by Lexi Ostrow
Ryce nodded, his smirk shifting into a small, but genuine, smile. “She doesn’t know.” He turned his attention back toward the viewing window, the smile changing into a blank expression. “She’s not young, though.”
Alcott balled his hands into fists and nearly growled. “I’ve already told you, I won’t work with a new Word Speaker. Especially not if she’s as obviously close to twenty-seven as she sounded and appears.”
Ryce waved a hand over the viewing window, and it stitched up like a healing wound. With a sigh, he turned to Alcott. “You are living here by my good grace. You have been trained to withstand attacks that a character of your power should never walk away from. It is time to move on, Alcott. You’ve had, what, six Word Speakers connect on a deep enough level with you to hear them? That’s dozens less than some of the other men and women I watch over. Fuck, that’s hundreds less than some of them.”
Sucking in a deep breath through his nose, he forced himself to breathe out slowly. It wasn’t the first time the leader for the side of good had pointed out that Alcott was essentially unwanted goods. He was written as a character in a young adult book that had been published nearly eighteen years prior. It was rare when someone picked his book off the shelves of the library, what with the dramatic shift in young adult reading levels and desires. That didn’t mean he was going to settle.
He’d found the perfect partner in Ciara, and he’d watched her first be with someone else and then had watched her disappear into a world that was not her own when she’d fallen in love with his replacement. He wanted someone who knew the sting of a Guardian rejecting them, or even losing a Guardian already. Not everyone could withstand the attack from certain novels, it was supposedly the reason he hadn’t been enough for Ciara. He would never not be enough for a Word Speaker again.
“Alcott, this isn’t a game. This isn’t a page someone can just turn and brush off. You asked for a life outside your book. I’ve given it to you. At least hear something about her before you stalk away and incinerate something else in my home.”
He said nothing, just crossed his arms over his chest and bit the inside of his cheek.
“Her name is Kellie Barosse. She’s twenty-five and has never even had the slightest inkling of the gift she holds. Not to mention, the level of power she might be able to tap into with how bright her little spec of light just flared.”
“Nothing you’re telling me is appealing,” Alcott said rather bluntly, growing agitated that he’d even agreed to listen.
“She’s strong, Alcott. Not as strong as Ciara, but she’s certainly got the potential to keep you on your toes and still be a perfect match. She’s dyslexic, though, and it’s drastically impeded her ability to wield her gift. Still, she’s clearly taken a liking to you. I doubt it will ever even come up, but it’s certainly why she didn’t begin her journey younger. If you’d been paying any sort of attention, you’d have realized you’ve heard her voice before — about a week ago when she first read your book.”
His mouth twitched at that, almost dropping open, but managing to stay clamped tight. He wouldn’t admit that he hadn’t heard a damned thing until about five minutes ago. But a reread? That impressed even him.
Ryce continued, his eyebrows quirking up as if reading the shock on Alcott’s face. “She was raised by her aunt and uncle, a wealthy family living in the Garden District, but never met her mother. Her father was a soldier. Army I believe. But he was killed when she was three. Her mother vanished shortly after giving birth.”
Alcott’s interest grew with every minute detail. Ciara had lost her parents to a crash when she was a teen, a similarity he couldn’t help but notice. Kellie lived in New Orleans, a hint that Ryce would have known was important. The place was filled with magic — real magic. A city that he had longed to go to, according to what was written by the author of his personal story. Having the free will to think and act on his own desires had not changed that wish.
“Whose side is she to be on?”
“You’re learning. She believes in the rule of three. While she’s had a different upbringing, being raised with a cousin and not her parents, she’s stronger for it. She needs focus. From what I can tell, she’s brilliant, and choosing to work as a secretary at French Quarter Realty is nothing more than being afraid of her potential. You could give her that focus. Show her what she’s truly meant for, and perhaps, you’ll find the connection that you’ve been pretending you don’t want.”
Alcott’s lip curled as he spoke. “Stay out of my head.”
“Now, where would be the fun in that? Besides, going into my head is exactly what got you the bargaining power to stay out of your story after you were released from the Guardian bond.”
This was a fight he was going to lose. He’d outstayed his welcome, and he had to admit, Kellie was the most appealing Word Speaker who had chosen him. Plus, she’d been intrigued enough by something to read it twice. Perhaps there was a good reason for him to get to know her.
“I’ll do it. But I want to go to her alone. You have no tact. I don’t care how many times you’ve spoken to someone of their destiny and gifts, you freak them the fuck out. If I can convince her she’s not hallucinating or on drugs, then you can come say your bit.”
He stared at Alcott and nearly let his look of shock show on his face. The last thing he’d expected the stubborn witch to do was to accept. Alcott was a pain in his ass because, even though he’d sacrificed an elderly and willing Word Speaker-Guardian pair to change his name, he still had to worry the witch would gleam his name a second time. It irked him to no end that the Guardian continued to call him Ryce, but at least Demus would continue to be powerless if the shields Huracan placed on them were ever removed.
In the years since Alcott had lost Ciara, all he had done was prove that he was headstrong and highly capable of being as much of a physical protector as a magical one. If he’d known that with Ciara, he might have been strong enough to have been released.
