The Enchanted: Council of Seven Shifter Romance Collection

by Juniper Hart

  Sassafras was one of the only upscale nightclubs in Salem, and it was always packed from Thursday night to the wee hours of Monday morning. It was impossible to believe that being opened four days a week could generate the kind of income that it did, and yet both Marcel and Snaz had been living high off the profits almost from the moment they had delved into the investment.

  Marcel’s mind, however, was not on the flow of money coming through Sassafras that night.

  He could have just as easily done the research into Emily Piper on the laptop in the office at the back of the club, but he knew that Snaz wouldn’t leave him alone after having seen Landon on the property. He didn’t want to explain to Snaz why he was responsible for caring for some turned Lycan who technically should have been put to death for the crime. Marcel wondered why she was being spared. He mused that Landon saw the turned females as an opportunity to flush Gabriel out of hiding.

  What if I had refused? he wondered. What would he have done?

  It was a moot point now, but one which played on Marcel as he made his way to the waiting BMW at the back of the club. Even from the back lot, he could hear the din of a crowd, waiting in queue to be let in. It was bound to be a busy night in more ways than one.

  Zooming out of the lot, he almost clipped another car on the way out, but he didn’t bother to wave in apology. In his current mood, he wasn’t feeling too magnanimous, even if the near-accident was his fault.

  So what’s the plan now? he asked himself. You go home, do a Google search on Emily Piper, and take a flight out to wherever she is?

  The thought only added to his anger.

  Gabriel and his pack had been hiding in plain sight, sticking around the west coast to swoop in at random and do damage as they saw fit before disappearing again. If Emily Piper was nearby, the pack would have likely found her by now, and Marcel would have his work cut out for him. If she wasn’t, well, what was the point of seeking her out?

  Again, he reminded himself that questioning the task wasn’t going to make it go away. If anything, it was just going to make him angrier, which it was already doing.

  Sighing with resignation, Marcel steered his vehicle toward the outskirts of Salem, along the I-5 to Labish Village. Soon, the modest town of four hundred passed by, and he was traveling up Lakeside Drive to his property in the coniferous country.

  The cleaners had been in earlier, and the house reeked of synthetic pine, causing Marcel’s nose to wrinkle slightly. He couldn’t count how many times he’d asked them to stop using that floor cleaner. It was offensive to his highly-honed sense of smell, and the natural scent of the Oregon air was more than enough without dousing the atmosphere with chemicals.

  Marcel had other things to worry about than the scent of his house, and he made his way upstairs to the room he used as an office. It was almost a waste of space, the four-bedroom, five-bathroom structure he’d bought for cash two years earlier, a fact that his pack endlessly teased him about.

  “Do you really need all that room for your ego?”

  “What does a guy like you, a guy who’s never home, need that many bathrooms for?”

  “Must be nice to burn that kind of money.”

  Marcel ignored their jesting, knowing that one day, he’d fill the house with children.

  For that, however, I’ll need a wife. He snorted aloud at the thought. He’d have a better chance of finding a surrogate to have the brood he’d always wanted than he did finding a female to marry.

  His experience with relationships had not been a ringing endorsement for his future as a husband, and while Marcel would never admit it to anyone, he knew that he was a big cause of that. He wasn’t the easiest person to either know or love. He didn’t trust many people, and he often endlessly overread every nuance while he waited for the other shoe to drop.

  You’ve got an immortal life to find a mate, he remembered. Tonight, you need to find one woman: Emily Piper.

  Marcel flopped down onto the black computer chair and fired up his PC, sighing as he leaned forward on his muscular forearms. Just before the screen clicked on, he caught a glimpse of his attractive face in the reflection of the screen, and for an odd moment, he didn’t recognize himself. It was as if the face he’d always seen on himself belonged to someone else entirely.

  See? You’re already overworked and going crazy. This is just going to take you to the brink.

  Still, his fingers flew over the keyboard, searching for the name he’d been given and suppressing a giant sigh.

