Wicked Wish (Dragon's Gift: The Storm Book 1)

by Veronica Douglas

  “Thank fates.” I bent over, hands on my knees, panting. I wasn’t used to all of this running and flying. I’d need to start working out more.

  “Here.” Damian handed me a water bottle. “Thanks for saving me back there.”

  I chugged the water, not realizing how thirsty I was. “We’ll call it even. You slayed the newt.”

  “When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound that impressive. It really was more like an alligator.”

  “Yeah, I can see it now. Damian Dundee… newt wrestler.”

  He chuckled, and we sat in companionable silence for a moment, breathing hard and soaked to the bone.

  The Range Rover appeared around a bend. Silently, I thanked the fates…I was ready for a cushy seat.

  19

  Despite the luxurious plane, I didn’t sleep well on the flight back to Chicago. Fitful dreams of winding tunnels, spiders, and Damian left me exhausted and restless.

  A driver met us at the airport. It was early evening, and the city drifted by in a blur as we sped back to Magic Side.

  Thoughts of my apartment flooded me. My bed. My wardrobe and clothes. “I wish we could go back to my flat, just to get a few things.”

  “It’s just not safe. The concealment charm may hide our locations from the djinn, but that doesn’t mean he can’t hunt us down. Remember, he laid a trap for your friend in her apartment. I’d be willing to bet he’s set one in yours, too. Hell, perhaps he could even get into mine. Their power is incalculable.”

  I sighed.

  Damian absently tapped on the limo window with his knuckles. “But I assume that you’ll need new clothes. I certainly do.”

  Somehow, Damian still looked dashing, despite the overnight flight. Meanwhile, I was in shambles. By now, everything in my weekender bag had been slept in, rumpled by air travel, caked by mud, soaked with newt water, or covered in flour, and it was jumbled together in a disgusting wad. I would kill for three minutes with my wardrobe—or for any article of clothing not covered in newt juice.

  Damian tapped on his phone. “We’ll have the hotel wash everything tonight. I’ll have my assistant Jeanette pick up an extra outfit or two for you and have them sent up. Here’s here contact. Tell her what you want—brand, size, style—and she’ll run out and get it for you.”

  My phone pinged. “Wow…I mean, I can just wait for the laundry.”

  I wasn’t used to this lifestyle.

  Damian absently waved his hand. “You should have something on hand tonight in case we have to run for it. Don’t worry, Jeanette has good taste. It’s on me—a business expense.”

  I winked. “Well, all right then, you’ve twisted my arm.”

  Suddenly awake, I spent the rest of the car ride sending Jeanette my sizes and a list of a few of my favorite stores. Some of them were…well, not stores at which I would normally splurge…but I knew a good opportunity when I saw one. Sending Jeanette links to a few designer dresses, I murmured, “Go big or go home.”

  “What?” Damian turned to me.

  “What?”

  “You said something.”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay,” he said suspiciously.

  “Okay.” I buried my face in the phone.

  Despite the silence, the air between us vibrated with tension. Damian sat so close that I could feel the heat from his body. His scent wrapped around me, a combination of juniper and the sea.

  I peeked over the top of my phone, taking him in while he gazed out the window. The city lights flashed behind him, illuminating his profile—he was so damn handsome, it was distracting.

  Damian turned again and caught my eyes. My face flushed, and he shot me a devilish grin as we pulled up to the hotel.

  I forced myself out of the car. A dull throb rose from the small of my back to my shoulders, but I barely had the energy to acknowledge it.

  Damian accompanied me up to my room, then started to follow me in. “And what do you think you’re doing?” I asked, torn between playfulness and exhaustion.

  But he was all business. “I’ll weave some protective charms on the doors and windows. The other half of being a thief, as you would have it, is being able to keep other people out.”

  “Thanks.”

  He drew glowing runes in the air over each of the exits. “This should keep anyone out. It will also trip an alarm if anyone attempts to break the spells.”

  “Even you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good to know. Thanks. Now, let a girl get some sleep.” I leaned back on the open door, and as he passed through, his eyes lingered on my body for a second. Heat shot right through me, and then I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall.

