Cinnabar peered at the picture. “Coos,” she said. “There are none on Ione Island, but on the lands to the west, they grow beasts like that there. You need to visit the Scothage people who live in the Highlands. Two, maybe three cycles’ journey from here.”
Sly’s face lit with excitement, his green eyes mesmerizing her with their open joy. “Two or three days? That’s nothing. We don’t have suitable transport to get them here, but knowing where to purchase them is a start. I’ve asked in the market on Dalcon, but no one understood. Eva said she’d heard people speak of cattle but she didn’t know where to find them.”
“If my memory is right, and it is only two or three cycles away, you should be able to drive them here. When the tide is at a low point, there is a causeway on the far side of Ione. Although you would need to drive them through the savages’ territory.”
“The savages?”
“Their king wears a bone through his nose. They cook everything they find in a big pot on a fire, or so the rumors go.”
Sly laughed. “I believe Saber and Eva have met them.”
“No, it might be better to take the long route. The Frogish clan are friendlier.”
“Logistics,” Sly said. “We can work that out later. Knowing where to find the cattle—coos—is a start. Thank you.” He tugged her closer and settled his lips on hers. The kiss was too brief, but still enjoyable.
A bell-like noise drew them fully apart.
Sly cursed under his breath. “Reality intrudes,” he said. “I’d better get back to work before Saber comes gunning for me. Can we meet once my shift is over in the morning and get to know each other better? I’d love to know about your home on Tiraq. I’m so glad you live nearby.”
“Yes. N-not far from here.” Oh! Frying fungus. Thank the goddess he hadn’t asked for too many details earlier. Sly had driven every scrap of common sense from her mind, but now that they no longer touched, Cinnabar became aware of the prickles of magic forging through her veins. She had to leave before the spell dragged her back to owl. She didn’t want him to learn of her curse for fear of Princess Iseabal’s reprisal. The woman had no conscience. No soft side. No mercy when someone crossed her.
“I-I’ll wait outside for you.” She slipped outside before he replied, and none too soon. She cleared the door and turned right before the magic claimed her, and she transformed to owl.
* * * * *
The next day, staff dining room, Middlemarch Resort
“Did you find her?” Joe asked.
“No.” Sly barked out the answer and it rang with temper and frustration. No, he hadn’t found Cinnabar. If Joe hadn’t seen her too, when he met them in cat form the previous night, he might have suspected he’d hallucinated and imagined the entire encounter.
“Have you asked Scarlett? Checked the bookings?”
“Yes.” Sly bit back his anger. It wasn’t Joe’s fault Cinnabar had vanished. Perhaps he hadn’t dazzled her as much as she’d amazed him.
Cut off at the knees, more like. He’d never experienced such a visceral response to a woman. Not even on Earth.
“Well, what did Scarlett say?” Joe prompted.
“I don’t know Cinnabar’s family name, but Scarlett checked our bookings. Not one of our guests has the name Cinnabar. I described her, since Scarlett worked on reception during the latest guest arrivals. She didn’t recall her.”
“What about her scent track? Did you check that out?”
“I did that straightaway, but it was the weirdest thing. Her scent stopped right outside our bungalow. It was as if she’d vanished.”
“Teleportation?”
Sly shrugged, tamping down the anguish threatening to bury him. “I haven’t heard of any locals using that method of transportation.”
Joe frowned. “What about the Ghost race?”
“I thought of them, but from what Saber, Felix and Leo have told us, they don’t leave their area unless the population grows too high. Even then, they never travel alone.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Besides, she didn’t give off the ethereal vibe.”
Sly recalled her firm curves beneath his questing fingers. No, nothing ghostly about Cinnabar.
Scarlett, the youngest Mitchell and their only sister, sashayed into the dining room and made a beeline toward them. She yanked out a chair and plonked onto it. “Did you find Cinderella?”
“Cinnabar,” Sly snapped.
Scarlett flapped her hand, unconcerned by his burst of temper. “She disappeared, didn’t she? Wait. Did she leave a slipper?”
Sly didn’t try to contain his feline snarl.