  “And of course, there are forty-five million results,” he muttered aloud. “Honestly.”

  But no sooner had the words left his lips than his eyes fell on a picture on the first page, his breath catching in his throat. Instantly, his sullenness was replaced with a deep concern, one which sprouted in his gut like a weed.

  Of course it’s her, he thought. Emily Piper. Emily Piper Pasternik.

  Suddenly, the job he’d been given was no longer a chore to be taken lightly. He knew the woman he’d been assigned to protect, even if he hadn’t seen her in years.

  A wave of fury toward Gabriel swept over Marcel, and he had to steel himself from slamming both fists over the keyboard in silent rage.

  The task was now personal.

  2

  It was surreal being back in Salem, as if Emily had changed and the city had remained perfectly preserved in its isolation. In her youth, Emily had always been shocked that the small city was the capital of their beautiful state. It didn’t seem fitting somehow.

  It’s not isolated, Emily reminded herself. It just always felt that way. It bothered her that being an adult, she was consumed with the same hiraeth as she had as a child. It never really goes away, does it?

  “Feels weird going home, doesn’t it?” Sammy asked, turning his head back around from the passenger seat to grin at her. “This is your first time back, right?”

  Emily nodded slowly and exhaled, staring at the familiar buildings with an uncanny sense of déjà vu. Little had changed, and yet she felt, in some ways, that she’d never seen the places they passed before.

  “I remember the first time I went back to Baton Rouge,” Sammy chuckled, shaking his head. “I felt like I was an alien from another planet.”

  “You’re from Louisiana?” Emily asked in surprise. The south was the last place she would have expected the photographer to have hailed from, not that she’d ever asked. This was the first assignment she’d ever worked on with Sammy, and while they’d chatted in the breakroom on occasion, Emily didn’t know much about him.

  I guess that’s all going to change with this trip, she thought with her wary optimism. Sammy nodded, a bemused expression on his face.

  “Wouldn’t have guessed, huh?” he laughed. “That’s what New York does to you, Emmy. Knocks the country right out of ya. In another decade, y’all forget y’all lived anywhere else.” He deliberately slipped on the Southern drawl for effect, and Emily forced a smile. She could tell he was trying to put her at ease, since her nervousness was almost edible.

  God, it was a mistake coming back here. I should have handed the piece off to someone else. But there was no one else who knew Salem as she did. Not at their magazine, anyway. Even if there had been, Emily was far too ambitious to permit her insecurities to let her fail now. This is the break you’ve been waiting for, she told herself firmly, her chocolate eyes trained on the passing landscape. Don’t screw it up.

  Like a chamber echo, she heard her father’s voice mocking her inside her head.

  “You’ll definitely screw it up,” Charlie snickered in her mind’s ear. “That’s all you know how to do.” She could almost smell the cheap tequila on his breath.

  Emily gritted her teeth and steered her mind away from Charlie and Salem. She wasn’t there to rehash old memories; she was there for a story. She would get her exclusive and get out without anyone knowing she’d come. Not that anyone was looking for her, not anymore. She was a ghost to Salem, and one day, she’d be
a ghost to New York.

  Emily forced herself to focus on the real matter: the story.

  And what a story, she thought, excitement overriding her upset. Senator Jasper’s mistress has gone into hiding in Salem, of all places! What are the odds she would come to Oregon over all the other states? Hell, they could have sent her overseas… unless she’s hiding from the Senator, too.

  Emily had developed a kinship with the elusive woman with whom she had only ever spoken to once over the phone. They were both running from their pasts, and they had both ended up in Salem. It was obvious that it would be personal for Emily.

  Before hopping the plane from LaGuardia, she had led herself to believe that she was a professional, one who could return home impassively and detach from all that had happened in her past. Landing in Portland International, however, a whole different feeling had overcome her, and it didn’t take her more than two seconds to realize it was anxiety.