  Fates be damned!

  My hair was a rat’s nest, my clothes were rumpled, and I had raccoon eyes. I silently cringed, even though Damian didn’t seem to have a problem with it.

  Damian turned and tapped his watch. “Remember, we have a meeting with the mage at 9:30 tomorrow morning. Let’s meet up at 8:30 for breakfast. Set your alarm.”

  “Got it.”

  “Night, Neve.”

  “Night.” I closed the door, still slightly mortified.

  The hotel room was probably nice, but I was too tired to notice.

  I peeled the loathsome clothes from my body like a half-drunk lizard and staggered into the shower. It roared to life, scouring me with hot, purifying water. Delight swept across my skin. Rather than a shower in a jet, this was a real shower with jets.

  Thank fates.

  I took a really long shower. My skin was raw and rosy by the time I finally stepped out and toweled off, but as I dripped on the plush bathmat, someone knocked at the door.

  Damian?

  I quickly draped my wet hair over my shoulder and wrapped myself with a towel. Slipping on the plush bedroom slippers that had been set out, I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror—major improvement.

  I cracked the door slightly and peeked out. My visitor was a bellman. Too bad.

  “One sec.” Feeling slightly dejected that it wasn’t Damian, I shut the door. It would have been a fine opportunity to scold him for disturbing my shower.

  Wait a second—what the heck was I thinking?

  I clearly couldn’t trust my better judgement when it came to Damian. I recalled the urges I’d had recently…in the cabin on the airship while he healed me.

  Oh gods, and in the tunnel in Cappadoccia. Had he actually wanted to kiss me then, or was I just fantasizing it all?

  Crap.

  One thing was certain—I needed to reign in this sex-crazed weirdness. A-stat.

  I grabbed a robe from the closet then peered out the door. “Hi. Can I help you?”

  “Hello, Ms. Cross. I have a cheeseburger and a milkshake for you. May I?”

  I nodded and stepped aside, though I hadn’t ordered food.

  The bellman wheeled in a cart covered with a white tablecloth and one of those silver plates with a domed cover. A vase with three red carnations sat beside a tall milkshake. My stomach grumbled.

  “There is one more thing. Err…actually, several more things,” he said, ducking back into the hall.

  “Huh?”

  A small troupe of bellboys wheeled five racks of clothes into the room. “A woman dropped these off on behalf of Mr. Malek.”

  “Fates...Jeanette wasn’t kidding around.” I sat on the edge of the bed as they maneuvered the racks of clothing about the room, trying to find space for everything. “Thanks. Do I need to sign for all this?”

  “Mr. Malek took care of that. The tip as well. Good evening, Ms. Cross.” The bellman nodded and shut the door behind him.

  Of course he did.

  Cheeseburger in hand, I stared at the racks for a long moment. As my excitement thrummed, I stood up and investigated the outfits, careful not to get any ketchup on them. There was denim and leather, but also linen and cashmere and silk. Everything was insanely nice. The price tags were still on, and my brows r
ose. Yep, way out of my usual price range. I spotted a pair of jeans I’d been eyeing for months. “Score.”

  There was also a blue silk negligee that I hadn’t ordered. Hmm…I glanced at the tag. Fleur du Mal. This certainly wasn’t on my list, but I loved it.

  Thirty minutes later, I had tried on all the clothes and chosen a few amazing outfits. I was a saint for not choosing them all, I decided, but then again, maybe I’d double-check my selections in the morning, once I could see straight. The clothing-inspired surge of adrenaline had worn off as a food coma kicked in, and the crisp, clean bedsheets called out to me in a siren song. Sleeeep.

  I sighed as I slumped onto the soft mattress. It was a real bed, it wasn’t moving, and right now, it was more beautiful than all the clothes in the world. I made it about halfway under the covers before passing out.

  A loud pounding on the door dragged me from the abyss of sleep. Every muscle ached slightly, and I realized I hadn’t moved an inch since falling into bed. Groggy, I glanced at my watch.