“Are you sure Cinderella isn’t a figment of your imagination?” Scarlett spoke over his growls.
“Enough teasing,” Joe said. “Cinnabar was here last night. I saw her with Sly.”
“Where did you meet her?” Scarlett asked.
“Saber gave me time off, so I grabbed food from the kitchen and walked to the beach. That’s where I met Cinnabar.”
“By herself?” Scarlett frowned.
“Yes. Someone had spilled a drink on her dress. I invited her to join me and we ate supper together. We were talking about cattle and I offered to show her a picture.”
Scarlett groaned. “You bored her to death.”
“I did not,” Sly said, stung by the accusation. “She was interested. Joe, she told me about a place on the mainland to the west. The Scothage people. They have something called coos, which resemble our Earth cattle.”
Scarlett rolled her eyes. “Yep, you scared her away with your cattle fixation.”
“Who scared away whom?” Ma’s gentle voice stopped Sly from snapping at Scarlett. One word from their mother generally stopped family squabbles dead. Saber was with her.
“Sly met a woman last night but she’s disappeared,” Scarlett said.
Ma and Saber skewered him with their interest.
He didn’t want to discuss Cinnabar. Time for a strategic retreat. “Joe, we’d better get going if we want to get our farm chores done before we’re scheduled to start at the resort.”
Joe pushed his plate of half-eaten food away and rose, solidarity between twins. “Let’s go.”
Grateful for the rescue, Sly turned to Saber. “We’ll be back in time for our shift.”
“Running away,” Scarlett taunted.
Sly and Joe ignored their sister and strode away together. The last thing they heard as they left the dining room was their mother chastising Scarlett for her cheeky attitude. That made Sly brighten—until he recalled Cinnabar had vanished.
Someone must know her. He’d keep asking until he found answers, or his name wasn’t Sly Mitchell.
Chapter Four
Royal Court, Seelie
“Where the devil is Cinnabar?” Princess Iseabal stomped from her tower chamber, down the winding stone stairs, along the long passage, past the chambers of the ladies-in-waiting to the last one—Cinnabar’s. She flung open the wooden door without knocking and wrinkled her nose as she scanned the narrow bed, the clothes hooks on the wall bearing two shabby brown gowns. A sneeze erupted, and she stepped back. Gah! Nothing but dust in this cupboard.
No one had bothered to clean or gather Cinnabar’s possessions after she’d supposedly run off with the group of players. How had Cinnabar withstood the lack of space? No matter. She had plenty now. Too much freedom, since she is missing.
Iseabal stamped her right foot and stormed toward the Great Hall. Cinnabar should’ve returned from her assignment by now. She’d attempted mind-speak but it never worked with Cinnabar. As soon as she broke her fast, she’d go in search of the traitorous woman, and if she didn’t have a satisfactory excuse, she’d strip her of her feathers. See how she enjoyed nakedness.
Chatter, both male and female, spilled from the Great Hall, along with the scents of grilled slices of meat and fried lark’s egg. Her stomach rumbled as she dodged a wriggling pet-pup begging for a scratch behind the ears. She ignored the gray canine and his wagging tail,
checked the tables on the dais, and hurried to take possession of an empty chair with her ladies-in-waiting. Katrina, her sister, sat beside their brother Liam. She had no idea where Calum, Katrina’s husband, was but he never left her sister alone for long.
“Good morn,” the ladies-in-waiting chorused, chairs scraping over the wooden floor of the dais as they rose to curtsy.
A servant girl, carrying a tray of dirty platters, tripped over Lord Sutharlainn’s outstretched leg. Platters flew in all directions. One smashed on the flagstone floor below the dais. Another thumped Lord Sutharlainn’s chest, splattering runny egg yolk over his maroon jacket.
“Stupid girl.” Lord Sutharlainn flicked his wrist, and Iseabal felt the tug on the ley power as the plates flew back to the tray.
“Thank you, sir.” The girl scuttled away with her tray, but not before Iseabal noticed the worms wriggling over the plates. The maid hadn’t noticed them yet.
A shriek and a crash came from the passage outside.
Ah, she did now.
