I stared at the person who was only cloaked in Gareth’s body. He was deadly, scary, and a force I didn’t want to mess with. Violence wafted off him, and even with my limited senses I could feel it goading every self-protective part of me. If I could feel it, so could the jaguar, who melted into his human form, just as stocky and stealthy-looking as his animal. I couldn’t see his face. Gareth was still over him but had relaxed his stranglehold on his neck. But the guild head was positioned in a manner that made it apparent he was ready to strike again at any moment.
“I need you to listen to me very carefully, she’s innocent. Do not insult me or the Council by questioning our decision. The person responsible will be found. Going after her will not help the situation. Pass it on: an attack against her is an attack against me.” He released the gentleman. He came to standing. His eyes blazed with anger and his features squared off more as his jaw clenched. He breathed so hard out of his nose, it reminded me of a bull before he was about to charge.
“Are we clear?” Gareth asked.
It took him a moment to answer, and when he did, his voice was calmer than I expected. “Fine.” Without another word he turned and walked away as naked as the day he was born, with probably less shame.
Anyone who wandered around near Trace Lane was so used to seeing naked bodies traipsing about it lost its allure.
“Didn’t I say to stay away from the cats?” Gareth asked.
“Are you following me?”
“No, I’m not. By the way, you’re welcome.”
I mumbled a thanks. “I had it under control.”
He looked down at the umbrella, made a sound, and smirked. “Of course, when I’m trying to take down a jaguar, I always bring an umbrella,” he scoffed and shrugged. “After all, how else do you fight one?”
“It’s the only weapon I could find.” I felt a little silly clinging to it and I’m sure it looked even sillier. “We can’t all use our position as head of the Supernatural Guild to scare people into compliance,” I shot back, tossing the umbrella toward the bin.
“Yeah, it was my position that made him change his mind.” Once again I was treated to a little kink in his lips; his typical smirk of derision.
Slipping past me, he started walking the length of the alleyway, frowning when he got closer to the trash bin. If I could smell the foul odor wafting off it, I know he could. He knelt down, near where I saw the blood in the crevices of the street.
“The Necro-spear was stolen,” he informed me in a tight voice.
“When?”
“The same night we found you. We suspect it was used to kill the shifters.”
Once again, I was linked to the murders. It was in our possession at one time, and I knew the Supernatural Guild had it. Whoever stole it broke the mage ward protecting it. Wards could be made by both witches and mage. The locals usually had them done by witches—it was cheaper, and met most people’s basic needs. Humans bought them mostly for bragging rights. To have access to a magical ward that could make magic appear and disappear with just the use of an invocation given to them by a witch.
“What do you think is going on?”
“I have no idea.” His appealing features pulled into a tightly formed moue. He’d withdrawn into his thoughts. This wasn’t a man who didn’t have an idea. It was a man who had an idea but didn’t want to voice it, as though saying it made it more real. Or perhaps saying it was painful.
“Any speculations?” I asked.
The silence stretched. “We both want to find out who is doing this. Maybe our reasons are different but we have a common goal,” I said, reading his reluctance to divulge information.
“You’re willing to help?”
“Anything you need.”
“Good.” He started away from the alleyway. “Do you need to go back to work?”
I looked at the time on my phone. I had been gone for three hours. And I’m sure the box I left Kalen with wasn’t the only one he had to go through. I’m sure Kalen had given up on me. And looking at the three urgent messages, he not only had given up on me, he was panicking. I’m sure it was bad for business to have an employee who was arrested for murder.
I sent him a message letting him know I was on my way.
“Hurry, you have a visitor.”
“Who?”
“Clive?” he responded, with a fire emoji.
“Not so hot. Part of Humans First.”
I knew that would get the frowny face, and seconds later he sent several.
I started toward the bus stop; it was going to take me at least another half hour to get back to work.