  8:45. Shit!

  “Neve. Are you awake?” Damian’s voice echoed through the door.

  “I’ll be just a minute!”

  Total lie.

  “How long do you need? Honest estimate.”

  “Uh.” I looked at the stacks of new outfits. “About three hours.”

  “Can you do twenty minutes?”

  “Yes.” I crossed my fingers.

  “Good. I’ll call Matthias and let him know we’re running late. I’ll have pastries and coffee.”

  “Okay. Thanks so much!”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Trying to sort out my clothes, I ran frantically around the room. Wooziness rushed over me. Ugh, settle down, Neve. I was holding my breath from the stress. Great goblins, was this how Rhiannon felt all the time? She was always late.

  Somehow, I managed to put myself together. The new jeans were perfect. I paired them with a mustard-yellow blouse. As I was about to pull it on, I caught sight of my tattoo in the mirror. It had grown again, though I couldn’t remember when I had looked at it last. That was…troublesome.

  I drew in a deep breath and shoved down the worry. The tattoo was a future me problem.

  I met Damian outside my room at precisely 9:05. He looked me up and down with interest and handed me a coffee and a stuffed croissant. “Nice outfit. Were you pleased with Jeanette’s selection?”

  “A-plus.” I nodded between mouthfuls of croissant. “Jeanette did great. Though she did pick up something that I, uh…wasn’t expecting.”

  I recalled the way the silk negligee hugged my body in all the right places.

  Damian glanced at me as we hurried down the hall, a faint smile ghosting his lips.

  I coughed as a piece of croissant lodged in my throat. Could he read my thoughts or something?

  He held open the elevator door and motioned for me to enter. A man in a gray suit stepped to the corner to make room.

  Damian raised an eyebrow. “I take it you like it?”

  Holy fates. Had he picked out that expensive lingerie? No.

  Still chewing, I nodded discreetly. “Mm-hmm. Fit great.”

  “I can only imagine.” There was the faintest roughness to his voice, and a shiver ran down my spine.

  The elevator ride took a century. Tension sparked the air between us until my skin felt too tight for my body. As soon as the doors opened, I was out and heading through the lobby. Just a bit of fresh air, I told myself, that’s all I need.

  Damian followed, and we slid into the limo waiting outside. I moved over to make space for him, staring at my coffee like it held the answers to the meaning of life.

  Right. It was time to stop blushing and get down to business. I took a long sip of coffee, the nectar of consciousness, which dragged me out of that elevator and back into the car. “So, how much do you know about this mage?”

  “Not much.”

  I eyed him. He wasn’t being forthcoming.

  Grudgingly, he continued, “We have mutual interests from time to time. He seems to know a little about everything, but he acts like he knows a lot about everything.”

  Sounds familiar, I almost retorted, then bit my tongue.

  The limo arrived at the Gaslight District, a decadent historic neighborhood with large trees shading the street. The mage’s house looked like it had been built in the nineteenth century. A peaked roof topped the brightly painted three-story building. Decorated in bold reds, yellows, and browns, it stood out from its more subtly colored neighbors. The Gaslight District was one of the few places you could find wooden houses in Magic Side—after the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, most buildings had been built of brick.

  The driver dropped us off and pulled around the corner to park. The mage’s lot was surrounded by an unconventionally tall iron fence topped with ornate, sharp spikes. The narrow ironwork gate buzzed and automatically opened when we approached, revealing a brick walkway lined with yellow and violet flowers that led to a welcoming porch.

  Damian mounted the stairs and knocked on the front door. It swung in with a slow creak, and there was a metallic clank as a massive, armor-plated knight stepped up to occupy the doorway.

  I stumbled backward. “Holy shit!”

  Damian smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s just his doorman.”

  20

  The knight in Matthias’s doorway silently gestured for us to enter.

  Something was off about it. I squinted to see through the eye holes in the helmet. There was no one in the armor. It was entirely empty.

  “Armor golem,” Damian said nonchalantly, and made his way in.

  “What?”

