A Risky Proposition

by Dawn Addonizio

  I frowned at him. “I take it that means you’re the one who told Lorien about Balthus. You know she only told me because she’s trying to help with the whole death djinn thing. Besides, I thought you were half-faerie.”

  “I’m half-sidhe; Lorien’s a sprite,” he corrected flatly. “And as it happens, I did tell that little loud-mouth why Balthus was arrested. In confidence. And only because she’s been a pint-sized pain in the ass about it all week.”

  I smiled. “She can be very persistent.”

  “That’s an understatement,” he muttered.

  “She says she’s been researching death djinn contracts. And that there’s no record of anyone ever getting out of one,” I added with a grimace.

  A look of regret passed across his handsome face. “I’m truly sorry, Sydney. I wish I could help you…”

  My eyes widened at his choice of words and he stared at me for a moment before a slightly queasy look overtook him.

  “See how easy it is to slip up?” I asked with a despairing laugh.

  His tanned, symbol-entwined arm moved toward me, as if he wanted to touch me, but he pulled back at the last moment. Something within me strained toward him, disappointed that he’d changed his mind.

  The silence went on for a beat too long and I cleared my throat. “What kind of tattoos are those?” I asked to fill the void.

  He glanced down at his arms, flexing his muscles so that they shifted smoothly beneath his skin, giving the intricate designs a life of their own. “Ancient Celtic runes and symbols of power and protection. A gift from my sidhe kin, who’ve passed down the art from generation to generation.”

  “Cool,” I breathed. “Can they really protect you when you’re in danger?”

  “That they can—and have many a time,” he added with a grin that ignited sparks in his eyes and sent my heart into a quicker rhythm.

  “What’s that one?” I asked, pointing to a particularly striking design high on his thick upper arm.

  “Ah, that’s one of my first and one of my favorites,” he answered with a nostalgic smile as he pushed up the edge of his sleeve so that the inking was fully visible. “It’s quite a traditional design, and very powerful—it’s called an Aegishjalmur. It gives its bearer protection and irresistibility in battle.”

  I think it’s giving you irresistibility in more than just battle, I thought.

  “It’s beautiful,” I whispered aloud, reaching forward to trace it with my forefinger before I realized what I was doing. A shock of electricity passed between us and for a split second the tattoo glowed red through the black ink, bathing my palm in heat.

  I jerked my hand away and anxiously met Sparrow’s eyes. They blazed a radiant sapphire.

  “I’m sorry,” I said uncertainly.

  “It’s alright, Sydney.” He took a deep breath. “You did no harm. As I said, they’re powerful symbols.”

  I gave him a tentative smile. He slowly returned it, making my stomach do queer little flips. He looked away and took a swallow of his coffee. My mind raced along with my pulse. I was achingly attracted to him. But I couldn’t allow that to get in the way of the more important fact that I needed his help.

  “I was thinking,” I began cautiously, “if Balthus really has been stealing unaligned souls, maybe there’s a way to cancel my contract by getting him discredited.”

  Sparrow gave me a considering look. “It might be possible,” he admitted.

  My heart leapt, but his next words dampened my enthusiasm.

  “I don’t want you to get your hopes up, though. Lorien’s right, there are no recorded instances of a death djinn contract ever being cancelled.”

  I opened my mouth to protest and Sparrow held up his hand. “Impatient little witch,” he taunted. “I wasn’t finished. There are extenuating circumstances in your case. If I can prove that Balthus has been trading in unaligned souls, I can make a good argument that some, if not all, of his existing contracts should be nullified—especially an uncompleted one like yours.”

  He paused, as if deciding whether to say more, and his eyes turned serious. “But you should know that, so far, I’ve only discovered the one unaligned soul in Balthus’ possession. He insists that he won it from a goblin during a game of dice, and that it appeared to be aligned when he received it.”

  I gave him an incredulous look. “Now you’re telling me that there are goblins, and that they gamble with death djinns using human souls as currency? And that’s legal?”

