by Day, P. J.
She had guts, he thought to himself as he spied her walking up to his door. To come to his home, alone, and plead whatever logic she thought necessary. He didn’t feel threatened; in fact he was impressed by her...her moxie. She hadn’t brought police or FBI with her. She was on her own this time. Finally, some common sense.
He smiled as he peered through his drapes. She’d dressed for the occasion. Or so she thought. He whispered into her ears, coaxing her along. It had been a while since anyone dared come to him so blatantly, so boldly. Yes, Ariel thought to himself, this woman, despite the trouble she had caused, was a breath of fresh air; a definite change from most others who became pitifully frightened in his presence. He was looking forward to this encounter. So he watched her approach, his smile spreading into a broad grin. This would be fun.
He opened the door wide and bowed slightly. “Miss Cruz…none of your friends this time? I’m very happy to finally meet you, and to, ah, discuss our objectives, just the two of us. I am Ariel. Please come in.”
Mercy stepped through the wide-arched doorway and entered his home, once again commanding herself to be calm.
“Please, call me Mercedes. Or Mercy, as my friends call me.” She smiled and held out her hand.
As she stepped inside, she was forced to stare up at the tall man. Imposition did not strike her at first glance, instead, it was difficult not to think he was devilishly handsome. Surprisingly, he raised her hands to his lips, and she knew right then and there he was a charmer. But she wouldn’t let herself be fooled. Ariel had already showed her what he was capable of when he felt threatened.
“Pleased to meet you,” Mercy said, smiling into his eyes.
Ariel chuckled. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. We haven’t formally met.” He waved his hand, inviting her into the living room. As she took the two steps down into the beautiful room he continued, “I almost regret our previous...encounter.”
“It was unfortunate, but it’s in the past, now.” Mercy held her head high as she sat on the sofa. “I do understand you a little more, though.”
He sat across from her on a white-leather throne. “You’re wiser than I expected,” he said with a grin. “Not that I didn’t think you weren’t capable of such thought and mental flexibility. No offense,” he finished with a twinkle in his eye.
“No offense taken, Ariel,” Mercy said, waving her hand. “It’s not like this world is conducive toward our nature.”
Mercy was certain he knew why she was here. He wasn’t stupid. They would get down to business, but not quite yet. She glanced about the room at the various artwork and antiques. “You have quite a place here,” she remarked. “A beautiful home.”
“I’ve carefully handpicked everything you see. Taste is such an intimate and personal thing to prune, that when one hears validation, a certain amount of euphoria ensues. Thank you. Would you care for a drink?”
Mercy thought fast. She took a quick look at the bar, and noticed one particular bottle that looked more used than the others, filled with clear, light brown liquidity.
“Scotch…on the rocks, please.”
“Ah. My poison as well.” He rose and crossed to the bar. Arial lifted a pair of whiskey glasses using his index and middle fingers and placed them on the counter. As he poured he continued, “This particular Scotch was made by a former client of mine whom I did work for in Paisley. He told me while pouring my first glass, just as I am for you that the word Warlock originates from Scotland, and here’s the kicker...are you ready?”
Mercy nodded and watched his large hands caress the glasses.
“It means, cunning man.”
Mercy scrutinized Ariel’s movements even further after revealing such an anecdote. “Interesting.”
“Ever since my conversation with the Scottish gentleman, Scotch has been my favorite drink. Quality Scotch, of course.”
Think, Mercy, think. He was pouring two glasses, and Mercy didn’t have much time. Then it came.
He brought the glasses over along with the decanter, set it on the coffee table and handed her one. “What shall we drink to, Mercedes?” He asked as he sat back down.
She lifted the heavy whiskey glass. “How about to new beginnings?”
“Excellent! To new beginnings, then.” He drank. Mercy downed her generous portion, then shuddered, frowning slightly.
“Is it not to your liking?” he asked. “This is the finest whiskey money can buy.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Mercy answered. “I guess I’m just a little nervous. And I forgot to ask...never mind.”
“Please. Anything you’d like. I pride myself on being a gracious host.”
