slowly stands. I’d like to think it’s because I’m having a Maybelline moment—you know, that my hair is flowing in the slight breeze from the central heating and cooling system and I just look so darn good his jaw drops to the floor. But I’m pretty sure that’s not the reason for his reaction.

  “Madeline…” he breathes.

  I have this insane desire to run to the bathroom and scrub my face for an hour.

  His eyes sweep over me, and he shakes his head, baffled.

  “Just spit it out,” I snap.

  “You
’re covered in Peacock magic.”

  Rafe leans against the wall, smirking in a satisfied way. “Called it.”

  “So let me get this straight,” Gray says, pacing the room. “Georgette is stealing the models’ magic and then selling it back to them as makeup?”

  “That’s right,” Rafe answers.

  “But why?”

  “Besides the fact that she’s raking in serious money—”

  “They don’t need money,” I interrupt. “Her and Sean Luka are rolling in it. Seriously.”

  Rafe purses his lips, silently asking if I’ll let him finish.

  “Go ahead,” I say with a sigh.

  “This is a tough industry—there’s a lot of pressure on models to keep up their looks if they want to keep working—”

  “Poor things,” Parker says, grinning even though her tone is downright snarky. She flashes the smile at me, sharing the joke, being all likable.

  Rude, right?

  “But Georgette had a handicap,” Rafe continues. “She’s an Owl. Yes, an extremely beautiful Owl, but she didn’t have any help in the magic department. I believe she concocted a potion to prolong her career, and then she eventually realized how lucrative it would be to sell.”

  Gray turns to Jonathan. “Did you notice anything off about the woman?”

  “I only met her briefly, and…she looks like a Peacock.” He crosses his arms. “I should have read my handout a little more carefully.”

  “And the display? You didn’t sense the magic on it?”

  Jonathan shrugs. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there are a lot of Peacocks roosting in that convention center. If a Peacock was working the display, the products would have blended with her magic.”

  Eric sits on the bed, hanging out with Charles, as usual. He looks a bit downtrodden, as if this job is wearing on him. I end up crossing the room while Gray, Rafe, and Jonathan argue and sit next to him. “I think some Bunny needs a vacation.”

  He smiles. “Clever.”

  I bump his shoulder. “You okay?”

  “I’m a nice guy, right? Friendly? Good-looking enough?”

  Ah. This is about Chloe.

  “You’re a great guy,” I assure him. “And extremely hot.”

  “Yeah?” He gives me a hopeful look.

  Laughing, I nod. “The hottest.”

  He looks down at Charles. The cat is lolled on his back, snoring as if he hasn’t a care in the world. “Why doesn’t she like me? I told her that nothing was going on with Sara, but I don’t think she believed me.”

  “Pretty sure some knight marshal out there broke her heart.”

  The knight slowly meets my eyes, giving me a soft, sad smile. “We’re pretty good at that, huh?”

  I huff out a breath. “Pretty darn good.”

  “Do you think I have a chance?” he asks, dropping his voice. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want the other guys to hear. “Even a slim one?”

  I pet Charles under the chin, smiling when he yawns. “I do, actually. You’re a catch.”

  “You know,” he says, his tone turning mischievous. “I’m the only one on the team you haven’t kissed. I think you can see why I’m starting to get a complex.”

  I know he’s only messing with me, but I answer anyway. “Don’t get too worked up—I haven’t kissed Rafe either.”

  “Really?” he asks, sounding more than a little surprised.

  “Really.”

  Gray suddenly stands, drawing us back to the main conversation. “I’ll call Lord Traverly and see if he believes we have enough evidence to arrest her.”

  “Madeline looks like a Peacock,” Rafe says. “What more evidence do you need?”

  Lord Traverly obviously agrees with the Obsidian knight because five minutes later, we get the okay.

  24

  The plan is easy enough—we’re going to knock on the Don Lukas’ door and arrest them both. It’s after the expo hours, around nine thirty. Jonathan, Eric, Rafe, and Parker form a semi-circle outside the door, guns drawn, looking like a deadly lesson in geometry.

  I stand toward the back with my tiny gun, knowing there’s no way I’m going to shoot it and chance hitting one of my guys. So it’s mostly decoration, I suppose. According to Rafe, this should be an easy arrest anyway.

  Gray knocks on the suite door, and we wait. We know they’re in there; Parker said their trail is fresh, and no one’s left since they went inside.

  A few moments later, Gray knocks again. Still, they refuse to answer.

  “Rafe?” Gray asks.

  Immediately, Rafe unlocks the door. I’m about to protest—I could have done it just as easily, and I’m actually on the team. Before I can speak up, Rafe shoots me a warning look and then glances at Parker.

  Right. She thinks I’m a wimpy little Sparrow, like the rest of the magical world.

  Gray swings the door open, and the team charges inside, catching Georgette and Sean Luka on the couch, in the middle of making out like teens.