  “Golems are magical constructs usually created to be servants or bodyguards. They can be made out of a variety of substances, like clay or stone. Or, as in this case, a suit of armor.”

  “Ah.” I followed cautiously behind, peeking inside the armor when I passed. It was probably rude, but curiosity got the better of me.

  Yep—completely hollow. So cool.

  The golem closed the door behind me and led us to a study in the back.

  The mage sat behind a large desk. He was shuffling through a stack of notes and turning pages of an open book.

  His magic hit me like a landslide. Smoke. Steam. The scent of hot iron. There was something else there, too, that felt like a fire hidden beneath the coals. Why had I been sensing so many weird auras lately? Damian. Sora. Matthias. Even Nix, when I thought about it.

  The mage didn’t look up. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  We waited. I shifted awkwardly, but Damian looked calm and composed. The walls of the room were lined with thousands of books, neatly organized. Unable to resist, I started browsing.

  Phenomenology and the Thousandfold Self.

  Identity, Id, and Ennui.

  The Denouement of Myth in the Modern Age.

  The laborious titles continued book after book, shelf after shelf. Fates. I seldom ran into a book I didn’t want to read, but this room was literally packed with them. It was like Matthias had googled the most pretentious books ever written and added them to his Amazon cart.

  “Please have a seat.” He waved his hand, and two bare metal chairs appeared in a flash of steam.

  Annoyance tugged at the corners of Damian’s smile. He was not used to being kept waiting. But there was something more there too. Rivalry? Not quite.

  The mage—Matthias—had slick dark hair, a square jaw, and thick, black-framed glasses. Fifty bucks said those were fake.

  We sat, and Matthias didn’t bother with introductions. “I gather you have had a successful trip?”

  Damian pulled the ornate box from his bag, placing it on the desk.

  The mage made a show of switching glasses and examined the metal box. “Very fine work,” he muttered. “Looks like eighth-century patterns. Or perhaps ninth. Hmm…simultaneously crafted from brass and magic by a very skilled artisan. Perhaps Syrian?” He popped it
open and looked inside. “My, my, I wish I could add this to my private collection, I do so love high-quality Islamic metalwork. You found it in Turkey?” He raised his eyes to mine, and I nodded. “Then it must have been booty from a raid on the Levantine coast. Maybe late ninth century.”

  Okay, so maybe this guy knew a thing or two.

  He closed the box and placed it back in front of us. “Damian, I am pleased. You have the other item I requested?”

  Damian produced the Dragon Heart, which flickered between emerald and ruby. Something about that tugged at the back of my mind…something I just couldn’t put my finger on.

  “Yes. Hopefully, this will do. Clearly valuable. But did the djinn treasure it?” Matthias took the gem, inspecting it closely. He closed his eyes and placed his hands on either side of it.

  I wasn’t sure what he was doing, but I held my breath anyway.

  After a moment, Matthias smiled. “Yes. It was indeed valuable to the djinn. Very good.”

  “Of course it’s valuable!” I snorted. “It’s a gem the size of an egg. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.”

  Matthias turned my way as if seeing me for the first time. It was a deliberate, condescending look, meant to make me feel invisible. And it worked.

  Damian shot the mage a look that froze the marrow in my bones.

  The mage cleared his throat. “My apologies. It’s not surprising that you haven’t seen one before. Dragon Hearts are extremely scarce. Their size and rarity are not what makes them valuable, however. They can be used to control dragons. Sadly, the spell will destroy it.” He placed the gem on the table and continued. “Still, that is not what is valuable to us. For our binding spell to work, we need an object that was precious to him, something that was part of his identity. It makes the spell individualized. You understand?”

  I inclined my head ever so slightly.

  Matthias turned the gem over in his hands. “Binding magic is all about the bonds we make with the world around us. Part of my magic is seeing those bonds. I believe your djinn valued this object because it would allow him to command a dragon. For some djinn, the world can be very binary. Rule, or be ruled. He was trapped for God knows how long. Since he has been freed, it sounds like he has sought to capture and dominate all those around him. That is his dream. Retribution. Exhibition of power.”