by H. D. Gordon
Then there was Charlie Redmine. Fucking Charlie Redmine. How long had it been since he’d seen that country, common scum? Long time, he supposed. But not long enough. He knew that son of a bitch had something to do with this, had known it right off the bat, even before he and the princess had witnessed Redmine escape with Black Heart. Yes, he would need to put a stop to all of this, punish those who were responsible.
Not only that, but he hated the way that common shithead had looked at Surah. He hated it.
But there was protocol to follow, or at least appear to follow as long as he could stand to. He would wait for the princess to show back up for a few hours, and then he would take the coordinates that Basil knew and go searching for the Stone.
“She could just be in with King Syrian,” Lyonell said, cutting into the Head Hunter’s thoughts.
Theo’s teeth clenched, but his tone was composed, his face smooth, even amicable. It was a wonder how much control one could gain from a thousand-year lifetime, but there was nothing he could do to stop the dark emotions from storming through his head. “I just left King Syrian,” he said.
Noelani chimed in. “I’m sure she’ll return shortly.”
Now Theo very much wanted to tell her to shut up, but being a woman, she would probably run back to the princess and tattle-tell on him. And that surely wasn’t the best way to convince her to be his wife. He nodded, giving a small smile that struck Noelani as indulgent. “Of course,” he said. “We’ll wait for her then.”
Then he swept out of the room, his heavy cloak swaying behind his swift, sure steps, leaving the two Hunters and the Shaman standing in the princess’s chambers and staring silently at each other as the early morning light coming through the arched windows strengthened with the growing of the new day.
Theo walked down the hallway that led back to the foyer, listening to only the click of his boot heels on the polished hardwood floor and the blood that was pulsing in his ears. He would wait for the princess, all right. He would wait for exactly three hours.
And then he would go looking for her.
CHAPTER 30
Surah stood staring at the small stone cottage, her heart thumping nervously in her chest. The silence of the place is what struck her first, surrounding her so completely in an instant. Green vines sporting yellow flowers crawled up the front of the little house, framing the door and two square windows. The path leading up to the porch was collaged stone, red and gray and black that fit together in a sort of mosaic. The only sound was the wind rustling through the long grasses all around them.
The sunlight was beginning to strengthen, reminding Surah that the clock on her father’s life was still ticking. She took one more moment to take in her surroundings, looking all around in every direction and seeing no other civilization in sight, just miles and miles of green and yellow grasslands.
“Where did you bring me?” she asked, avoiding Charlie’s eyes, wishing she didn’t feel like she had to. She gestured to the cottage with one gloved hand, the glamour she was wearing making her expensive glove look old and tattered. “This doesn’t look like any shop I’ve ever seen.”
Charlie began striding up the stone path to the cottage in that slow, sure way of his, and Surah found that she had no problem looking at him when he wasn’t looking back. She decided against her will that she liked the way the denim of his jeans sat below his waist, how she had never known that such common attire could be attractive. She personally had never donned a pair of jeans in her life, and she wondered if her rear end would look as good in them.
When she looked over and saw Samson staring at her, she shut those thoughts off like a faucet.
Eyes on the prize, the tiger told her silently. Don’t trust this man, Princess.
“I know what I’m doing and I don’t trust him.”
Good.
Charlie climbed the steps of the cottage and turned to look at her. “You comin?” he asked.
Surah remained where she was, her hand resting on the tiger’s shoulder. “Not until you tell me what I’m walking into. You still haven’t told me anything about this plan of yours, Mr. Redmine. I’d like to hear it.”
Charlie moved back down the steps and stopped in front of her. Surah had to swallow twice to hold his gaze. His deep, low voice seemed to fill up the world in the emptiness around them, those jade-colored eyes burning. Always burning. “This is a friend’s house, my lady,” he said. “I’ve known Carolyn for over five-hundred years. She deals in the kinds of items we’ll be needin'.”
Surah just looked at him, her face carefully expressionless. “What kinds of items would that be?”
Charlie was silent for a moment. “I think you know.”
“The use of Black Magic is forbidden in my father’s kingdom, Mr. Redmine. I would have assumed you knew this.”
Charlie nodded once, either completely ignoring her incredulity or not hearing it. She couldn’t tell. She just couldn’t get a read on this man. “Sure,” he said, “but I would assume that you know Michael is usin’ Black Magic to stay hidden and to keep…unwanted folks away. How do you propose we get anywhere near the Stone without using it too? I s’pose I just assumed that you wouldn’t be opposed to it with your father’s life on the line.”
Surah’s teeth clenched. How dare he speak to her in such a way? Charlie Redmine clearly had no manners or concern for social status, and she found the thought flying out of her mouth before she could stop it. “You’ve got some nerve, Mr. Redmine, speaking to me the way you do.”
Charlie said nothing to this, just sighed and rubbed a hand down his slightly scruffy jaw. He looked as exasperated as she felt. She found herself growing defensive. Meanwhile, Samson looked slightly bored and amused at the whole thing.
Charlie looked at her now, his eyebrows raised. “Make up your mind, Princess,” he said. “You gonna trust me or not?”
