by Carmen Caine
He clenched his freshly shaven jaw into a taut line and dangled his phone before my nose. “You’re late,” came his quelling response as he tapped the display with a long, elegant finger.
I merely arched a brow. “What are you hiding?” I pressed, nodding my chin at his injured hand.
I learned something unexpected then, and it surprised me.
The glaring warlock grimaced and slowly, ever so slowly, held out his injured hand. “It’s fine,” he insisted, his silver-blue eyes pleading and penetrating mine.
It wasn’t like I could see his hand. He wore a black glove. But that wasn’t what surprised me. It was the fact I could make him actually listen to me. Maybe the chance of a relationship based on mutual respect was possible after all. I rolled my eyes at his covered hand. “Right, so believable. What is the glove hiding?”
“You’re late,” he said for the third time, his mask descending once again.
And you just revealed you’re not a total jerk.
Biting back the temptation to purr, I shrugged and fluttered my lashes. “And gonna be even later,” I promised, blowing a strand of hair out of my eyes. “This girl’s not walking around with bedhead and wearing yesterday’s clothes.”
I moved towards the stairs winding up to my two cardboard boxes of belongings in the bedroom loft above. It was just as spacious and airy as the room below but with a white fur rug and one of those low, platform beds with a bookcase and side tables built directly into the headboard. A painting of a white rose against a gray background adorned the opposite wall, taking almost the entirety. Simple but tasteful.
My mother’s “moving in” help had consisted of carrying two whole boxes and dumping the contents on the bed. But then, I guess she earned a brownie point for not just leaving the boxes by the front door.
“What does ‘sharp’ mean to you?” Lucian called from the kitchen below, interrupting my acidic thoughts.
I paused and leaned over the metal banister. “Oh, go rain on someone else’s parade, grinchiness,” I retorted. He didn’t scare me. Not anymore.
I turned back, but paused mid-step and winced.
Cripes. Ricky. I really needed to start remembering him.
Zipping down the stairs in a near-vampire flash, I headed Lucian off as he made for the sink. I mean, of course he would. An upside down imp hanging by chip-clips from a makeshift clothesline would pique anyone’s curiosity.
“Isn’t hanging them upside down supposed to prolong the effects of turmeric?” Lucian asked in a biting tone.
Ricky lifted an eyelid. “Well, lads, look who’s popped up: Annoyance Personified.”
I had him unclipped and scooped back into the blender before Lucian could recover from dropping his jaw. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” I reached up, giving the warlock’s cheek a pat.
That made his jaw remain open. Smiling, I darted back up the steps, blender and all.
“I need the entire crew ready,” Lucian shouted darkly after me. “And that includes your wayward sidekick.”
I squinted into the blender where Ricky had melted into a happy puddle of black goo. Yeah. Wasn’t happening. But I didn’t see the point of informing Lucian of it yet. Instead, I carried Ricky into the adjoining bathroom and dumped him into the tub—blender and all—before returning to sift through the clothes on my bed. I found what I was looking for, one of my favorite ensembles: a stunning pair of form-fitting jeans, a black tank top, and a sweet leather jacket. The outfit accentuated every curve for maximum distraction, and today, I needed every advantage. Perhaps eye candy would sweeten the mood of the warlock waiting below.
After dragging a brush through my auburn curls, I slipped my boots on and proceeded to decorate them with knives.
“I’m leaving in three minutes,” Lucian barked. “And Ricky better be on board.”
“Oh, chill,” I tossed over my shoulder in his general direction, adding my last knife. “Not his fault. Samuel left a ton of turmeric in the kitchen cupboard as a present.”
“Oh?” the warlock asked, moving to stand at the bottom step. “There’s only one reason he would do that. I wonder what information he hoped to pry from that imp’s lips.”
I froze. On second thought, leaving Ricky alone with his interrogator didn’t seem too bright. I flashed back to my cardboard box and snagged a plastic sandwich bag. At first, Ricky didn’t participate. I tried pouring him into the bag, but he rebelled, stubbornly sliding around the bag’s edges to roll over my hand and burp instead.
