The Enchanted: Council of Seven Shifter Romance Collection

by Juniper Hart

  “Sandy, my concern is not the validity of her claims. She has nothing. My worry is that my stock is taking a massive plunge.”

  “And that is where I come in,” Paul said smoothly. “I know just what to do to make everything go back to the way it was.”

  “You better,” Toby grumbled. “There is more than enough shit on the fan as it is, and brown is really not my color, Paul.”

  Paul chuckled in his typical cool-guy way, which made Toby want to punch him in the face. The man adjusted his glasses, and the CEO knew he was only pausing for effect, waiting for all the attention to be on him. Toby’s patience was wearing extremely thin.

  “Paul,” he snarled. “You have two seconds to—”

  “We will have a charity fundraiser,” Paul announced quickly, his grin fading as he sensed the malice in his boss’ face. “It was something I was already working on anyway, so the details are being fine-tuned as we speak. It will be a gala, a huge donation made on behalf of Sutton Industries. We’ll get all our famous endorsements, I’ll see if H.W. is around for a photo op…”

  Toby gaped at him in disbelief, his jaw almost on the floor as Paul trailed off, sensing that his employer was not the least bit impressed with the suggestion.

  “A goddamned party?” Toby hissed. “That’s your solution?”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Paul asked, sounding hurt.

  Toby’s temper flared. Is he really asking me this? Has everyone in the world gone completely off the deep end? Grinding his teeth, he decided to answer.

  “We’re hemorrhaging money, and you want to throw away more?”

  “I just thought—”

  “No, Toby, he’s right,” Sandrine interrupted, nodding. Her hazel eyes glimmered slightly. “It will show that we are untroubled by the accusation and continue to thrive, despite the setback. The best way to combat this is to continue as we were, unfazed. And charity—that’s good, Paul. It will focus on all the good that Toby has already done for this city and the good the company does for everyone. Let’s flip the narrative on this. We don’t hide Toby, we bring him out front and center so everyone can remember who he is. That handsome face always photographs so well in the Post.”

  A thousand objections sprung to Toby’s lips, but they died there as he realized that, despite the transparency and clear waste of finances, the public loved events like that. And he desperately needed to regain public opinion in this matter. He was no fool; trials were conducted in the courts of public opinion, after all.

  They want a glimpse into the lives of the rich and famous, a taste of what’s happening in our world. Those idiots have no idea what really goes into being rich. It isn’t all fun and games.

  “All right,” Toby agreed reluctantly, finally acknowledging that Paul was an asset, after all. “We’ll do this, but I have one caveat.”

  They looked at him expectantly.

  “We’ll have it televised.”

  Their expressions were an identical shade of surprised, but neither disagreed with the idea.

  “And we can open the phone lines to donations,” Paul murmured, thinking aloud. “Get the public involved so they feel like they’re included. That’s a great idea, TS! Excellent thinking.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Toby growled, and Paul balked as if he hadn’t been forbidden from using the irritating nickname a thousand times before.

  “Yes, sir.” He and Sandrine rose to see themselves out, and Toby turned his attention back toward the window and the glorious view of Puget Sound.

  He wondered why he had suggested such a ludicrous thing as a televised event. The words had just slipped out of his mouth, without thinking. Was it really because he wanted the outside world looking in on his sprawling estate house? That was unlikely, for no one guarded his privacy as much as Tobias Sutton. He had spent several lifetimes ensuring that his life was kept away from scrutiny.

  Yet as he continued to think about his own actions, he began to realize why he had done it. There was an elusive reason he wanted himself put out there, almost like he wanted someone to see him and seek him out.

  Is she still out there somewhere, or has she moved on? Does she ever think about me?

  Toby was startled by the unexpected thought of her, even though her brilliant green eyes often shot through his mind as he drifted off into sleep or he caught a whiff of her in passing when he moved through the streets of downtown.

  She hadn’t been there when he returned to the dingy, rundown apartment in South Park. Any investigation as to her whereabouts had proven fruitless, but it was not uncommon for one of the Enchanted to go off grid. He had considered going to the Council of Seven and asking Lane Aldwin for help finding Sierra, but he shot down the idea.

  The Council wouldn’t help me if I was on fire, he thought grimly. Not that he could blame Theo Veriday for his feelings. Toby had burned enough bridges for all the lifetimes he’d led. The Council prided themselves on doing things by the Charter. Helping a mob boss wouldn’t exactly be the proper thing to do. At least, not in any moral way they could spin it.

