by Laura Hall
Katrina waited in one of the two chairs facing the desk. She stood as Marcus approached her, shaking his hand while somehow managing to look professional in her barely-there dress. They traded greetings, but then instead of taking seats, they kept staring at each other, their joined hands suspended between them.
The silence in the room grew thick with tension, and not the sexual kind. Katrina’s shifter pulse grew in intensity until I could again see the outline of shimmering air around her.
I cleared my throat and they broke apart. Katrina sat abruptly and closed her eyes. Marcus, looking equally flustered, said to her quietly, “Forgive me.” He wouldn’t meet my questioning gaze as he rounded the desk and sat.
Not a big fan of subtlety, I asked, “What was that about?”
Marcus leaned back in his chair, gaze darting to Katrina and away. His eyes, when they finally focused on my face, were filled with awe. Or fear. I’d found that sometimes the two were halves of the same coin.
“I made the mistake of extending my gift to Ms. Accosi,” he said, his voice regaining its confidence. “It seems the legends are true.”
Katrina grunted caustically and opened her eyes, turning toward me. She looked decidedly angry. “Vampires have an affinity with wolves. Fae have an affinity with big cats. An owner-and-pet affinity.”
I glanced at Marcus; he shrugged, smiling slightly, and answered my unspoken question. “I’ve never tried to touch the mind of an alpha lioness before.”
“Alpha?” I echoed.
Katrina stiffened. “It’s not a big deal,” she said dismissively.
“A female alpha is a rather large deal,” Marcus said softly.
Katrina’s eyes went a little yellow. Marcus’ smile widened. “Okay,” I said sternly, “Pissing contest over.” I rounded the second chair and sat. “Tell us about the missing women.”
For all his flippancy, Marcus was a businessman. He straightened, expression grim as he said, “Daphne and her friends have been patrons of Clover since we opened last year. They have a standing table in our VIP lounge and access to our VIP guest list. As Daphne’s fame brings us additional business, we comp them a percentage of their beverage purchases each weekend.”
Katrina snapped, “Did you sense something might be wrong when they stopped showing up?”
Marcus cocked an eyebrow. “Beyond disappointment that I’d lost their patronage, and the notoriety that came with it? No. Obviously, I was distressed when Gretchen and Sabrina were declared missing.”
“Tiffany has also gone missing,” I said.
Before Marcus could respond, Katrina asked caustically, “The body in the pool upstairs didn’t dent your Friday night business, did it?”
His jaw clenched. “I’m cooperating fully with the investigation. Closing Clover for the weekend would have accomplished nothing.”
“The dead woman is Gretchen Kline.”
His astonishment seemed real, as did his sorrow. “That’s terrible,” he breathed. “She was so young. Can you share what happened to her?”
“Sorry, no,” said Katrina, not sounding sorry at all. “What can you tell us about the women’s behavior prior to their absence? Any strange guests, changes of routine? Buying or partaking in illegal drugs?”
Marcus’ stare went flat and cold. “Let me remind you, Inspector Accosi, I’m answering your questions as a courtesy. Be careful.”
Katrina reined herself in with visible effort. “I’ll rephrase, then. If there was illegal drug use in your club, would you know about it?”
“Absolutely. Every corner of the club is under video surveillance and someone is always manning the feeds.” He paused, a slight frown drawing his brows together. With irritation, he said, “Except the restrooms, of course.”
“I’ll need to speak with your security team and anyone who watches the feeds regularly and is familiar with Gretchen Kline.”
Marcus nodded and touched a sleek tablet on his desk. “Gunnar, please come upstairs.”
A voice immediately replied, “Sure thing, boss.”
I drummed my fingers on my armrests as another stare-down ensued. Feeling superfluous after several seconds, I stood and walked to the glass wall. Directly across from us was the balcony I’d seen earlier, and to the left, above the requisite DJ stage, was another balcony. Smaller. Private.
“Is that the VIP area?” I asked, pointing.