Lord Sutharlainn performed more magic to right his appearance, tugging from the ley lines running beneath the kingdom to power his chant. Iseabal sniffed, but hid her contempt. Fool. When one used their magic, they depleted their magical strength and only time righted the problem. She saved her magical talents for the right occasion.
She also practiced each day in the privacy of her tower. Not so, most Seelie residents. They grew complacent. She wrinkled her nose.
Their loss. Her gain.
The delicious honey-nectar fruit and lark’s egg pie sweetened her mood. Replete, she pushed away from the table and stood. Plates clattered and cutlery clunked as her ladies-in-waiting scrambled to stand as a show of respect. Iseabal wanted to laugh at the skinny Mirabel, who’d dropped her knife on her gown. The chubby Andry had spilled her fruit, and a bright green-and-yellow stain smeared the full skirts of her robe. They were a gormless lot, with their disheveled dress and careless manners. At least Cinnabar obeyed her orders, even while dressed in feathers.
Most orders, since she was currently missing.
Iseabal tittered. She couldn’t wait to feed Cinnabar her next meal. She’d acquired two mouselets. Cinnabar had to eat to survive but her wide-eyed blinking whenever she was presented with her squirming dinner never failed to boost Iseabal’s mood. Such fun. Such entertainment.
Now, where the devil was the owl?
When her ladies-in-waiting would’ve followed, she waved them away, preferring to search for Cinnabar alone. No one needed to know her pet owl was, in fact, her former junior lady-in-waiting. That was her amusing secret, and one she intended to keep for as long as Cinnabar continued to entertain her.
Iseabal wandered to her usual haunts before the truth struck. She clapped her hand across her mouth to contain her chortle, not wishing to attract the attention of the maid cleaning in the family solar. Once the maid had bustled away, duster and polishing cloth in hand, Iseabal dropped her hand to her side. “Oops.” She’d forgotten about the portal, which would be locked to Cinnabar.
Now certain of Cinnabar’s location, she headed for the secret portal, which allowed an exit from Seelie. She placed her hand on the shimmering surface and a door opened.
Ah! There she was perched in a tree.
Iseabal stepped forth, full of enthusiasm, before another obstacle occurred to her.
Cinnabar had no communication skills in this form. The spell was designed that way, so no one else discovered Iseabal’s secret. Cinnabar couldn’t tell anyone the truth during her time in normal form, either. A backlash spell. It should work well enough, if necessary, although Iseabal hadn’t tested it. There was no need when Cinnabar was terrified of what might happen next. Yes, an amusing twist to protect Iseabal’s secret, since she knew Liam would never approve.
But for once, the lack of a voice presented a problem.
What to do?
“Cinnabar, to me,” Iseabal ordered.
Cinnabar blinked her rounded blue eyes once and soared from the shelter of the tree to a rock to Iseabal’s right. Impatience pummeled Iseabal, and she fisted her hands until a solution presented itself. Questions. She’d ask Cinnabar questions with yes or no answers.
“Did you find the man? The twin. Flap your wings if you did.”
Cinnabar hesitated.
“I don’t have all cycle,” Iseabal snapped. “Flap your wings for yes. Blink twice for no.”
Slowly, as if she had an inexhaustible amount of time at her fingertips, Cinnabar ruffled her feathers and spread her wings in a flap.
“You did! You found him. I knew you wouldn’t fail me. Do you know where to find him again?”
Cinnabar flapped her wings.
“Will it be easy to get him to come here?”
Cinnabar blinked.
“Hmm.” Iseabal tapped her chin with her forefinger. “I’ll need to go to him to persuade him.”
Cinnabar flapped her wings.
“Is he handsome up close? Is he worthy of me?”
Cinnabar didn’t react straightaway this time, and Iseabal frowned.
“Cinnabar. Is he worthy?”
Cinnabar flapped her wings.
“Handsome?”
Another flap.
Iseabal clapped her hands together. “Perfect.” She needed a plan and the answers to more questions. “Cinnabar, return through the portal to Seelie and this eve, when you revert to your true form, I want you to write me a note. Tell me everything you know and give me suggestions of the best way to approach this man.”