“I can give you a ride,” Gareth offered. I looked at the white AMG, a different car than he had at Crimson, and down at the bus stop. Back at the car and then the bus stop again. I’d like to think it was an easy decision and the fact that it wasn’t, if I were him, would have made me rescind the offer, but he seemed to find it amusing. I still hadn’t made a decision when he walked over to the driver’s side and opened the door. “Get in.”
Another long, lingering look at the bus stop, and then my gaze followed the arriving bus before I got into the car. The nicest car I’d been in was Kalen’s black Audi, which he operated like he was trying to drive it fast enough to defy physics and go back in time.
Gareth was a little more cautious, but not much. He weaved and darted in and out of traffic, then he looked over, grinned, and then slowed the car down. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine, I was almost eaten by a jaguar, why not add heart attack to it?” The car slowed to a crawl, creeping along the road below the speed limit. I didn’t say anything because it was probably bothering him more to drive that slow than me. I’ll play your game, Gareth.
“Were you serious about wanting to help?”
My head barely moved into the nod.
“I think if we can retrieve the missing memory of the night we found you it will be helpful.”
“And you plan on doing that how?”
“I know a witch, very talented and very strong.”
I tensed, noticeably feeling the same anxiety I had when he searched me. I didn’t want a witch rooting around in my head. And definitely not a talented one. But I guess a novice wasn’t any better. “You trust her?”
It didn’t matter. “When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Again my head barely moved into the nod, preoccupying myself with the city that crept by. Ironically we passed by Coven Row, which was just a small group of shops owned by witches. You could get anything from an elusive love spell, to wards and protection charms. Some were nothing more than glamourized holistic shops and I questioned whether the owners were even witches. Seriously, chakra-centering candles? They weren’t even trying.
But I loved the area. It reminded me of the French Quarter. Eclectic bright colors, frilly lace, and plants that curved around the windows and door. If you were looking for a love spell they were the first place to look. If a person wanted a guide down their life path or a view of their other life, they’d check the gothic-looking one. It was a deep red building, with room-darkening blinds. Instead of lovely decorations on their door, there were vines wrapping around the outside and interwoven through it. And you could buy herbs, which was where they made most of their money. Hemp being illegal and all, it was funny that a witch could sell herba terrae, or Earth plant, their magical herb that smelled a lot like it. Those shops did the best. Then there where the simple shops, with magic spell books, candles, and anything that one might need to perform a spell, which had no chance of working if the person wasn’t magically inclined. But most humans kept coming back, hoping it would wake some dormant magical ability they were convinced they possessed.
Some humans had ancestors who may have possessed magic, but throughout the years of mating with humans the magic was diluted to the point that it wasn’t enough for them to be considered a supernatural. Unfortunately, it was enough for the Legacy magic during the Cleanse to bind to it and kill them.
“What time are we going to see her?” I asked.
“What time do you get off work?”
“Pick me up at seven.”
It was later than I usually get off, but I needed to see if I could do something to get the information before I handed my head and memories over to a witch.
“Pick you up here or at your home?”
“Home.” I started to give him the address but stopped. I’m sure he already had it.
As soon as the car came to a complete stop, I thanked him and padded up the stairs. The last thing I needed him to know was that Mr. Humans First was at my job waiting for me. That seemed to have fight written all over it.
Clive was sitting back in a chair relaxing in the waiting room, or what most people would refer to as the living room, the odd benefit of working in a home/business. He had an unopened bottle of water on the small table next to him and was scrolling through his phone. When I walked in he sat up taller and smiled. He didn’t look like he belonged in a spy movie at all today. He wore a relaxed white shirt and a pair of jeans. In the light his hair didn’t look as dark and the various hues of brown were more noticeable, along with his eyes. They were gentler, but keen, sweeping over me briefly before they returned to his phone. His thumbs swept over the keys, I assumed sending a message that the eagle had landed or some silly phrase they probably used.
