Con & Conjure rb-5

by Lisa Shearin

  “Business seems to be good,” he murmured approvingly.

  Her smile was almost demure. “Very good. Patrice is still with us; I’m certain she would be available for you.”

  “Perhaps later,” Mago told her. “Right now my friend and I would like to bemoan our newly homeless state with your best brandy and two of those splendid cigars.”

  “Homeless?”

  “The Greyhound Hotel. We escaped with only the clothes on our backs.”

  The madam made sympathetic sounds while her hands went from Mago’s chest to his shoulders, clearly enjoying the journey. “Do you have a place to stay?”

  Mago didn’t hesitate. “We have a small room available to us. Please tell me the tailor on Capron Street still lifts his needle for the common man, and hasn’t been snatched away yet by the Duke of Brenir. I’m here on business and I can’t attend every meeting wearing the same doublet. I’d never live down the humiliation.”

  She laughed. “He’s still here, though the duke still hasn’t stopped trying to lure him away. In fact, he’ll be here later this evening. I can send him up to your room.”

  “Room?” I squeaked.

  “Ah, Camille, this is my friend Symon Wiggs. A colleague of mine from the bank. In town with me on business when the unfortunate tragedy took place.”

  “Room?” I repeated.

  Madam Camille reached out and ran her hand down my—I mean, Symon’s—chest. The little banker didn’t have much by way of equipment, but if what I felt a split second later was any indication, all of it was in perfect working order. Holy crap. I think that horrified realization must have shown on my face.

  Camille smiled and stepped in closer, brushing her ample charms up against me.

  Oh yeah, perfect working order.

  “I could hardly turn you two gentlemen out into the street,” she said. “Master Peronne has always been a fine, upstanding client of my humble establishment.” The emphasis she put on those two words clearly indicated that she wasn’t referring to Mago’s superior moral fiber. “I have a small suite on the top floor that would keep you out of the cold for a night—or two.”

  Mago took Camille’s hand and bestowed a gallant kiss just above an enormous diamond ring. “Such a generous and gracious lady.”

  Providing room and board wasn’t the kind of generosity Mago was talking about, either. And I think parts of Symon Wiggs were hoping for some of that generosity.

  I had to get out of here.

  “My pleasure,” Camille replied, with a sloe-eyed glance at me.

  Get. Out. Now.

  “On behalf of myself and my colleague, we most gratefully accept,” Mago was saying. “But only until we can make other arrangements. I wouldn’t want to interfere with such a profitable enterprise.”

  All I could make was a strangled sound.

  “You’ll have to excuse my friend,” Mago said. He lowered his voice. “He’s a little shy.”

  “Oh.” Those eyes were on me again, looking me up and down, assessing. What she was assessing, I had no clue. “I have a girl who would be perfect for you,” she said. “I guarantee after a night in her bed, you won’t remember what shy is.”

  “Maybe later,” I managed. I shot Mago a murderous look.

  If Mago didn’t get to laugh soon, he was going to explode.

  I just growled.

  A growl that stuck in my throat when I saw Rache Kai strolling by the open door with a working girl on his arm. A girl that bore a more than disturbing resemblance to me.

  Mago saw what I’d seen, and didn’t even bat an eye. “An old friend of mine.” He smiled in a show of teeth that didn’t look at all friendly.

  “Yes, Master Winters arrived a little less than an hour ago. Another of my best customers when he’s in town.”

  Mago accepted a cigar offered by a girl who’d appeared at his elbow. All she wore was the bow in her hair. As she lit the cigar, Mago spoke around puffs. “If he’s not too busy, I’d like to catch up with him later.”

  “I could send up a message that you’re here.”

  “No need, my dear.” Mago leaned in conspiratorially. “I’d like to surprise him.”

  Camille laughed. “Understood.”

  “Do you know how long he’ll be, ah . . . indisposed?”

  One corner of the madam’s mouth turned up in a sly smile. “He paid for the entire night, as usual. He’ll be on the top floor as well, conveniently next to your suite.”