Once the owl followed her orders, Iseabal skipped back to the entrance to Seelie. Perfect. She’d gain a handsome husband and become more important than her sister again. More important than her father and brother, if things went to plan. Iseabal hummed happily, now that her scheme was coming together.
Of course, she couldn’t marry without her father’s permission, but she’d take this man to Seelie. Her father would soon understand the benefits of the marriage, while she’d have no problem controlling the man.
Confidence had her nodding and warbling a few notes of her favorite song.
Best plan ever.
* * * * *
Middlemarch Resort, Ione Island, a few cycles later
Princess Iseabal trailed the shirtless man—an employee—down a narrow path that wound between gardens full of blue-and-white flowers and trees with pink-and-black trunks and equally bright fern-like leaves. Her gaze lingered on the man’s back muscles, glistening from the heat, and the fascinating pattern in black, which seemed etched into his skin. It also crawled up his right arm. A disease of some type? Nothing about the man suggested an ailing specimen.
Armed with the information from Cinnabar, Iseabal had told her father she intended to spend a few days with Lady Jessika, her friend who lived near the main entrance to Seelie. He’d accepted her words without suspicion, and Iseabal practically vibrated with excitement.
She couldn’t wait to meet Sly Mitchell. Sly Mitchell. His name tingled her vocal cords as she whispered it aloud.
The man walking in front of her halted and turned to face her. “Did you say something? Did you have a question for me?”
Iseabal—plain Iseabal this trip—smiled even as she appreciated the perfection of the man’s bulging muscles. A depiction of a snarling black cat decorated his left pectoral muscle.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was talking to myself. There is so much to occupy my time at the resort.”
The man took her words at face value, returning her benevolent humor and nodding. Several other men wandered past, some with women and others in groups. So many striking men, all way more attractive than those in her circle. Cinnabar had assured her Sly Mitchell was a worthy specimen. Iseabal agreed, since she’d already observed his musculature, albeit from afar.
When the path widened, Iseabal eschewed protocol and hastened her steps so she walked alongside the man. “What would you suggest I do first?”
“Go to eithe
r the swimming pool or the resort beach. Order a drink from one of the waiters. Soak up rays from the sun and relax. Get into the holiday mood. Tonight, make sure you attend the welcome mixer. Dance and enjoy yourself and meet others. Then, on the next day…ah, cycle, have a relaxing massage, spend time in one of the holo rooms with the sex-bots. Have fun.” He flashed an impish and knowing grin, closing one thickly lashed green eye in an exaggerated blink.
Iseabal’s pulse did a cha-cha-cha, and she resisted fanning the heat from her face. “Anything else?”
“Whatever you do, don’t miss the ball. Wear your sexiest outfit and arrive prepared for excitement and entertainment. Anything is possible after the ball.”
“Anything?”
“Yes, anything. This is your room. You’ve packed lightly,” he added. “You did bring a special dress to wear to the ball?”
“I did.” Her magic would aid her in that regard. Success in the first part of her plan was worth a slight depletion of power.
The man showed her through her bungalow and left her alone. Iseabal decided to wait for Cinnabar before she left her room to explore. Meantime, she’d adjust her apparel to match with that of the others. With little more than a thought, her flowing gown dissolved, and she wore the clothes that Cinnabar had described to her in one of her many notes.
The owl made an excellent spy, noting intricate details that wouldn’t have occurred to Iseabal. She frowned at the scraps of cloth covering her breasts and reached down to tug on the matching cloth that covered her buttocks. She’d gone with bright red, since it contrasted with her long black hair and golden skin. She tugged on the stuff again, but the second she released the fabric it returned to a place slightly higher on her buttocks. Oh well. She intended to sit and observe and try one of the special drinks the man had described.
A shrill cry indicated Cinnabar’s arrival. Iseabal hurried to let her into her bungalow. She shut the door after Cinnabar flew inside. Once the owl was perched on a chairback, Iseabal considered the information she required. How should she frame her questions to gain the necessary knowledge?
“Is Sly Mitchell present?”
Cinnabar flapped her wings.
Spellbound with Sly (Middlemarch Capture Book 4) Page 4