“Well, I usually have it with a twist of lime,” she said shyly. “But I wouldn’t want to inconvenience yourself.”
“Not at all! Make yourself comfortable.” He downed his drink in a flash. “I’ll return shortly.” He got up and headed for the hallway, to the kitchen she presumed. “Feel free to look around,” he called over his shoulder.
Whatever Mercy was expecting, it wasn’t this. It was too easy. Actually, she could just give him the potion...but no. He was certainly too smart for that. It was, after all, a trick as old as time itself. Just like offering a potential rival a free look around the house while the host disappears briefly into another room. Mercy’s head darted around the room. He’s got cameras, doesn’t he? she thought. Strange...I don’t feel his eyes peering at me either.
“Did you say something, Mercy?” Ariel’s muffled voice asked as it traveled through the kitchen door.
Mercy froze and responded, nervously, “No...no, I didn’t say anything.” Her spooked eyes fixated on one of Ariel’s paintings. She stood still and kept her mind clear.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ariel’s smile was gone the instant he left the living room. He knew Mercy was up to something and almost wished he’d had a guard in the room, but didn’t want to intimidate her. Not yet. She probably thought he’d take his sweet time slicing lime wedges in the kitchen. Better just grab the whole lime from the crisper and slice away on the bar counter.
Mercy swallowed hard and slinked away toward the drink. She drew the black vial out of her bag, trying to steady her hands as she poured its mixed contents into the intricately chiseled decanter. She picked it up with a napkin and swirled it gently.
She waited for the liquid to settle, placed it back down on the table and ran back to where she stood. Ariel came in just as she made it back, pretending she’d admired his Goya the entire time he was in the kitchen. It was an odd painting to say the least, as it featured a humanoid goat, most likely a depiction of Satan, surrounded by an eclectic coven of witches. Her back faced him. She wiped the few sweat beads that had gathered on her forehead, and hoped Ariel didn’t sense her unease as she caught herself obsessively rubbing her thumb and index finger like a cricket’s leg to its thorax.
“Ah, you’re looking at one of my favorites,” he said, congenially, as he entered. “That is a uniquely terrifying painting to some. The Witches’ Sabbath, by Francisco Goya, 1798. At least to you and me, I’d say it’s quite beautiful, wouldn’t you agree?”
She faced him and smiled. “It is,” she agreed. “You’ve got quite a collection here. The artwork and furnishings in this room look like they’re worth a king’s ransom. I’m surprised you’re so light with your security.”
“Nobody comes here,” he said, cutting the lime and setting it in a small bowl. “Unless I invite them, of course.”
“You didn’t invite me,” Mercy commented. “I came of my own free will.”
Ariel smiled and was about to fill their glasses once again, but stopped. “I think we need fresh glasses, don’t you? A fresh glass is always nice.” He looked deep into her brown eyes. Now the games begin, he declared in his mind.
Mercy feigned a little discomfort for his benefit. She hoped he thought she’d poisoned his drink and not the Scotch in the decanter. “Um, of course,” she answered doubtfully. “Why should I
mind?”
“If idle Scotch is exposed to the air for too long, it tends to sweeten,” Ariel said as he exchanged the glasses. He returned with two more containing ice. Poured for both of them, and Mercy took a twist of lime, curled it to let the juices out for her glass.
“Now, Mercy, what shall we drink to next?”
“Well, I usually don’t drink this much, but what the hell...” She would drink with him, of course, and all she had to do was somehow drink the antidote. “How about we drink to a win-win for both of us?”
“If you like,” he responded casually. They clinked glasses and drank. Mercy began to wonder whether this was a good idea as Lily’s sour face flashed her mind. She really didn’t drink hard liquor either, and the first glass had made her a little tipsy already.
But she met his dark eyes and took a swig. He did the same, satisfied and tranquil.
Mercy would’ve preferred a scenario where she hadn’t drank the spiked liquor, but she was afraid not to, as she knew this was the only guaranteed way Ariel could have ingested Lily’s potion. So she took a healthy swig and leaned back, doing her best to appear relaxed and at ease.