“I’m a tad trolleyed, love, not in the mood to spend the day with Lord Lucian Rowle,” he stressed the name, mimicking an aristocratic British accent. “Not my cuppa—”
“I’m not leaving you behind,” I interrupted with a growl, trying to grab him. It was hard, and he was sticky. It was like trying to pick up maple syrup with your fingers. He kept leaking everywhere. “And if you don’t get inside this bag, I’m going to toss you back into the bargain bin myself—after you spend a year in the freezer.”
“Cassidy?” Lucian shouted up the stairs. “Cass-i-deeeeee!”
Ricky scowled, but slithered into the bag and, zipping it shut, I met Lucian at the bottom before he’d scarcely uttered the last syllable of my name.
“Good job, Lucian, you’re improving.” I couldn’t help purring this time. “That’s the proper way to say my name. Stress the ‘deee’, alright?”
Spinning on my booted heel, I swung my hips from side to side and sailed out the front door, but not before I’d noticed the slight gleam of appreciation in Lucian’s eyes. I didn’t stop to analyze it much, but I certainly enjoyed it.
* * *
Apparently, eating was the first order of business.
The air was crisp and gray clouds scurried across the bright blue New York sky as we made our way to Times Square. I didn’t mind. With its hustle and bustle, it was my favorite feeding ground. A gust of wind blew against me as I exited the cab and joined the others on the sidewalk. After a quick negotiation, they decided upon an eatery and as they left for it, I made the flimsy excuse of needing money and promptly dove into the crowd, siphoning some much-needed mana.
I didn’t indulge too heavily, though. I knew Lucian would have me followed, so trying to run off to South America now would be futile, and I wasn’t all that eager to reveal how I fed. After a few ‘bites’, I curbed my appetite and then sought out the nearest ATM. I found it, tucked between a hipster coffeehouse and an urban pet clothing store. After punching in the pin number, I stared at my account balance flickering on the tiny screen.
Holy crud.
Lucian hadn’t lied. He’d really paid me. I’d never seen so many zeros I could call my own before—well, zeros after a number. I could buy a ticket to Australia or even Timbuktu.
I eyed Heath from the corner of my eye. He’d obviously drawn the short straw for Cassidy-watching duty. He didn’t try to hide from me, though. He simply stood there under the streetlight, practicing his golf swing, waiting for me to complete my business.
Turning back to the screen, I ran a fingertip over the tiny zeros. Nice. At least they were there even if I couldn’t use them … yet.
“Done already?” an obnoxious businessman asked from behind. He’d been huffing and puffing the entire time. More than once I’d heard him mutter pointed insults about my obvious lack of brains to his group of buddies waiting nearby. He hadn’t bothered to be quiet about it.
Hitting the ‘Done’ button on the screen, I turned and forced my lips into a flirtatious smile. He looked just as obnoxious as he’d sounded. Pasty-skinned. Puffed up ego. Yeah, he thought himself hot and brilliant stuff in his Wall Street, crony-capitalist duds. And his mana? He smelled like a cheap meal to me.
“Oops,” I laughed, tripping into him. “These heels are treacherous.”
Bingo. My palms brushed his heart chakra. I took a big swag of his mana, no accidental overindulging this time. I watched with satisfaction as he turned green and stumbled tow
ard the ATM, sweating like the pig he clearly was. Disgusting. His mana made me queasy and my hands felt almost dirty.
I headed for Heath, dusting my palms on the back of my jeans and on the lookout for a decent meal to clean my palate. I found it, halfway across the sidewalk: a jogger, navigating through the pedestrians at a clip. Yeah, I suppose he was a looker. More than one woman cast a furtive glance his way, but I saw him only as a tasty mana treat on a stick—well, two sinewy sticks. Drooling a little, I twisted expertly in front of him and with a slight brush over the chest, I indulged in a wee nip as he maneuvered past me and sped on. Charmed. Definitely. Only Charmed mana provided such a kick from so small an amount. I briefly wondered who and what he was.
Heath greeted me with a friendly grin. “Got your moolah?”
I patted my pocket. “Yep, I can afford to eat now,” I replied, stepping up to link my arm through his. “Too bad we can’t squeeze in a little shopping first.”