Marcus rose, walking to my side. He nodded. “Yes. Capacity is thirty.”
I squinted. “Why does it look like no one is up there?”
His gaze landed heavily on the side of my face. “Interesting,” he murmured.
I frowned at him. “What?”
“I assumed you knew he was here.”
My breathing went shallow. “He?”
“The Prime.”
Twelve
My head went light as my stomach dropped. My gaze veered back to the shadowed balcony. Behind me, Katrina said, “Sorry, Fiona.”
I kept staring, as if the shadows might part any second and reveal Connor. Remembering the conversation in the car, I said, “He was the one who briefed you. Stiff with creepy eyes and a bad haircut.”
Katrina’s reflection in the glass showed me her wince. “I really am sorry. He’s my boss’s boss, though. For what it’s worth, I didn’t know he’d be here tonight.”
Taking a deep breath that didn’t calm me one bit, I asked Marcus, “Is it just him up there?”
He shook his head. In a surprisingly gentle tone, he said, “Private party, invitation only. Two women and three men. The Alpha werewolf of Los Angeles, a Hollywood producer, the mayor’s son—an Emerald mage—and two prominent actresses, both vampires.”
I met his gaze, noticing for the first time that his eyes were blue. Oceanic. Calm filtered through me. “You’re doing that Empath thing again, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “Not for entirely selfless reasons. This close to you, the air is rather uncomfortable.”
“You get used to it,” muttered Katrina.
Through a veil of serenity, I said, “Later, I’m probably going to be mad about this.”
He grinned. “But not now?”
In a tone I’d never heard myself use, dark and compelling, I said, “You owe me a boon for influencing me without permission.”
Marcus blanched. “Of course, mórgacht.”
I blinked, my momentary boldness vanishing. “What did you just call me?”
“Simply a title of respect,” he said smoothly. “What can I offer you, Fiona?”
I glanced at the VIP area. “An invitation to the party.”
Marcus nodded and Katrina spoke up, asking, “Do you think that’s wise?”
Turning from the window, I shrugged. “It’s not like you need me to help interview people.”
She shook her head slowly. “For the record, I strongly object to you doing this.”
“Noted. If he asks, I’ll tell him you did.”
She sighed. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
I grinned, feeling oddly ebullient. Whatever juice Marcus had dosed me with, I needed to bottle it. “Positive.”
There was a knock on the office door. Marcus said, “Enter,” and it opened on a bouncer, short and muscled, with tattoos to his wrists and darting eyes. “Gunnar, thank you for coming. I’ll leave you with Inspector Accosi. Please answer her questions to the best of your ability.”
The werewolf, his pulse low on the alpha scale, glanced nervously at Katrina. “Am I in trouble?”
Katrina stood, smiling, to offer him a hand. “Not at all. I’m Katrina, nice to meet you.”
Marcus said to me, “I’ll take you to the VIP area, but I won’t come in with you.”
I followed him out of the office. Instead of heading back to the stairs we’d used, he turned right toward a metal door at the distant end of the hall.
I didn’t ask—or need—him to clarify his statement. Connor Thorne hated the Fae, and Marcus, although a changeling
like me, clearly didn’t want to risk the Prime’s wrath.
“He’s civil,” said Marcus in response to my silence. “But as an Empath, it’s extremely taxing being in the same room as him.”
“His aura?” I guessed.
“Among other things,” he replied cryptically. As I opened my mouth to ask what things, he explained, “I’m triggered by complex emotion. Normally, the trade-off is vitality. The more I help someone, the more I gain. But my ability is no match for what Connor carries inside him. He’s too Ancient. He . . . sucks me in. Like a bottomless well.”
I studied him for a few moments, then said, “It could be a side effect of your meddling with my head, but think you’re the first Fae I’ve met who I actually like. Why are you friends with my mother?”
He gave me a solemn look. “Delilah found me when I escaped the Northern Sidhe thirty years ago. She helped me assimilate to the human world, found me a place to live and a job. Taught me how to change my identity every ten years.”