Surah tilted her chin up a fraction. “Not,” she said, and began striding up to the cottage with her perfect posture and sure steps. Samson followed at her side. She was just about to knock on the door when Charlie spoke from behind her.
“He should stay out here,” he said, and Surah glanced over her shoulder to see he was talking about Samson. “If Carolyn sees him, she’ll know who you are, even with all that glamour. No one else in the kingdom owns a Beast like that.”
“I do not own Samson,” she said, taking defense of her tiger. Charlie Redmine seemed to have a knack for pissing her off, even with all her long gained composure.
Samson surprised her by chuckling in her head, the sound just a deep, growling rumble. Sure you do, love. Sure you do.
“He shouldn’t be speaking to me this way,” she told him silently, her tone more of a snap than she intended. “No one speaks to me this way.”
Surah thought if Samson could have shrugged, he would have. He hopped off the porch and began walking to the back of the house, his head held low as he sniffed at the green and yellow grasses. Isn’t that what you’re always complaining about? He asked her as he slipped into the field to the east of the cottage, the amusement clear in his tone. I thought you wanted to be treated like everyone else. Sometimes you just have to give an inch, princess. I’m not saying trust him, just give an inch.
Surah sighed and looked at Charlie, who was silent, which seemed to be his way. Looking at her as if he were the one having some secret, internal conversation. She wished he wouldn’t look at her. She could feel his gaze on her skin, something that stroked rather than just saw, and her returning thought to Samson surprised even her. She regretted it as soon as it was born.
I know that’s what I wanted, and that’s why I wish he wouldn’t do it.
The tiger stopped in his tracks, the long grasses brushing against his powerful legs, the strengthening daylight casting a heavenly light around his blue and black striped body. His head turned, ears swiveling gracefully, and Surah thought the look Samson gave her when his amber eyes met hers was sort of painful. Then he turned and slun
k into the grasses, body held low. A bit of real fear spiraled in her gut. She refused to examine the question of what?
Surah turned back to Charlie, her chin held slightly raised. When he just stood there unmoving, she waved her hand impatiently to tell him to get on with it. Just because she didn’t trust him didn’t mean she didn’t intend to see where he led her. As of right now, he seemed to be the most direct path to the Stone she needed to save her father, and she was fully prepared to kill him if worse came to worst. At least, she thought she was.
Charlie climbed the porch steps once more, flashing Surah that small smile of his when she moved away before his shoulder could brush hers. He reached up and knocked on the wooden door, which thumped hollowly. Surah had to stop herself from shifting her feet as they waited, despite the fact that she was not a shifty person.
A minute passed, then two, and another, and Surah was a split second away from telling Charlie to knock again when the door swung open, the hinges creaking in way that would have been comical if not for the uneasy feeling in her stomach. It was an oddly gripping sound.
The smell that wafted out of the cottage and bombarded Surah’s senses was that of rich flowers and thick herbs, stale smoke and spoiled milk. It rolled out toward her on a wave that made her eyes water and her throat itch, and no amount of etiquette training could keep her nose from wrinkling. She covered her mouth on the shoulder of her cloak just in time to catch the three sneezes that forced their way out.
She almost summoned a handkerchief before she thought better of it. She was in disguise, and common people didn’t just use the Magic in such frivolous ways, and if she did summon one she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep from covering her mouth and nose with it anyway. And that sort of delicate, royal behavior was not going to cut it here. She loosened her shoulders, adding a slight slump to her back, breaking her perfect posture. Maintaining the Magic that held her false appearance in place was not the hard part—though it wasn’t easy by anyone’s standards. The hard part would be not conducting herself like a princess.
A voice issued from the darkness of the cottage, where the only light was from the two dusty square windows that shed dirty streams of sunlight into the room. The voice was soft and low, a woman’s voice, that of deep trolling bells. The sound of it made an unexplained chill crawl up Surah’s spine, but she didn’t allow herself to shiver.
“Charlie?” the voice said. “That you, Charlie Redmine?”
The room filled with light then, the overhead bulb in the ceiling coming to life and illuminating the contents of the place. Surah’s eyes flicked around the room, settling on the stacks of old books, the jars and vials set on the shelves that held various substances, the old leather couch and armchair, and finally on the carved table in the corner, where the owner of that deep bell voice sat.
Surah’s first thought upon seeing Carolyn was that she was an extreme juxtaposition to her home. Her hair was a long, yellow blond, hanging in soft waves over shoulders that sported a rich black cloak. Her face was fine lines and delicate curves, with plush pink lips and big crystal blue eyes. Her makeup was styled perfectly, her hands ungloved but clean with blood-red fingernails. The woman stood in one smooth movement, her back held straight and her cloak flowing around her gracefully. A smile lit up her face as her eyes settled on Charlie.
She held her arms out to him the way a mother might do a long lost child. Or the way a lover might a long lost flame, Surah thought, then shoved the whole matter out of her mind. Focus was key here. Eyes on the prize.
“Charlie Redmine,” the woman said, coming forward, arms still outstretched. “I’ll be damned. It is you.”