Except for the whole mated to a demon thing, he mused.
He didn’t like Alcott’s terms, it was against the rules, and he’d taken enough punishment for rule breaking in the past two and half years. But, if it was the only way the stubborn man would get back to being what he was destined to be, it would have to be okay. With a slight adjustment.
“If I agree to this, then you must remain by her side as her Guardian until she turns twenty-seven, whether you like her or not. Once she is able to release you, you’re welcome to bail. But until then, you do your job.” He knew his eyes flickered to liquid silver as he hissed the final word.
The silence between them was as thick as anything he’d ever felt. It was almost as if Alcott had cast some sort of spell. The two men stared at each other — blue eyes to silver — for the longest two minutes he’d ever experienced.
“Fine.”
He shook his head, disbelief washing over him as he nodded. “Get some more rest, plot out what you think you’re going to tell her to get her to believe and I’ll send you through in the afternoon. It’s nearly four now, you and she can both wait.”
Alcott said nothing as he turned and stomped back to his room down the hall.
That didn’t matter though. He’d kept something very important about Kellie a secret — who her cousin was. His eyes shifted quickly to the open rift in his living room. Hayley, the woman he shouldn’t be able to see but could, was the family Kellie had grown up with. He’d been grasping at straws, but when he saw Kellie’s white light flare a week ago, he’d begun to wonder if there wasn’t something more to her cousin. Pushing Alcott to take a risk had been as much about his desire to learn about the family as it had been to get Alcott back to being a Guardian.
“I’ll find out just what you are, Hayley. Every little secret you possess, I’ll know them all, and then I’ll know exactly why I can see you.”
Chapter Two
Kellie’s eyes followed Andrea’s as the older woman paced back and forth across the room.
If she kept it up, she’d wear a hole in the floor, and Kellie sincerely didn’t want to be dumped into the Big Easy Daquiris bar below — it wasn’t her scene. She could feel her eyes drying out slowly from staring at her boss. She’d been called into the backroom twelve minutes ago. In that time, all Andrea had done was take a call about a listing that had fallen through and pace.
It was the pacing that made Kellie nervous.
Sucking in a breath through her nose, she blew it slowly past her lips, noticing the way the warm air felt over the lip gloss. “Andrea, whatever it is, just tell me already.”
A pair of washed out green eyes looked directly at her, and Andrea let out a deep sigh. One that made Kellie’s shoulders sag. Her hand instinctively went to the pentagram charm under the neckline of her deep blue sundress. Let this not be what you think it is.
“I’ve got to let you go.”
The blood roared so loudly in Kellie’s ears that she missed at least half of the next comments coming from her now ex-boss. This would be the third job she’d lost in nearly as many years. She needed the income, despite what people thought of her. Her aunt and uncle were lovely people, but once they’d tossed her the contents of her inheritance, they’d kicked her out into the muggy New Orleans rain for choosing to practice Wicca. Sooner or later the money would run out and that was why she worked.
Standing, she shook her head, trying to clear the fog that momentarily resided there. When that didn’t work, she blinked hastily and looked at Andrea. “I don’t even want to know why. Honestly, I’m used to it.” Which she was.
She’d previously worked at two bars — the Bourbon Cowboy and Voodoo Vibe. She’d been fired from one for overstepping her place and trying to help them balance the books. The other had fired her because she had grown sick of the ridiculous come-ons from drunk college boys and had done something about it. So, losing a respectable job stung a bit more, but she already knew the feeling well.
“I’ll mail you a severance check, and I’m happy to be a reference in the future.” Andrea put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not meant for work like this Kellie. You get bored too easily and make small mistakes because your mind isn’t here. Find a job that challenges you and gets you to focus all that you are. I know you will do it.”
Kellie offered her a small smile. She wanted it to seem just as sincere as Andrea’s words, but she knew it wasn’t. She was too hollow feeling, too distracted. She practically shuffled her feet to grab her purse and water bottle before taking the stairs outside into the hot summer day and down.
Even at eleven in the morning, Decatur was busy. Many milling about were the drunks still trying to party when the majority of Bourbon Street had already shut down. Others were simply up at the crack of dawn, ready to take in every sight, taste and smell that the Quarter had to offer. She could hear mindless chatter and smell the ripe scent of alcohol on the hot breeze, but she was to inside her own head to even care. She skillfully sidestepped the busy sidewalks with all the ease of someone who’d grown up in a busy city. It wasn’t until she stopped in front of Café Du Monde that she finally snapped partially out of the post-firing funk.
“Son of a bitch,” she grumbled a little too loudly and a couple stepping into a mule carriage ride gave her a look.
The line for Café Du Monde was never an easy feat during daylight hours, but the queue of people before her was utterly ridiculous. Starting at the main entrance, it stretched all the way to where she stood at the far corner of Jackson Square. The sun was out, summer was upon the city and the tourists clearly wanted the same sticky sweet treats as the locals. Sighing, she tried her best to look around to the other side — the to-go line, which was nearly as long. She wanted to sit back and relax, not rush home to her shared tiny condo, so she stepped into the back of the line and waited.