  Mago exhaled in a puff of aromatic smoke. “How wonderful.”

  My hands itched to get around Master Winters’s throat. Yes, how wonderful.

  “I’ll have Milette get your drinks.” Camille’s hand lightly brushed the front of Mago’s trousers before she left.

  My cousin sighed with unabashed pleasure. “There goes a truly lovely woman, with an uncanny head for business.”

  “You . . . you—”

  His eyes sparkled with mirth. “Be grateful, Symon.”

  “Grateful?”

  “Quite so. I could have told her the truth—that you don’t like women and were once engaged to Master Winters.”

  Sitting in Camille’s parlor let us hear all the news there was to hear and then some.

  And see even more.

  I don’t care what they say about women gossiping, give men some juicy news and they’ll leave women in the dust.

  All of this news came to us while being served drinks and little, fancy sandwiches by women wearing next to nothing—or in some cases, nothing at all. One of them bent over to light my cigar. I swear a man could suffocate in a pair of those things. I choked on the first puff. I’d had cigars before, but not with a side order of breasts. Mago saw and winked at me. He was enjoying this way too much.

  “So we’re staying here,” I muttered after the cigar lighter and her bounty had moved on. I think my less-than-enthused reaction had hurt her feelings.

  Mago took a puff and smiled appreciatively at a blonde sauntering past. “I can’t think of a more perfect hiding place. Would anyone ever think to look for you here?”

  “No, but—”

  “But nothing. We get rest—and perhaps even consolation.” Mago looked at me, a wicked gleam in his eye that looked entirely too much like Phaelan. “Are you quite certain you wouldn’t like to try some of the consolation offered here? I imagine that few people have the enviable opportunity to become the opposite sex for a night and find themselves in one of the kingdoms’ finest establishments. You’ve literally had the day from hell. You could use something to help you relax.”

  “No.”

  “A chance to satisfy a curiosity, perhaps?”

  “No.”

  Mago sat back and took a thoughtful sip of his brandy. “No doubt, Madam Camille will be sending up a lady for the bereft Symon Wiggs.” He shrugged. “I’ll let you decide how to not satisfy your curiosity. Though you could think of this as a bachelor party of sorts. The last fling before you settle down with your paladin.”

  “No.”

  “Suit yourself. As a man who is a man all the time, I can truthfully tell you that you’re making a mistake.” Mago stood and fastidiously straightened his doublet. “At least I know you won’t go running off to a room with some young beauty while I’m gathering information.”

  “That’s happened?”

  Mago sighed the sigh of the long suffering. “Just every time I’ve taken Phaelan anywhere. By the time I’ve realized that he’s no longer in the room, he’s usually on his second girl—no pun intended.”

  “None imagined.”

  Mago engaged several of the men in conversation, and I sat back and listened. Symon’s squeaky voice coming out of Symon’s thin-lipped mouth was about more than I could take right now. So I listened and I learned.

  Mychael was alive and unharmed.

  I had to bite the inside of my lip to keep myself from reacting. Raine wanted to cry, laugh, and cheer all at once. I had to settle for doing what Symon would do—I tossed back th
e rest of my brandy and waved a girl over for another.

  Tam and Imala had escaped with Prince Chigaru, though Tam was probably in the last place he wanted to be. The prince’s retinue had moved into the goblin embassy. It didn’t matter that Imala was in charge. Having to stay there would have Tam sleeping with his eyes open, if he slept at all.

  Mago gestured me over to a relatively empty section of room.

  “According to the gentleman with the redhead on his lap, Raine Benares is a very wanted woman.”

  “And who’s he to know?”

  “The chief magistrate.”

  “He would know.”

  “So one would surmise.”

  “Who’s she wanted by?”

  Silence.

  “Okay . . . who’s she not wanted by?”

  “It’s been my experience that when there’s an arrest warrant out there—with a substantial reward—pretty much everyone is looking, each for their own reasons.”

  Shit.