Off from the living room/sitting area was a kitchen. That was where Kalen stood, sipping on a bottle of water with a smile so fake and plastered on he reminded me of a ventriloquist’s dummy. I’m sure he garnered the saccharine grin the moment I told him Clive was a member of HF. The look broke as soon as he took a look at my hair. He pointed to his head, frowned, and shrugged. His way of asking, “What the hell is going on with your hair?” He did it so often all he had to do was frown and point and I knew what he was thinking. I’d seen my coiffure earlier in the car with Gareth. It was bad after he searched it and my run-in with the jaguar didn’t make it any better. Once again Kalen shot me his look of scorn. On any given day, I didn’t know what we were doing, so I dressed for it. He, on the other hand, dressed like we were going to a business dinner and he had clients to impress. It was absolutely amusing watching his face when he helped me wade through garbage, or go through the stolen goods in an abandoned warehouse, or even worse on one of the farms outside of the city where we had to go into a barn, attic, or even better yet, a small pond to retrieve a magical object. All the while he’d complaining about ruining his Tom Ford clothing. But since I’d worked for him, I hadn’t seen him wear anything else. Not even a pair of jeans and a shirt. I once gave a pair to him for his birthday.
“Clive, what do you need?” I finally asked after my brief nonverbal conversation with Kalen.
“I wanted to finish our conversation from yesterday.” He came to his feet and a smile settled over his face as though the conversation we had the night before hadn’t been resolved.
“Me telling you I wasn’t interested warranted another visit?” I shrugged. “I’m not interested. Bye.” I opened the front door for him, mindful of Kalen, who relaxed into his smile, his magic gently gliding throughout the room, saturating the air, pent-up balls of it ready to be released. It did that when he was upset. He was more than upset now, and if Clive could feel magic, sense the subtle changes in it, feel the rise of defensive magic ready to be used, he wouldn’t be displaying such confidence. It crowded the room, one baleful look in Kalen’s direction and it inched back, folding under his control. Kalen was convinced I could tell he was doing magic because I could see the changes in his face, and I didn’t correct him. I’d become so comfortable around him, sometimes things slipped and I had to remind myself that being comfortable and relaxed wasn’t an option—not with anyone.
Kalen couldn’t use magic against Clive. It was what HF wanted to believe—the supernaturals were wild, unchecked people with dangerous power at their fingertips. It didn’t matter to them that magic was regulated, with rules and consequences. The rules weren’t rigid enough and the consequences not harsh enough for HF.
“Please, let’s have lunch and discuss it more.”
I glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s too late for lunch.”
“Fine. Dinner?”
“I have to work.” I looked at Kalen and gave him a look. Say something.
His stance was relaxed, his typical quiescent demeanor well under control. He smiled. “No, it’s fine. You can leave. Tomorrow we’ll start early.”
He simply ignored my dirty look, but I wanted him to get a view of it up front and personal. I excused myself and went to the back office, beckoning Kalen to follow.
“What is wrong with you?” I asked in a low voice through clenched teeth.
“He’s persistent and he’s not going to leave you alone. For whatever reason he wants you, isn’t it a good idea to see what they have brewing? As bad as he seems to want you as a member, I’m sure you can get more information. Worst case, you learn nothing and get a nice dinner out of the deal with a hot, misguided malcontent. Best-case scenario, you get enough information to cause the Supernatural Guild or the police to take notice. I personally don’t think they’re as harmless as people would like to believe.”
“So you are pimping me out for dinners. Are you proud of yourself?”
He gave me another sweeping look and made a face. “Dinner’s probably all I’m going to get for you. What happened to your hair? And why do you look like you’ve been fighting vampires?”
“I wish it were vampires.” Since I wasn’t in a rush to have dinner with Clive, I gave him the extended version of the story. Gareth threatening to put me in jail, his inspection, which I was pretty sure was an illegal one, the fact that the Cat Clan considered me guilty and wanted to do something about it, the near attack by the jaguar, Gareth’s intervention and his request for me to see a witch to retrieve my lost memories. Just telling it made me exhausted.