Shock lifted through my veneer of calm. “How old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
“And the new identities? Was that because the Fae were looking for you?”
He stopped before the door. Instead of answering, he asked, “You do know that regardless of Ascension, Fae age differently than humans?”
“I figured,” I said, then paused, realizing what he was getting at. “Even outside the Sidhes?”
He nodded. “It’s a moot point now, but there would have come a time when you, too, would have needed to leave your life. Before Ascension, immortality was . . .”
“Problematic?” I finished sourly. He nodded, expression open and honest. I sighed. “This has certainly been a night of surprises. Katrina’s an alpha. A halfling is running an L.A. nightclub. I’m not trying to kill you for using your power on me.”
He chuckled. “Empaths are universally likable, I’m afraid.”
I reached for the doorknob, then paused. “Someday, will you tell me about your time with the Fae and why you left?”
“Of course, mórgacht.”
“You’re not going to tell me what that means, are you?”
“No,” he said serenely.
I opened the door. “Have a good night, Marcus.”
He bowed slightly. “Give my greetings to the Prime.”
I stepped into the low-lit lounge, the door swinging quietly closed behind me. The spell-enhanced acoustics were such that the music from the club was muted, merely an accessory to lush, cozy seating areas and a private, unmanned bar.
It took a few seconds for my eyes to fully adjust on the occupants of the room, but in that time I realized two things. One, I hadn’t considered Connor’s reaction to me being influenced by Marcus’ Empathy, and two, there was no amount of Fae magic in the world that could stand between my emotions and the Prime.
The moment I saw him, Marcus’ gift of calm shivered and cracked, then blew wide-open. The usual cocktail of longing and panic flooded my body. My charge roared to life, silvering my eyes and heating my arms.
Connor sat facing me on a long couch, his arms spread over the back. Two gorgeous women were perched on either side of him. Facing the trio sat three men in oversized chairs. One of them was currently speaking, his voice vaguely familiar.
No one noticed me in the dimness except Connor, and seconds later the two vamps. The women’s chests rose sharply as they drew my scent into their lungs. I didn’t feel Connor extend his power, but they sat back abruptly with chastised expressions. One of them, a blonde with a ridiculous amount of hair and a red dress that could double as a bandana, curled sedately into Connor’s chest. She stared at me from beneath an unnatural abundance of dark lashes.
Sourness churned in my stomach.
Jealousy was a bitch.
A muted glow flashed in Conner’s eyes. “Welcome, Fiona,” he said, the intimate tone making me shiver.
The group went silent, all attentions turning to me. One of the men rose from his chair. “Ms. Sullivan!” said Steven Banks. “What a pleasure to see you again so soon. Come sit. We’re discussing my latest project.”
The man beside Steven stood as well. I recognized him from television. Oliver Johansson, the Alpha werewolf of Los Angeles. He walked toward me with an easy, loping stride and a wide smile. I liked him instantly. Probably because he was wearing worn jeans and a flannel shirt, while everyone else was dressed to the nines.
“Ollie Johansson,” he said warmly, offering me his hand. I shook it and he jolted slightly. “Wow, you pack a wallop, don’t you?”
“Fiona,” said Connor softly. Familiar with how my name sounded in his mouth, only I could hear his irritation. “Would you like to join us?”
“Nice to meet you, Ollie,” I said, then met Connor’s stare. “Actually, I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time, Prime Thorne.”
His lips thinned. “Everyone out.”
There was no hesitation, just obedience. Even Ollie merely bowed his head in my direction before following the rest through a door on the other side of the room.
“Come sit.”
I shifted on my feet. “I’ll stand. What are you doing here?”
A brow lifted. “Enjoying the company of friends. How’s your head?”
“Fine, thanks to you.” I walked a few steps closer, needing to see him more clearly. Needing to know I wasn’t dreaming. That he was here with me.
He lifted a hand. “Would a touch confirm my validity for you?”