  Sparrow sighed. “I’ve never endorsed the soul trade, Sydney. But as long as the human receives some sort of payment in return and their soul remains aligned, it’s considered legal. The official position of the Seelie Court is that if a human wants to sell their soul for fortune, fame, protection…whatever it may be…that’s their business.”

  I shook my head in consternation. “How can you tell the difference between an ‘aligned’ soul and an ‘unaligned’ one?”

  “Aligned souls are still connected to their human host in some manner. Unaligned souls have been ripped completely free of their host.”

  Sparrow exhaled wearily. “And a human cannot survive for long once their soul has been completely cut free.”

  My eyes widened. “Is that what happened to the girl upstairs?” The one who looks so much like me, I thought, but didn’t say it. “Is she going to die?”

  He gave me a measured look and the sorrow in his expression was answer enough.

  “Christ, Sparrow!” I whispered. “And you think Balthus did that to her?”

  His jaw tightened. “Balthus swears he’d have no use for an unaligned soul, and that hers must have been tampered with to make it appear aligned.”

  “And you believe him?” I scoffed. “How could he not know? Wouldn’t he have figured it out as soon as he realized there was no human host for him to boss around?”

  His lips turned up in a derisive twist. “He says he only had the soul for a few days and that he stuck it in his vault and hadn’t bothered to check in with the host yet.”

  Sparrow drained his cup and his gaze turned considering. “There are minute traces of magic on the soul. We haven’t yet discovered what that magic was designed to do, but if the soul appeared aligned when he received it, whatever made it appear that way has clearly worn off now.”

  “You really think it’s possible that he didn’t know?” I asked.

  Sparrow was quiet for a moment. “I don’t believe that Balthus can be trusted,” he said finally, “so it makes it difficult to gauge whether there’s any truth to his story.”

  I worried the corner of my lip between my teeth as I tried to assimilate everything Sparrow had said and find a way to make it work to my advantage. “I need to talk to him again,” I muttered with a soft shake of my head.

  “Pardon?” Sparrow said incredulously.

  My eyes flew to his. I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud, but I wasn’t taking it back. It was the only way I could see to move forward. “I said I need to talk to Balthus again,” I repeated, working to keep my voice confident despite my apprehension.

  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Sydney,” Sparrow replied.

  “Balthus and I have a connection,” I pressed. “You said it yourself at the hotel that night—I’m two thirds his already. I want to hear what he has to say. I need this Sparrow. I can’t just sit by and wait for your investigation or Lorien’s research. Meanwhile, if I screw up and say the wrong thing, I lose my soul forever. You saw how easy it is to say that word by accident.”

  “I still don’t see the point.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back until the plastic chair groaned. “What exactly do you think you’re going to get out of Balthus that trained investigators and magic haven’t already?”

  “Who knows? He won’t be threatened by me, so maybe he’ll slip up and say something he wouldn’t say in front of you. Or maybe I can appeal to his sense of fair play and get him to admit that I didn’t really make a ‘death wish’.
Maybe he’ll cancel my contract as a gesture of good faith since he’s in such a legal tight spot with the unaligned soul you found.”

  A range of emotions played across Sparrow’s handsome face as he stared at me. “Balthus doesn’t have your sense of fair play, Sydney. He’ll try to trick you, and he’s exceedingly good at what he does. If you slip up and make a wish in front of him, I won’t be able to help you.”

  “Please, Sparrow,” I pleaded, sensing that I almost had him convinced. “I have to do this. I’m well aware of the stakes, and I promise I’ll be careful.”

  He closed his eyes and his jaw tightened. Then he let out a long breath and said briskly, “Fine. It’ll probably be about a week before I can get you approved for a visit.”

  I smiled in relief. “Thank you, Sparrow. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

  He gave a resigned chuckle and said, “How did we end up with you trying to reassure me? And it’s Patrick, by the way. But you can call me Pat.”

  “Syd! There you are—I’ve been looking all over for you! Oh…” Sunny skidded to a halt as she realized that I wasn’t alone. “Sorry. I didn’t know you had company. Who is your company?” she eyed Sparrow with interest.