He laughed and headed down the sidewalk, giving my hand a friendly pat. “You’re a dream to dress, Cassidy.”
“Are you suggesting you’d like to make me your Barbie doll?” I teased.
“You know it,” he responded lightheartedly before his friendly gaze took a serious turn. “We all know you’re Lucian’s. Not going there.”
That surprised me. “Lucian’s? I’m not anyone’s property—” I began, but catching sight of the fake engagement ring spelled onto my hand, I switched gears. “Oh, this ‘ol rock? It’s not real.”
Heath just laughed. “I’m a wolf,” he answered as if that was a sufficient response.
“I know that,” I said when he didn’t continue.
“It’s not the sparkler,” he provided helpfully. “Wolves can smell when something’s real or not.” He guided me to another crosswalk and pointed across the street to a small diner called Ivar’s Chowder House right next to a yoga studio. “Time to hang ten and feast on the best fish ‘n chips in town. I can taste it already.”
Smelling if something’s real or not? I snorted. Yeah, there was no denying Lucian’s sex appeal. I’d kissed him more than once—and enjoyed it as much as he obviously had. But our engagement wasn’t real, and even more certainly, it wasn’t worth expending any energy to correct.
“Hungry myself,” I said, faking interest in the impending lunch. Crud. Time to play termite again. We stood only a crosswalk away. I had to work fast if I wanted to pry any information out of my fuzzy-eared friend. “So, what are we up against today?”
“Today?” he repeated, his face splitting into a helpful grin. “After tanking up, we’re heading out to the scene of the crime.”
The light changed and we stepped off the curb, pushing our way through a spandex-wearing yoga crowd rushing our way. Apparently, class had just gotten out.
“Any leads?” I asked.
“Not yet. Might be a one-hit-wonder.”
I frowned. “A what?”
“Charmed jargon for a one-time mercenary, someone without a criminal history. Just does the one job and vanishes,” he provided cheerfully. “Untraceable as far as motives go—and incredibly expensive. Only a few can afford to hire one of those.”
No leads? Lack of motive? I took heart in that. “So, they didn’t leave any evidence behind?” I couldn’t resist pressing further as he reached for the diner’s door.
“Nothing obvious, but we’re gonna break out the big dogs,” he said, holding the door open for me like the gentleman he was. “Don’t worry, Cassidy, we’ll catch them.”
He didn’t know how much he should hope we wouldn’t. Crud. I needed to know more. Slowing my step, I fished for my last bit of intel. “And the big dogs are?”
“Probably already there,” came his maddening reply. “Once they find the evidence, there’s lots of ways to bring it home. Just gotta find the right people to squeeze.”
Didn’t sound fun from my perspective. “Cool,” I said, trying to act impressed. I bit my lip in frustration. Great. Just when I was getting somewhere, I couldn’t ask any more questions.
Ivar’s Chowder House proved overly crowded and overwhelmed my sense of smell in a bad way. I suppose seafood-lovers would find the tangy scent of fried fish pleasing, but it only served to make my stomach turn. I snagged a plastic menu from the hostess to cover the gagging and followed Heath as he wove through the crowded, sea-themed dining room complete with plastic blue marlins hanging from the ceiling and aquamarine tiles covering the floor.
The search for Lucian and Tabitha was a short one. We found them near the back in a booth. Tabitha sat on one side, wearing her usual sheath evening dress and high heels—a spectacularly unsuitable outfit for a crime investigation. She sat there, absentmindedly twisting a peppermill over her salad, dumping spoonfuls of the stuff over her leafy greens. Lucian appeared similarly preoccupied, slouching on the seat opposite her. With his pale blue gaze locked unseeingly ahead of him, he drummed his gloved fingers on the table, leaving the cod sandwich plate in front of him untouched.
“Time to eat,” Heath announced, rubbing his hands together as he scooted into the seat next to the firedrake.
Both Lucian and Tabitha jumped a little.
“You’re still around,” Tabitha murmured, her smoky-lined eyes widening just a tad to see me.
“Where did you expect me to go?” I asked, sliding into the booth next to Lucian. I expected him to move over and make room. He didn’t budge and our arms touched enough that I could feel him breathing.
Tabitha leveled me a look.