Ariel held his glass between both hands, watching Mercy intently. “So, you came here of your own free will, Mercedes Cruz,” Ariel said, fighting back a chuckle. “And after such a vicious first encounter. I admire that.”
“Thank you,” Mercy answered. “I do my best. My work, you see.”
“And your work is what brings you here.”
“I’m a private investigator.”
“Ah, I should have guessed. Thus your desire to bargain. You’ve caused me great difficulties, Mercedes.”
“I know, and I apologize for that,” Mercy said, taking another sip of the amorous Scotch. “But business is business. And I tried, once before, to find my man.”
“And you always get what you want? You’re one of those, am I correct?”
She took a burpy breath and started feeling a bit woozy. “I always satisfy my clients. That’s why I was hired.”
“And after that...debacle, after all the work and headaches you caused me, you actually think you can come to my home and bargain for this man you’ve been hired to find?”
“I do,” Mercy said, casting him a wicked pair of smiling eyes, followed by another awkward breath, this time closer to a hiccup. She fished around in her purse and came up with a wad of cash. “Ten thousand dollars if you let him come with me now. And I’ll be out of your life forever, Señor Caliban,” she over-enunciated, flirtatiously.
Ariel’s chuckle broke into steady laughter. Mercy maintained her smile as he wiped tears from his eyes, taking a few seconds to finally settle down. “My apologies,” he said, giving a final chuckle. “But really? Ten thousand dollars? For one man? After what you’ve done and after snitching on my operation? Mercedes, my dear, do you understand how far out of your league you are?”
“I know I am. I get it. I’m just a speck of dust compared to the almighty Ariel,” she said, trying to keep her bearings. “But this man is like family to me. I would have helped him whether I was hired to or not.”
“And who hired you?”
“I can’t disclose that information,” Mercy said. She glanced down at the cheese and crackers on the coffee table. “May I?”
“Of course, oh but...please try the Gruyere,” Ariel said, excitedly as he waved a hand. “It is divine...but back to the matter at hand,” he continued, clearing his throat. “All I can say is, you must be mad...totally loca...yes, loca...hmmm, I sometimes prefer a tinge of craziness, you know?” He took another drink. Mercy noticed the skin on his cheeks redden. She needed something to coat her stomach, and she hoped to God he hadn’t done anything to the food. She placed a slice of Gruyere on a wheat cracker and took a bite.
“Well,” Mercy said, “I can’t leave here without Javier. This is all I have. It’s my entire savings; not one dime came from my client. I’m hoping we can come to some sort of agreement; I feel this more than enough to cover the cost of the loss of labor.”
Mercy felt a little flushed, herself. She needed to regain her focus and rose from the sofa and began to pace. Thinking the circulation would help her composure, all it did was speed up the effects of the potion.
“You see, I know your powers. They are strong, very strong.” Mercy found herself saying, as she playfully squeezed Ariel’s biceps. “And understand me when I say this...I have firsthand experience when it comes to your strength.”
“Yeah? Oh yes, of course, I remember. I was a bit rough, wasn’t I?” Ariel’s voice was becoming a little husky. He loosened his shirt. “I understand you’re a magical woman who’s on the cusp of discovering her own powers, and who has no idea what she’s gotten herself into. I hold all the leverage, Miss Cruz.”
Mercy found herself beginning to sweat again. “Now that’s where you’re wrong, Ariel. I do believe we can come to an agreement—a bargain. I mean, what’s one drone to you? Nothing. You can have anything you want.”
Ariel stood up as well and faced her, not forcefully though, more like a stumble. His voice lowered, enticing, and Mercy agreed. Ariel’s baritone inflections were almost musical. He looked into her eyes with a passion that took her breath away. “That is true, Mercy. I, too, always get what I want.”
He touched her hair, sensually, rhythmically. Mercy felt herself sway a little, like a pendulum. She forced herself to concentrate and removed his hand from her arm.