When the first breeze of the dusty fans under the awning reached her, she looked up. Three people ahead of her. She grabbed her phone from her purse and was happy to see it was only twelve thirty-five. Plenty of time to enjoy a ridiculously unhealthy lunch and read. Not wasting a second when a table opened she darted inside and sat, not even bothering to care if the copious amounts of powder sugar dusting every inch of the place coated her dress and legs. She dropped her bag in her lap and took in the ambiance of her favorite place.
Slightly squeaky fans whirred at least eight feet above her head and bugs buzzed as they hovered just high enough for a person not to be able to swat them. People talked, and the sound of porcelain hitting the table as orders were put down and noise from the street around them could be heard. If a place like this couldn’t remind her there was more out there, she didn’t think anywhere could.
“An order of beignets and a small milk,” she said as the server walked up and greeted her. She tried to sound as cheery as she could, but even in the vibrant atmosphere that was Café Du Monde, she couldn’t bring herself to actually be cheerful.
The woman walked away, and Kellie dug into her bag for a book. There were two in there, which was abnormal. However, one read through of the famous “Magic Swept” hadn’t been enough. So she was reading it again before moving onto book two. Yes, it was a little young for her age, but she’d been captivated by the hero, Alcott. She’d known in less than ten pages that if the man had been anything more than ink on paper, he’d be her future husband. Not that she had any issues in the man department, but Alcott had been something else altogether.
Beautiful blue eyes, shaggy blond hair she pictured running her fingers through as they made love and magic all his own. A witch, though he had far more powers than her own belief in energy transference allotted for, but it had still seemed like an amazing connection to want in a man. Who wouldn’t want a little fire and ice around? It went beyond that though. There was something in the way he moved through his story. He was a fierce protector and younger than he should have been to be in such a role—only twenty-two. Compassionate in a way that spoke of a much older soul, he’d been through so much that she just wanted to comfort him because she’d lost her father as well.
Leaning back in the chair, she could feel the smile sliding over her lips at the thought of a fictional man. What do they call them? She paused, searching for the word. Right, book boyfriends. Well, Alcott, I’m ready to read all about my book boyfriend again. She cracked the book open to the dog-eared page and began to read.
An eerie sensation washed over her, setting the hair on the back of her neck on end. Without looking up from the book, she rubbed her hand over her nape, trying to shake the feeling. When a shudder drifted through her, she pulled herself from the story, and realized how quiet it was around her. Lowering the book completely, she gasped and leaned so far back in the chair it rocked on the small metal legs and tossed her onto her ass.
She didn’t even try to get up. Instead, she stared around her. Everyone was frozen, or she was really drunk and they were moving in very slow motion. Three tables over, a plate of beignets appeared to be hovering, floating, over the table. Twisting her head to look behind her, she saw a cloud of powdered sugar literally hanging in the air, halted on its descent to the ground from over-powdered beignets. All around, people were in mid-action, and yet, she could move.
Or you think you’re moving. Maybe you’re as frozen as they are.
Next, her eyes started to fail. Less than three feet away, the air seemed to shimmer. She knew a good deal of humidity could make a person’s eyes water or slightly distort things, but this was a full-on, shimmering motion. Then, suddenly, it wasn’t. Something seemed to have ripped a hole right through the air across from her, and a very handsome man stepped up, offering her his hand.
“If you tell me I need to come with you if I want to live, you’re going to find your balls inside your body.” She tried to shove backward on the ground and slammed into the table closest to her, sending a sharp pain through her skull.
“I’m not certain I understand why you’d think I would say that. Though it isn’t the most inaccu
rate statement in the world at this moment,” a deep voice with the slightest hint of British accent said.
Nothing made sense. Especially not the way she was starting to think he looked familiar. Medium height, strong build, brilliant blue eyes and shaggy dark blond hair. Add in a British accent — which he seemed to have — and she would swear Alcott was standing before her. Hysterical laughter bubbled up at the thought. The idea that any of this was happening, let alone the fictional man she’d just been fantasizing about was real, was the most ludicrous thing ever.
The laughter continued to roll out of her, and she had to wrap her hands over her midsection to stop from shaking from the force of her amusement. She could feel the tears beginning to prick the corners of her eyes, and it only led to her laughing harder.
“I haven’t even begun to do anything, and she’s having some sort of breakdown,” the man said.
A subtle shift in the air made Kellie’s head jerk up to find him squatting next to her, his blue eyes looking very intense. His almost hawk-like gaze sent her heartbeat spiraling out of control, and yet, she could sense he wasn’t going to cause her harm.
“Take a deep breath and calm yourself. What you’re about to hear is something that will be a lot scarier than what you’re experiencing in this moment.” His voice was calm.
She inched her hand across the powder-covered ground and felt her fingertips scrape along the top of her bag. If she could get into it, she could taze the fucker if need be.
“Kellie, enough,” he barked.
She froze, nearly as completely as the world seemed to be around her. “How do you know my name?”
The man scrubbed a hand over his face and let out a rather dramatic sigh. “Promise me that you won’t do anything until I’m finished.”