  “The watchers would like to question her,” Mago said. “The elven ambassador is feeling keenly embarrassed that one of the elf queen’s subjects is the source of such public concern, and has offered to take her into custody.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  Ambassador Giles Keril was cozy as could be nestled in Taltek Balmorlan’s pocket.

  “Guardians?”

  “Patrols are out looking.”

  “Damn.”

  Mychael didn’t know where I was or what had happened to me. As long as I was glamoured as Symon Wiggs, I couldn’t use my magic, so I couldn’t contact Mychael with our link, and I didn’t dare unglamour. I’d find a way later to let Mychael know that I was safe, or as safe as I could be. Right now I was ready to make the world a safer place for everyone by having a really meaningful chat with Rache Kai.

  I put out my cigar in the nearest ashtray. “How about before dinner we go talk to our old friend Master Winters?”

  I’d been on the top floor of the Satyr’s Grove before. That’s where the more expensive girls were, and apparently Rache had decided to splurge. Maybe he was consoling himself for missing not only Prince Chigaru, but Mychael as well. That had to affect a man’s confidence. I smiled. If there was any justice in the world, Rache’s sudden lack of confidence meant he probably wasn’t scoring any better in the suite at the end of the hall.

  “My, what a dastardly grin,” Mago murmured.

  “Just thinking happy thoughts.”

  “Vindictive?”

  I shrugged. “You have your happy; I have mine.”

  Mago flashed a smile and nimbly twirled the room key between his fingers. “Let’s see how thick the walls are between our suite and Master Winters’s.”

  I shivered as we walked down the hall, and it wasn’t from cold. The last time I’d been on this floor had been when I’d cornered the naked cathouse client and the evil, ancient elven sorcerer who had possessed him. The sorcerer had escaped from the Saghred and his first order of business had nothing to do with plotting world domination and everything to do with getting laid. I guess when a man spends thousands of years imprisoned inside the Saghred, it gives him a lot of time to think about what he’d do first if he ever got back on the outside.

  The Saghred had wanted to take him back, and it’d come way too close to making me do the taking.

  I’d resisted that time—with Mychael’s help.

  The suite Madam Camille had given us was clearly meant for activities other than eavesdropping on the man in the next room, though I imagine it’d been used for that purpose before, too.

  Red satin and black leather pretty much summed up the decor. Most of the leather covered the room’s furniture, but there was a table with leather . . . accoutrements. I only recognized a few of them, and didn’t want to know about the others.

  Rache Kai was most definitely in the next room.

  Mago knew Rache, so he could identify Rache if he were talking.

  I knew Rache in an entirely different way. I could identify him based on what he was doing right now.

  Mago and I were sitting on the bed, facing the wall our room shared with Rache’s, waiting for him to finish.

  It was taking much longer than I remembered.

  It was damned awkward and borderline embarrassing. Especially with Mago sitting on the bed next to me—the man who’d introduced me to Rache and had regretted it ever since.

  I’d debated just barging in, but seeing that the goal was to persuade Rache not to kill Mychael, Chigaru, or me—interrupting him at that particular moment would go beyond rude straight into suicidal. But sitting there listening while my ex-fiancé did what he used to do with me with another woman who looked like me, while I was sitting on a bed with my cousin next to a tableful of accoutrements?

  Definitely awkward and embarrassing.

  In addition to being rather homely and ill equipped, Symon Wiggs was short. This left me sitting on the edge of the bed, swinging my legs, and trying to look anywhere but at my cousin while the headboard thumped against the wall in the next room. There were other sounds as well, but I was doing my best to ignore them.

  “And just how do you propose to keep Rache from putting a nice, neat hole through both of us?” I asked, desperate to change the subject, careful to keep my voice down.

  “Actually, I’ve done this sort of thing before.”

  “Busting into a room in a cathouse to have a heart-to-heart talk with an assassin in the midst of postcoital glow? Cause I can guarantee you, the moment we step into that room Rache’s glow is gone—and we’re next.”