“If I could just return Javier to his family…”
“I wish I could, but alas, it’s not possible,” he whispered. His stilled eyes never leaving hers.
“But you, or even I could cast a spell so he wouldn’t remember anything. It’s all I’m asking.”
Ariel drew closer. Mercy caught his pleasant smell but was interrupted as she focused on his thick and ripened lips. Such curled perfection. Again though, that smell; a light touch of cologne, mixed in with his subtle and natural masculine scent aired up her flared nostrils, activating an atavistic, animal-like signal just below her panty line, followed by buzzing wave of goose bumps. God, help me, please. Without looking away, she reached down and pinched herself, hard. She took a step backward and immediately recalled the anti-potion.
Mercy ducked away from Ariel’s grasp. His light touch exuded a harnessed strength, and part of her hoped he’d unleash it fully by yanking her back like a rag doll. She’d never wanted a man this much in her life. Escape was all Mercy could muster to repel such a thought.
“I...I think I’ve had a little too much to drink,” she muttered. “I’d like to continue this conversation, but could I perhaps use your powder room?”
Ariel’s eyes flashed briefly, but then looked on her with a pair of lustful eyes she’d never encountered before. He was trying to control himself, too, she realized.
“Anything for you,” he said. “Let me escort you there.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Itzel, old as she was, steered her 1956 Ford truck down the winding highway of the San Gabriel Mountains. She had the seat pulled all the way forward, and a firm pillow underneath her wrinkled bum, and still that was not enough, as she needed to lean up higher just to see out the windshield.
She rarely drove the thing, El Frankenstein she called it, even though it was a classic in prime condition—except for the occasional spot of chipped paint. When she needed something from the store she usually walked three miles into the town, rather than drive. If it took less than an hour to walk to a location, choosing to drive such a short distance was what made people fat Itzel thought. She was a stubborn old woman, but tonight she was angry as hell, and Mercy was much further away than a brisk three mile walk.
Aunt Itzy had been thinking of Mercy all day, with an impending sense of doom increasing by the hour. What had that child gotten herself into now? “Such a reckless woman,” Itzel exclaimed aloud, shaking her head. She then corrected herself, fuming. “She’s a grown woman, and she’s acting like a ditzy school
girl!”
Itzel knew, as perhaps Mercy didn’t yet, to pay attention to intuition above all else. She’d sensed that Mercy was in trouble from the start. She felt it in her heart. And although she had told Mercy again and again to practice her magic and learn what she was doing, did the girl listen? “Burra!” Itzel mouthed behind her teeth.
Itzel understood, she could see in her mind that Lily had something to do with this, and it involved Javier’s case. And there was a powerful man, a warlock in the way of things Itzel ascertained. The image of Ariel’s heavy and sculpted brows had awoken Itzy from her dreams early that morning. She was torn between anger for her niece’s foolishness and concern for her well-being, possibly her very life.
So, for the first time in a decade, Itzel found herself down the mountain and headed toward the freeway. Without a map and only her senses acting like a spiritual G.P.S.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ariel laid his hand lightly on the back corner of Mercy’s waist as he led her to the nearest bathroom. Always the gentleman, he knew to only touch when he was certain he had permission. But without so much as a hint from Mercy, such as a wink or an inviting smile, touching the petite witch’s shapely waist was already a risky maneuver. Perhaps the Scotch had hit him harder than usual, which he felt odd, because handling his drink had never been an issue before. More than that, he had trouble concentrating as well.
Yet, Ariel recognized he couldn’t give into temptation, but the urge of being single-minded was too strong; suddenly he didn’t want to let this woman out of his sight, not for a moment. He didn’t quite trust her...it was good not to trust, despite the desire she instilled in him. But the focus continued to slip. It became so easy to trust due to those big, deep brown eyes, the jet-black hair and the red lips that called to him like no woman had ever done before. He waited outside the bathroom, doing his best to remain patient. Composure fleeting.
Mercy closed the bathroom door and turned on the sink water. She leaned up against the wall and tried to gather her thoughts. She closed her eyes and steadied herself by holding onto the marble counter.