  You are a fully-grown, rational adult, Emily reminded herself. You don’t believe in ghosts and the boogeyman. There’s nothing in Salem that can hurt you anymore. Your stupid beliefs about the supernatural were just silly fantasies. At least, that was what she kept telling herself.

  “We’re almost there. Do you want to call your interviewee and tell her that we’ll be there in five?” Dustin, the driver, asked. He was a roadie who traveled as a jack-of-all-trades whenever there was a long-distance story. Emily was grateful he was the one driving. Just being back home was exhausting.

  “Sure,” she agreed, grateful for the distraction as she reached for her cell.

  “Emmy, are you sure you’re all right?” Sammy whispered at her before she could find Patricia Hutton’s number. “You’re white as a ghost.” Emily’s head jerked up, and she eyed him warily.

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” she said with more sharpness than she intended. Before Sammy could say another word, she dialed out and waited as the phone rang.

  Their van slowed as they entered a residential complex, aligned with majestic pines on either side. The houses were small but expensive, and Emily found herself wondering how Patricia Hutton had managed to afford such a place. She intended to find out.

  The phone continued to ring in her ear, and Emily sighed, disconnecting the call.

  “No answer,” she told the men. “She knows we’re coming. I’ll call again in a minute. Maybe she’s in the bathroom.”

  Sammy nodded and turned back to face the front of the vehicle as they slowed before a charming bungalow encased in perfectly coiffed hedges along the lawn.

  “Cute,” Emily said when Dustin parked.

  “Very,” Sammy agreed, reaching for the door handle and hopping out. “I wouldn’t expect Monica Lewinsky in a place like this.”

  “Nice one, Sammy. Were you holding onto that to use for a while?”

  “A couple days,” he admitted, and Emily scoffed. In seconds, he pulled the van door open, and Emily joined him on the sidewalk as they started to unload the gear.

  “Hang on a minute,” she told them. “Let’s make sure she’s home before we do all that.”

  The photographer cast her a skeptical look. “You’ve been emailing her for two weeks. Obviously, she’s here.”

  Emily snorted and smirked at Sammy. “Are you new or something? How many times have sources changed their mind when promising to go on the record? If she’s on the fence, stalking up to her door with an armful of camera equipment isn’t going to help right now. Let me go first.”

  “Emmy, you know Greg said you couldn’t go at this alone,” Sammy protested. “For all we know, the senator is looking for her, and she could be in danger.”

  “And?”

  “And if she’s in danger, all of us could be, too, just for being here.”

  Emily’s grin widened, and she cocked her head to the side. “You’ve been watching way too much 24. Do you think that there’s a hit out on her?”

  Sammy’s eyebrows shot up. “I keep forgetting that you are new with your bossy-ass attitude. I know you don’t have the experience I do in this field, but you never know what people of power are capable of until they’re threatened. I don’t need to tell you that desperate people do desperate things.”

  Emily tensed at the reminder. No, she thought tersely. I am well aware of what desperate people are capable of.

  “Look at it this way,” she said brightly, brushing past him, her dark hair fanning in her wake. “If Patricia is being watched, we’re already on the radar. It won’t make an iota of difference if I go to the house alone or with you.” She was already up the walkway and at the door before Sammy could utter a response, and she knocked on the door. Leaning in casually, she listened for signs of life inside the house, but there was nothing.

  Oh, come on, Emily thought with impatience. Don’t stand us up, not when my career is on the line. We flew across the flipping country, Patricia! Again, she raised her hand to knock on the door, but the attempt was in vain. Patricia was either avoiding them, or she’d somehow been called away. My money’s on cold feet. Dammit!

  “She bailed,” Sammy sighed. “Great.”

  Emily, though, refused to give up that easily. She wasn’t going to get another chance like this, not ever. Greg wouldn’t even send her to Newark if she dropped the ball on this.

  I did all the legwork. I did my due diligence, she thought. This is happening one way or another.

  “Come on,” she urged, nodding toward the van. “Let’s find a hotel.”