I’d expected him to shrug off Gareth’s suspicions with a snarky response, but he didn’t. Instead he had withdrawn into his thoughts. A moment of silence became minutes and a furrowed brow and deeply set frown overtook his face. “Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Some form of magic.” My chest tightened; the guilt of lying to a friend, someone I trusted, always did that to me. Kalen had lost people during the Cleanse and his family suffered. How could I tell him that people like me were responsible and expect things to change? Even if he were able to look past the fact it wasn’t me, but people who possessed magic like mine—would he ever trust me? Would things be the same? And wouldn’t I be putting him at risk of punishment if he didn’t expose me?
“Of course not.” I walked toward Clive. Faes weren’t allowed to compel people to truth or manipulate their minds the same way vampires weren’t. It was force, mind rape. Consent had to be given. Although, like vampires, faes’ physical beauty made compelling and love spells unnecessary, it was still illegal to perform them.
The inquiring look remained on his face. Something I hadn’t seen before. Gareth’s suspicions had become Kalen’s doubt.
Another point against Gareth.
Clive declined going to the coffeehouse near the office and instead wanted to walk. For several blocks each time I looked in his direction, I found him assessing me. We passed several restaurants, and Clive stopped at one and looked at the menu. I didn’t like how comfortable he was with me. Or the confident way his arm reached around my back and pulled me to him as he looked at the menu. What bothered me the most was how at ease and comfortable he was with his hand pressed against my back, guiding me to the next restaurant. It was too familiar, as though we were buddies, friends, two people casually taking a midday stroll and finding a good place to have a meal. We weren’t two friends nonchalantly having a meal. From everything I knew about him and HF we were two people on opposite sides of an issue. For some foolish reason he was convinced he could bring me over to his side. I wasn’t sure what about me gav
e him the impression that I could be swayed so easily to hate people just because of the way they were born. After a few more minutes of walking, nearly five blocks from the office, he found a Mexican restaurant that piqued his interest. Various smells of onion and spiced meat wafted onto the street and reminded me that the only thing I had eaten all day was a croissant from the coffeehouse.
It wasn’t until we walked into the restaurant that I started to feel the hunger pains and my empty stomach growled. We were seated in a small booth at the back of the restaurant and Clive watched me as I looked over the menu. He ordered two large margaritas, I’m sure as a way to lower my inhibitions. It was easy to forget he was an arrogant narcissist as I sat across from him. The curious smile blossomed and faded each time I looked up from the menu. Once tortilla chips and salsa arrived I scarfed down half the basket before he spoke.
“So what is the Haven like?” he asked, taking a sip of his drink.
“I’m sure they are willing to give you a tour if you ask for one.” I took a drink from my water instead of the margarita.
“You don’t like me, do you?” His voice was soft, velvety smooth and gentle, an induction into a song and dance in which he would take the lead. Moving me rhythmically over his lyrics of persuasion. I’m sure this wasn’t his first dance. He was probably a pro.
“It doesn’t matter whether I like you or not. This is a business dinner, right?”
He spread his arms out, relaxing against the back of the booth and slipping down into the cushions, and once again I had his undivided attention. He sank into the cushions, his smile, genteel, somber. Part of the dance. “I was hoping it could be more.”
“I’m sorry it’s not. You wanted to talk about HF. Go ahead.” Clive was a distraction, and I’m sure he was more than aware of his charm, looks, and the enchanting smile that held a miscreant’s confidence and danger. But I wasn’t going to fall for it, because behind those gentle eyes and the enchanting lilt of his lips was a menace. I didn’t doubt for one moment that if he ever found out who I was I would no longer be looking at the face of a handsome man trying to recruit me to HF, but instead a person who would be my killer.
Double-Sided Magic (Legacy Series Book 1) Page 10