  “One, I don’t ‘bust in’ anywhere. Two, this isn’t a cathouse; it’s a bordello.”

  “Same thing.”

  “No, it’s not; I don’t patronize cathouses.” A corner of his mouth turned up in a quick grin. “Though I don’t believe I’ve ever walked in on an assassin before.”

  “Which is why we need a plan so our first time isn’t our last. We want Rache reasonable, not raging.” I thought of something, something that could put a serious crimp in an already questionable plan. “What happened between you and Rache the last time you saw him?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning what terms are you on—speaking or killing?”

  Mago had to think about that one; and I saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

  I grunted. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Why don’t you let your puny—and completely harmless-looking—banker buddy handle this one?”

  “Need I remind you that you’re wearing a puny banker body? A dagger in his chest is a dagger in your—”

  I waved my hand dismissively. “Trust me; I know all about feeling pain while wearing a man’s body.” I carefully slid off the bed until my feet silently touched the floor. “Got any lock picks on you?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “Give them to me. Rache will have that door locked. If I was wearing my body, I could shield myself with magic.” I grinned. “Symon’s going to shield himself with stupidity.”

  No one was in the hall. Good. Two men at a door to a room not their own, one picking the lock while another stood watch would look suspicious even in a cathou—excuse me, bordello. It would be beyond embarrassing to get kicked out of a bordello before we got what we came for, which wasn’t even sex.

  I glanced at Mago, pointed to the wall on the left side of Rache’s room, then pointed emphatically to the floor. I was telling Mago to stay. My cousin didn’t like it, but he did as told. I’d told Mago my plan. He didn’t like that, either. But it was a lot safer than his idea. Rache knew Mago, and if their last encounter was anything less than friendly, chances were good that Rache’s reaction would be bad.

  Symon Wiggs was the personification of harmless and helpless—at least physically. The man’s mind was that of a scheming little rodent. Rache wouldn’t put a hole in him, at least not immediately. One, he hadn’t been paid to; and two, a professional assassin just didn’t go around killing random people. It was bad for
business. Those rich enough to hire someone of Rache’s caliber wanted to retain the professional services of an assassin, not turn loose a nutcase.

  And if there was anything I’d learned over the years of keeping tabs on Rache Kai, it was that he was the consummate professional.

  The door opened with the softest of clicks. Dammit. Rache knew I was there; better start the show.

  “Patrice,” Symon slurred in a singsong voice. “Patrice?” I opened the door.

  “Wrong room,” Rache barked loud enough to shake the rafters.

  I jumped. Not because he’d scared the crap out of me. It’s what Symon would have done. Just staying in character. Yeah. And the knife glittering in Rache’s hand, ready to throw, didn’t bother me, either.

  I squinted and peered into the room. Rache and the girl were sitting up in the bed. Neither one made any move to cover themselves. Rache Kai had the tall, dark, and handsome thing down to an art, complete with a body that still looked like it belonged on a pedestal in a museum somewhere. The woman had long red hair, pale skin, and I couldn’t tell what color her eyes were. She looked a lot like me. Though what didn’t look like me were a pair of large breasts that didn’t quite go with her tiny waist. Apparently Rache had decided to enhance his memory of me.

  “You’re not Patrice.” Symon’s voice cracked.

  “Wrong room,” Rache repeated in a still, deadly voice. “She’s not here, and unless you close that door, you’re not going to be here, either.”

  I did as told. I closed the door.

  With me on the inside.

  I kept my hands in clear view, and dropped the drunk act. But I kept the glamour. I wanted Rache to know who I was, but not the girl in bed with him.

  “Long time, no see, sweetie pie,” I told Rache. I glanced at the girl. “It’s like looking in a mirror.”

  Rache sat frozen for a moment, then his eyes widened in recognition. The corner of his lips turned up in that crooked grin that used to get me every time. Now it just pissed me off.

  “You’re not here to talk about old times,” Rache said.

  “The past should stay where it belongs.” I lowered my voice further. “So should you.”

  “A man’s got to work.”