  “Sunny, this is Agent Patrick Sparrow. He’s the one who arrested Balthus last weekend. Sparrow, this is my best friend since high school, Sunny.”

  Sparrow snorted. “Great. Just how many people have you told about our world?” he asked with futile amusement.

  “Only Sunny,” I said, trying not to sound defensive. “Was I really supposed to keep the most unbelievable thing that’s ever happened to me a secret from everyone I love?”

  “No. Of course not,” he sighed. “Nice to meet you, Sunny.” He extended his hand.

  Sunny accepted it, shooting me a sideways look that clearly accused me of not mentioning how hot he was.

  “So, what are you doing about this Balthus guy?” she asked.

  Her voice was friendly, but Sparrow didn’t mistake it for anything other than a demand. He stiffened and switched back into policeman mode as he answered her. It made me miss the more relaxed Sparrow from moments before.

  “Sydney and I have just been discussing that at some length. I am currently conducting an investigation into certain allegations against Balthus. I have agreed to give Sydney the opportunity to interview him, as she feels that his incarceration may allow her some leverage over the status of her soul contract. I’m sure she’ll be glad to tell you all about it,” he said, rising.

  “However, right now I’m afraid I’m pressed for time and must return to the office.”

  “Well, it was nice to meet you, Patrick. And we’ll be counting on you.” She grinned, clearly unfazed by his official demeanor. “Cool tattoos, by the way.”

  “Much appreciated.” He nodded at Sunny and then winked at me. “Sydney, I’ll be in touch.”

  “Bye, Sparrow. And thanks.”

  His lips twitched with humor. “I said you could call me Pat.”

  I cocked my head and smiled up at him. “I think I’ll stick with Sparrow. It feels better, somehow.”

  “Stubborn little witch,” he whispered. Then he turned away and was gone.

  “That man is no sparrow,” Sunny muttered. “A falcon or a hawk, maybe, but definitely no sparrow.”

  I nodded, nibbling my lip with a wistful sigh.

  Chapter 7 – Monday Blues

  The haranguing buzz of my alarm jerked me from sleep and I groaned, nearly sobbing in frustration. Not only was 8 am an ungodly hour to be awake, but a quickly fading dream—involving Sparrow, and me running my fingers over his magically glowing tattoos—left me wanting to smash the evil, unrelenting piece of machinery to bits.

  Even in the best of circumstances, I’d never been a morning person.

  I forced myself into a sitting position before sliding the alarm switch to ‘Off’, knowing that I ran the risk of drifting back to sleep if I lay down again. The thick aroma of coffee wafted through the closed door of my bedroom, along with the sounds of Sunny puttering around in the kitchen. I angrily swiped at an unexpected tear, realizing those simple morning rituals reminded me of Jeremy.

  I told myself I’d feel better after a quick wash in the sink and my usual double-decker mug of hot tea with honey.

  As I passed through the kitchen, Sunny grunted and gave me a weak semblance of a smile in response to my weary, “Morning.” She then returned to watching the coffee pot’s progress, one hip resting against a cabinet. She folded her arms across her chest and her black silk robe drifted open to reveal a crisp cotton tank top and shorts in a pretty shade of melon beneath.

  I dropped a tea bag into my favorite mug and filled it from the hot water dispenser to steep. I glanced down with a grimace at what passed for my own customary sleeping ensemble: a ratty old Grateful Dead t-shirt and boxers whose material had been washed into perfect softness, but whose elastic had disintegrated. The swell of my hips was the only thing that prevented them from falling down around my knees.

  I shuffled forward into my dining room/office to turn on my computer and blinked numbly at the screen as it booted up. Sunny and I knew each other well enough to appreciate that attempts at conversation were futile before caffeine.

  An hour later we were both more coherent as we sat in companionable silence, working on our laptops, with Salsa music pounding through the flat-screen’s speakers. Sunny was writing a syllabus for the medieval history class she would be teaching next semester at Boston College, and I was plugging away at my usual data entry after having gone my morning rounds with Cindy.