  So surprised by the intrusion, Sean Luka jumps up, inadvertently knocking a glass of scotch off the side table. The glass falls to the ground, bouncing harmlessly on the carpet, not even bothering to break—somewhat anticlimactic if you ask me.

  “Wh…what is this?” the director stutters.

  Georgette watches us, her lovely face pale. There’s recognition in her eyes, making it clear that she’s not innocent in the whole scheme.

  “You will cooperate,” Rafe says calmly, pushing persuasion into his words. “Did you put an ad on the internet, requesting Peacock magic?”

  “What?” Sean Luka gasps, but his wife…

  “No,” she says adamantly, shaking her head. Three seconds later, her face crumples, and she starts to bawl. “I hired someone to do it for me.”

  Rafe rolls his eyes—some people are easy to break. He didn’t even press yet.

  “Why?” I ask, stepping forward, devastated to see a woman I admired so much with her arms behind her back as Jonathan snaps a pair of magically-enhanced cuffs on her slender wrists.

  She proceeds to launch into a Scooby-Doo-worthy villain monolog about how the Peacocks don’t deserve their beauty…how they are conceited and ungrateful…how it serves them right to lose their magic and then have to spend an arm and a leg for makeup that would make them beautiful again. Blah, blah.

  Apparently, Rafe was right. She first concocted a potion after she hired a pixie—most likely the one Jonathan and I followed—to steal the magical essence from a particularly snotty co-model. After that, the enterprise grew, perhaps because she began having an affair with the pixie. (As we all know, in general, their moral compass isn’t particularly true.)

  Sean Luka stares at his wife, his mouth agape, looking like he was just punched in the gut.

  “You better come with us,” Rafe says to the director. “They’ll want to question you too.”

  Gray turns to Jonathan and Parker. “Can you track the pixie? We have enough to make an arrest.”

  The pair nods, and my stomach ties itself in knots. I understand why Gray is sending Jonathan with Parker. I really do. She can track the criminal, and then Jonathan will need to identify him.

  But I don’t have to like it.

  “Madeline,” Gray continues. “Will you and Rafe find Donavan and let him know we’ve made an arrest? Eric and I will take these two down to the local guild for holding.”

  “Sure,” I say, glad I have something to do, even if it’s trivial. For a minute, I was pretty sure he was going to send me back to the room.

  We find Donavan, his team, and Thomas and Brett in the main foyer.

  “Georgette?” Donavan says, surprised when we tell him we made the arrest. “Are you serious?”

  I nod, ready to be done with the whole thing. I think it’s time I go home, sleep in my own bed, and finally figure out how to track Trent and send some monsters back to Aparia.

  “We’ll meet Gray at the guild,” Hudson says, and then he gives me a big s
mile and shakes my hand. “It was nice to meet you, Madeline. Hopefully, we’ll see you at the wedding?”

  Oh, that. Right. Somehow, I managed to block it out.

  Gray sends me a text just as we’re parting, asking if I’ll grab paperwork from the room off the convention hall.

  “We’ll come with you,” Brett says, motioning to Thomas. “We have some stuff to grab too.”

  The center is oddly quiet, just a few attendants and the cleaning crew wandering about. The meeting room is completely empty, though there’s plenty of our junk lying around.

  Rafe and the Squirrels start talking about past jobs, and I listen idly as I look for the briefcase. Suddenly, a strange emotion emanates from Rafe.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask, turning around and then freezing in place.

  “Brett?” I whisper, staring at the cuffs the Squirrel is putting on my knight. They look just like the guild-issued ones I played with in the room earlier.

  Rafe’s livid, but there’s the unmistakable twinge of fear as well—though it’s not for himself. It’s for me. He stares at someone behind me, his nostrils flaring. Just as I begin to turn, a hand settles on my shoulder.

  “Come with us peacefully, and we won’t harm your knight,” Thomas says, holding a gun to my head. Then, before I can process what’s going on, he slips a cuff around my wrist as well, effectively blocking my persuasion.

  Oh no, not him too.

  This isn’t right—they’re Squirrels. Tech-loving, a little geeky, harmless.

  Rafe’s eyes flash. “If you touch her—”

  “You’ll what?” Thomas asks, shaking his head like a teacher answering a difficult student as he finishes cuffing me. “What are you going to do while you’re cuffed, Fox? You can’t access your magic.”

  Another man walks into the room, and we all look his way. I hold my breath, hoping he’s on our side. No such luck. It’s the man Jonathan and I followed, the magic-thieving pixie.

  Wait—that doesn’t make sense. This is about me and my magic, not Georgette’s twisted makeup line. Right?

  My heart hammers in my chest as he crosses the room, his eyes on me even as he heads toward Rafe. Scoffing, he says, “Funny Squirrels. You don’t honestly think that will stop the Obsidian Knight, do you?”