Surah resisted raising an eyebrow. This woman was a whole bucket of juxtaposition, it seemed. Her foul, common way of speaking matched her house but not her appearance. Charlie stepped into the cottage, his face giving away no indication that he could even smell the foul mixture of scents that invaded the room. He went over to Carolyn and pulled her into a hug that Surah thought lasted too long, knowing she had no business feeling that way at all, averting her eyes from the two of them and standing outside the open door in awkward silence.
“S’good to see you, too, Carolyn,” Charlie said, stepping back from her and offering her a small smile. “You look good.”
The way Carolyn smiled and fluttered her eyelashes in return answered one of Surah’s earlier questions. So Charlie Redmine did have an effect on other women. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who found him attractive. She wasn’t sure if she was happy about this or not.
Carolyn slapped playfully at his shoulder. “Still a charmer, I see,” she said, and then her crystal blue eyes flipped to Surah, and the smile fell from her face like melted snow, the smooth lines of her jaw that Surah thought were pretty upon first sight sharpening and becoming harsh. “And who is this you’ve brought with you?” she asked, her gaze traveling up from Surah’s feet and to her face and back again.
Surah found herself clenching her teeth, but she smiled, and it looked real. She was very good at that. Then she realized that she and Charlie hadn’t discussed the false identity that went with her false appearance, and she floundered in her mind, searching for a common name to spit out.
She needn’t have worried. Charlie answered for her, his slow draw as sure and true as ever. Surah realized that he was an even better liar than she gave him credit for, and had she listened to her gut right then, and transported out of there, she might have been able to save herself a lot of trouble.
Give an inch, Samson had told her. Sure. She had no idea that she would be plenty sorry for ignoring her instincts and taking this advice later.
“This is Sarah Whittle. She’s an acquaintance of mine,” Charlie said, and looked back at Carolyn. “She needs to make some purchases.”
Surah stepped into the house, careful to keep her smile in place and her nose from wrinkling. “Good to meet you,” she said, hoping that her fake common accent didn’t sound fake.
Carolyn inclined her head, making Surah’s hackles raise, if they weren’t raised already. “Sarah Whittle, huh? Never heard of you.”
“She’s from the Westlands,” Charlie answered, stepping to the side a little and drawing Carolyn’s attention back to him. That suggestive smile found her face again as her blue eyes travelled up Charlie’s body.
Surah decided rather instantly that she didn’t like this Carolyn.
“The Westlands you say?” Carolyn leaned her head around Charlie, looking at Surah again, and Surah finally came to the realization of what this woman was. The word sounded in her head in a distinct tone of disgust.
Witch.
“What part of the Westlands?”
Surah’s smile remained in place, her shoulders relaxed, her composure held carefully intact. A geography test was nothing to her. She knew the lands and cities of her father’s kingdom as well as anyone, and Charlie Redmine wasn’t the only one who was a good liar. “Mountain Home,” she said, “It’s a small town about an hour outside of Raven City.”
Carolyn gave no indication of whether or not she knew the place, and really, Surah couldn’t care less if she did or didn’t. She could check a map if she wanted. Mountain Home would be there. Surah just wanted to get what they needed and get out of here, preferably to some place where she could breathe through her nose again.
Carolyn turned back to Charlie. “What’re you lookin' for?” she asked.
Charlie rubbed a hand over his strong jaw. “A Stone Vial and a Shading Spell.”
One of Carolyn’s sharp eyebrows arched, and her eyes flicked back to Surah, who got the feeling that the Witch could see her through the Glamour as surely as Surah could see what she was through hers. Not a common Sorceress, but a Witch who dealt in the Black Trade. Had circumstances not been what they were, Surah would have had Carolyn arrested. In fact, she made a mental note to do just that after this was all settled. It would be her final act as Keeper. She hoped.
“That’s goin' to
run you a pretty penny,” Carolyn said, flashing teeth that were too white and too straight. “You got that kinda money? This ain’t a charity house I’m runnin'.”
Surah nodded once. “I can pay.”
“Of course you can,” Carolyn said, and Surah didn’t know at all what to think of that.
Charlie didn’t shift his feet or adopt an uneasy look, but Surah got the impression that this made him tense nonetheless, or maybe it was because it made her tense.
“How much you want?” Charlie asked.
The Witch waved her hand, long fingers with the tips painted that blood-red stirring the unpleasant air, and glided over to the wall, where a shelf holding empty glass vials hung. She scanned the items and selected one. Then she moved to the shelf beside it and selected another vial containing a dark purple mixture. Her back still to them, she said, “Not too high a price for a princess, I suspect.”
Surah’s heart stopped in her chest. Carolyn turned her head and looked at her over her shoulder, a small smirk pulling up one corner of her pink-painted lips, crystal blue eyes glittering with mischief. Surah dropped her Glamour, her hair going lavender and her cloak reverting back to the black that shimmered when it caught the light. She raised her chin a fraction, almost relieved to shed the pretense. “You know of me, then, Witch,” she said, it was not a question, nor a compliment.