I swallowed past my dry throat. “That’s okay.”
He smiled, but it wasn’t humored. “Ask your questions.”
I took a breath. “What did you see in Steven Banks’ head?”
He leaned forward, bracing elbows on his knees. “Whatever happened to his daughter’s friends, he isn’t involved. But he’s worried Daphne is. She has a new boyfriend he doesn’t approve of. She disappears with him for days at a time.”
Thinking of the unknown substance on Gretchen’s tox screen, I asked, “Does he think she’s doing drugs?”
“Possibly. He searched her room but didn’t find anything.” Plucking my next thought from my mind, he said, “Yes, he’s a slimeball”—his lips twitched—“but he also loves his daughter very much.”
Beginning to feel silly standing, I hedged around the chairs and sat in the one farthest from him.
Both of his brows lifted this time. “Back to square one, are we?”
Ignoring that, I asked again, “Why are you here, Connor?”
And once again, he deflected the question. “Do you know what a black diamond is, besides a pretty stone?” I shook my head. “Another name for it is a Lodestone, or the Philosopher’s Stone, thought by ancient alchemists to turn metal to gold. A mineral that has magnetic properties according to science, and magical ones according to alchemists.”
At the first use of alchemist, my muscles had bunched. I glanced around, anxiety spiking as I imagined enemies jumping from the shadows. “The Liberati are here, then?”
“Be at ease, Fiona,” he said softly. “The Liberati aren’t near. Marcus Wilder owns both the hotel and club, but I don’t think either of their names are accidental. Four leaf clovers, black diamonds . . . both are symbolic of arcane influence in the mundane world.”
My head was swimming. “What’s Marcus’ role in this?” I asked, angry at the thought that another Fae had played me.
“As much as I’d like to break the man for touching you with his power, Marcus doesn't have anything to do with the disappearance of the women, other than providing a forum for them to gather, and perhaps be exposed to unsavory influence.”
“What kind of influence?”
He sighed. “If I knew all the answers, I wouldn’t be wasting time with this conversation.”
Ouch.
His jaw clenched. “Are you done with your interrogation?”
“Almost.” I leaned forward, balancing my chin on a palm. “You wouldn’t have brought up the
black diamond reference if you didn’t think it was important. You think Daphne’s involved in something. Something to do with the search for a legendary stone?”
“There have been some rumors in the last months. Questions being asked about the Lodestone. Along with spikes in violence among lower level mages linked to abrupt increases in power.”
I thought immediately of Daphne. “Like a Topaz mage suddenly able to work Emerald and Sapphire spells?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a drug, then,” I said, not a question, then guessed, “A drug made from this Lodestone?”
“I don’t know, but if so, it’s extremely dangerous. It’s been my experience that Ascension granted the exact amount of power to a person that they were capable of handling.”
I didn’t agree, especially in the case of Opal mages, but I understood what he was saying. In the same way that most Opals went nuts when they transitioned, lower level mages might crack if they suddenly channeled power far beyond their natural limits.
There was an argument that since Ascension, humanity itself had ceased to exist, replaced by the various supernatural species. Nulls were the only true humans left. I didn’t agree. We were all still human, the most convincing evidence being our continued devotion to sins like greed. A drug like this hitting the streets could trigger an epidemic.
Sitting back and crossing my legs, I said, “You don’t think it’s the Liberati who took the women, but some sort of power-broker or designer drug peddler. Why?”
I looked up to find his gaze on my bare legs. Warmth cascaded through my chest and downward. His eyes slowly rose, trailing up my body, which suddenly felt underdressed.
When his gaze found mine, his eyes were dark. “Again, I don’t know. Maybe for the same reason the Liberati took you. To leverage the power inside them.”
“Or because they knew the drug was dangerous and were going to report him?”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Or her. And before you ask, I’m unable to question Daphne Banks because she disappeared from her home this afternoon. Steven was here tonight to ask for my help in finding her.”
“What did you say?”