  Jasper was curled up on a chair by the sliding glass door, basking in a patch of late morning sunlight. Nothing supernatural here—just your ordinary every day Monday. Thank Goddess for small favors.

  I could get used to this, I thought with a twinge of regret. I was going to be lonely after Sunny left.

  The phone rang and I saw on the caller ID that it was Angelica. It had only been a week and I could barely contemplate the thought of returning to a life without maid service. I was really becoming spoiled.

  “Good morning, Angelica,” I said brightly.

  “Good morning, Sydney! Shall I come by now or later?”

  “Now’s good.”

  “Who was that?” asked Sunny as I hung up.

  “That was Angelica, from the hotel’s cleaning staff. She’s on her way up now. And just to prepare you, she’s about six feet tall, looks like a supermodel, and wears one of those French maid outfits. She’s really sweet, and she’s amazing at cleaning. Oh—and she likes to talk about sex.”

  I snickered at Sunny’s bewildered expression as I got up to answer Angelica’s soft knock.

  “Hello Sydney! Just the usual today?” she asked, glass cleaner and duster in hand.

  “That would be great.” I smiled as I stepped to the side so she could enter.

  “Salsa music—what an invigorating way to begin the day! Oh—do you have company?” she inquired, glancing at one of Sunny’s suitcases on a nearby chair. “I hope it’s a handsome man,” she whispered conspiratorially. “It would be a shame not to properly break in that bed.”

  “Nope, just me,” Sunny commented.

  “Oh, I beg your pardon!” Angelica colored, the rosy tint making her even more lovely. “I didn’t see you there. And I didn’t mean to presume you required a man to break in your bed, either,” she told me with a wicked grin.

  I laughed. “Angelica, this is my best friend, Sunny. She’s visiting from Boston for the week.”

  “Nice to meet you, Angelica. And believe me, I would be just as pleased as you to see Syd break in her bed with a handsome man,” Sunny teased. She dodged as I swatted at her.

  “Lovely to meet you, Sunny,” Angelica replied as she continued into the sitting room to begin her cleaning routine. “Maybe, then, your combined powers of attraction will draw a pair of beautiful men to you before the week is out. Or at least one for you to share—when approached correctly, that ca
n be a truly bonding experience between friends, you know.”

  I swallowed and shook off the unbidden image of Sunny, Sparrow and myself sharing my new bed. Sunny’s snort of mirth mirrored my own, and I said, “I’m not sure our friendship has a need for that type of bond, Angelica.”

  She shrugged as she bent over to dust one of my frogs. “Suit yourselves—a pair of men it is, then.” She grinned suddenly as she added, “Maybe hot Latin lovers, who’ll appreciate your taste in Salsa music.”

  “I like the way you think,” Sunny said.

  Angelica continued about her work as Sunny and I returned to our own. I couldn’t help but envy her unconscious sex-appeal as she matched her movements to the beat of the music. If I hadn’t liked her so much, I probably would have had a hard time not hating her. I was willing to bet that men fell helplessly at her feet wherever she went.

  She disappeared into the back rooms for a while and then began returning supplies to her cart. “Thursday?” she inquired cheerfully.

  “Yes, please,” I agreed.

  “See you then, Sydney. It was nice to meet you Sunny. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

  “Thanks—we’ll let you know how it goes with the Latin lovers!” Sunny called.

  Angelica paused and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “The angle and depth of that couch might be conducive to some interesting seated positions, especially if you enjoy being on top.” She gave it an appraising once-over and nodded before turning to push her cart into the elevator.

  “You know, I think she might be right,” Sunny mused a moment later.

  I shook my head and went back to work.

  ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

  Later that afternoon Sunny came for a ride with me as I made my rounds to pick up paperwork from my employers. Mr. H appeared at the back door to scream obscenities at Cindy for taking too long to talk to me. I grimaced and slammed the car door to drown him out.

  Sunny whistled. “That is one nasty little man.”

  “Ugly inside and out,” I agreed.

  I snapped up an empty parallel parking spot right in front of Haute Hannah’s on crowded Worth Avenue, and made a mental note to ask Lorien if she was responsible for my good parking fortune again.