“Well, guess you’re stuck with me,” I said into the silence. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She didn’t reply. I raised a brow. She just kept staring.
Yeah, no love lost.
Jerking the menu open, I gave it a quick scan. Standard stuff. Sawdust of all seafood varieties. I eyed the lesser of all the evils: the chowder. At least I could drink it down quickly, chunks and all.
The waitress arrived, wearing a red crab hat with two black googly eyes and a matching red miniskirt. I wondered what corporate brainchild had dreamt up that combination. Sending her a sympathetic smile, I pointed to my selection and waited for Heath. His order was a much longer affair. Finally, the woman left with what could’ve been a meal for ten.
I waited about two seconds before striking the conversation up again. “So, what are we doing?” I asked, placing my palms flat on the table and playing it like a drum. “What’s my role? Standard-issue spellfinding?”
Lucian stirred next to me. “You’ll be following Tabitha’s orders,” he supplied, his tone distant. “Trust in her leadership.”
Trust? I trusted her about as much as a rattlesnake with a “pet me” sign. Exerting my willpower, I dropped as genuine of a smile as I could muster in her direction and said, “Figured I’d be following her orders, since she’s in charge of the investigation. Just wanted to know what I’d be doing.”
She didn’t even blink when she stared at me this time.
“Want to be prepared, that’s all,” I explained as silence fell again. Cripes, but they were a somber lot. Were they getting ready to skewer me? I eyed the back exit, wondering if I should make a run for it after all.
“Cassidy was asking me about the interviews,” Heath chimed in, evidently trying to help. “Who the suspects were. Any new leads?”
I winced. Yeah, squeezing information out of Heath was easy—for everyone.
A chilling, almost antiseptic smile sprang onto Lucian’s carved lips. “It’s too early to share the list,” he said in a soft, deadly tone.
I eyed the exit sign. Was it really too late?
“Time to call the perimancers and whittle it down a bit?” the werewolf continued in open curiosity.
Perimancers. That snagged my attention. Recalling Ricky had mentioned them, I perked up and, trying not to sound too conspicuous, asked, “Perimancers? Can’t say I’ve worked with them before.” Or knew what they were, but I didn’t see the point of publicly admitting that litt
le fact.
Lucian stretched his arm behind my shoulders, making me feel caged. “A perimancer—one who communes with nature,” he obliged me with an answer.
I couldn’t read his tone, but at least he’d answered. Deciding to press my luck further, I probed, “A hippie witch?” A mental image of a tie-dyed t-shirted free spirit sporting Birkenstocks, a pointy hat, and a broom made of hemp, formed in my mind.
“Communing with nature.” Lucian tilted his sexy jaw closer to me to reply. He knew I had a thing for jaws. Crud. Why was he distracting me? “The stones beneath your feet have a long memory. They don’t forget what they see.”
The words ripped right through the temptation of running my finger along that jawline. Stones can see and remember? Obviously, we weren’t just talking about what happens in the first half hour of a Law & Order episode, but then maybe interrogating the flora, fauna, and stones, even, was normal procedure in the Charmed world. I felt torn between skepticism and concern. This time, skepticism won out. “How do you talk to stones? Just how do they see the world without having any eyes?” I couldn’t quite hide my amusement.
The waitress chose that moment to return, balancing a heaping tray of food. She delivered mine first, plopping down a steaming bowl of chunky chowder right in front of me. Steeling my gag reflex, I forced myself to pick up the spoon. Crud. It took a conscious effort to swallow down the talcum powder mush.
Finally, the waitress finished unloading Heath’s dishes and disappeared.
Once she’d gone, the werewolf surprised me by answering my question. Kind of. "Everything has a life spirit,” he said a bit philosophically. “Rocks sense and speak in strange ways, but perimancers can understand them.” He grinned and took a big bite of sesame-encrusted fish. “They can translate the vibrations for the rest of us.”
“Not sure I’d just trust someone’s word on what a rock said,” I couldn’t resist pointing out.
Heath laughed.
“It’s not like that,” Lucian inserted himself back into the conversation, his deep voice reverberating in his chest. “You’ll see for yourself shortly. Our perimancer should have found something by now.”