  “A hotel? I have to be in Canada tomorrow morning!” Sammy cried. “I told you that.”

  “Hopefully you will be,” Emily told him crisply. “But today, you’re with me, and I’m not leaving Salem until I speak with Patricia Hutton.” Sammy groaned, and together they rejoined Dustin in the van. “We need a hotel. Nothing crazy—just a place to set up operations.”

  Dustin eyed her through the rear-view mirror. “Shouldn’t you call Greg about this?”

  “Why? Sources disappear all the time,” Emily said defensively. “She’ll be back. No need to call it in.” She looked at him and Sammy meaningfully. “Right?”

  “If we’re charging it to Illumination, we’re going to need to get it cleared,” Dustin protested. “We’re not supposed to stay overnight.”

  “Are you kidding me right now? Is this the first time your plans have changed when you’re doing a story? I doubt it.”

  “Emmy—”

  “Come on, guys,” she begged. “This is my break. You two are already… well, at least you’re making money. I need this! Don’t sell me out.” And I don’t want to have to come back here ever again.

  They grunted and lowered their gazes in unison, with Dustin moving his attention back toward the road as he maneuvered the van away from the curb.

  “We’re on the same page then, right?” Emily said cajolingly. “Right?” Now that I’ve seen the carrot, I’ll trot. I want to be a staff writer!

  Until Patricia Hutton had reached out to her directly, Emily had been a copywriter for Illumination Magazine for three years. She’d graduated summa cum laude at NYU, and she’d had high hopes until entering the competitive world of journalism.

  The reality of running coffee and working on WordPress was a stunning blow to the idealistic Emily, who’d always felt that she would amount to something much bigger than her father had ever predicted for her. For three years, she’d bided her time, hoping for someone to notice her. Instead, she seemed to get sucked deeper and deeper as a shadow into the company while more “up and comers” entered the workplace she’d hoped to dominate one day.

  Emily had all but resigned to the idea that she was going to be a low-paid errand girl for the rest of her life when the first message had come in. The email to her work server had both surprised and concerned her. At first, she was certain that it had been a joke. After all, why would the elusive mistress of a New York senator be reaching out to a lowly copywriter?

  She ignored it, sure she was being played,
but two days later, another email came, and there was a definitively desperate undertone to the words on the page. People say there’s no affliction online, no way to read what is trying to be said on a page or in a text. Emily knew better.

  You can understand everything, as long as you read between the lines, she thought. And with a father like mine, I learned how to read between the lines like a second language.

  Before responding to Patricia Hutton’s pleas to meet, Emily had done her due diligence quietly and carefully. She got the house tech to track the IP address, and he had assured her that the emails were, in fact, coming from Salem, as Patricia had said.

  “I’m reaching out to you, Miss Piper, because I know you have ties to Salem, and in a world where everyone is unfriendly and doesn’t care about anything but money, I want to know I’m being heard. I looked into you, Miss Piper. I know you were born and raised in this place where I’ve ended up. I know you’re overlooked at your magazine, and I also know you are probably a better journalist than anyone in that building. I’m offering you a break, an exclusive to the details of my affair with Senator Jasper, among other things.”

  While Patricia refused to speak on the phone until the day before they left for Oregon, she did supply Emily with dozens of details only she could have known, leading the young aspiring journalist to believe that she was dealing with the real person.

  It was only then that Emily had gone to the editor-in-chief and told him what had happened.

  That was a whole other obstacle to overcome, she thought, watching as the main streets reappeared and Dustin followed his GPS, presumably to the nearest hotel.

  But in the end, Emily had gotten her story and her phone call with Patricia Hutton. The grant for an interview was provided, and now there she was, empty-handed.

  Emily refused to believe that Patricia would go through all the trouble only to back out now. She wasn’t going anywhere until she got her interview. She had earned it. Besides, she could only imagine the pitying look that Greg Newsome would give her if she returned, defeated. She would never live it down.