  In time, Toby had learned to accept that he had made a huge mistake, walking out of Sierra’s apartment to help his cousin that night—and not just because of the year-long exile which had ensued. Not only had Marius been sentenced to death as a result, Toby had lost the most incredible connection he had ever known.

  Has she changed? Is she married now?

  The thoughts made his stomach churn, and rather than face them, Toby closed his eyes and blocked out the idea that Sierra had moved on. Behind his closed lids, time seemed to stand still, and he drifted off into a reverie about a night three years earlier, the happiest place he could conjure.

  3

  Sierra pressed her ear against the wall, waiting patiently for silence to ensue. Her legs were cramping from sitting in the same spot for over an hour, but she dared not move, knowing that the slightest movement might lead to her capture, even if by the child on the other side of the door.

  The closet was no bigger than a kindergarten cubby hole, and even at five-foot-four, Sierra found the space stifling, both from heat and lack of space.

  It’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic, she thought wryly. Of course, if I were, I would be terrible at my job. There’s a reason I can do this.

  The problem was less the confined quarters and more the almost overwhelming desire to act. Sierra was so close, she could almost touch it, but she stifled the urge and closed her eyes. Timing was everything, and she wasn’t about to screw with the well-plotted scheme in any way.

  She was slightly annoyed with herself for not having approached this heist differently, but she couldn’t have anticipated that anyone would be home in the middle of a school and workday.

  I’ll chalk this up to a learning experience, she decided.

  After what seemed like an eternity, she heard what she had been listening for all along—the sound of a woman’s voice calling out. Finally, the door to the bedroom opened, and the child exited the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as his mother called out to him.

  That took forever! Sierra thought with exasperation, prying open the closet and stretching her legs before rising to her full height. It’s unbelievable how long kids can entertain themselves on their own. She cast a scathing look at the iPad sitting discarded on the bed and silently cursed technology.

  Her eyes darted around the room, her ears still trained on the activity in the house. On the main floor, she could hear the mother and son chatting about something inane, but the clarity was not there. It didn’t matter—they were nowhere near her, and that was the important thing. As long as they kept talking, Sierra was in the clear.

  Is it just me, or is my hearing not as good as it used to be? She wasn’t there to listen to their conversation, in any case. She was there to reclaim the brooch for Rowan and be on her way before the mother or boy discovered her in their house.

  Sierra stole into the hallway, carefully checking the
short corridor before darting to the next room. Thankfully, there were only two bedrooms, and she wasn’t left to scour chamber after chamber for the item. It was a tiny, modest house, and Sierra felt slightly ashamed stealing from such a family, but she had little choice in the matter.

  What Rowan wanted, Rowan got.

  And Rowan pays for, Sierra reminded herself, making her way into the mother’s bedroom. The area was sparsely decorated, nothing more than a bed, a dresser, and a closet even smaller than the one in which Sierra had sat for the better part of an hour. The mother took the smaller room for herself, she realized, more shame flooding her. She quickly dismissed it. If she let her conscience get the best of her, she’d never get any work done at all.

  Her green eyes almost instantly fell onto the jewelry box on top of the dresser, just beneath the drafty window. A quick assessment told Sierra that the window led directly to the backyard, adjacent to the alleyway. She regained her confidence. The window would make for a quick escape.

  The job was child’s play, the bronze and garnet brooch stuffed in the pile of other costume pieces. It took milliseconds for Sierra to scoop it from the pile of cheap jewels, and she stuck the item in her pocket as she turned toward the window.

  “I’ll be right back, Caelen. I’m just getting—”

  Sierra was just as startled as the woman when she entered her own bedroom, their eyes identically wide with shock.

  “Wh-who are you?” the single mother choked, her face ghastly pale. “Did Dave send you?” Before Sierra could decide what to do, the woman’s eyes flashed with indignation, and anger replaced her fear. “You tell that asshole that he’s not seeing his son until he pays me my goddamned child support!”

  Sierra shook her head, her mind whirling as she decided how to handle the situation.

  “I’m not here because of Dave,” she mumbled, her gaze darting longingly toward the window. So close. She had been so close to escaping without incident.

  The best laid plans, she thought wryly, refocusing her attention on the blonde before her.

  “What do you want?” the pale-faced woman demanded. “I don’t have any money. I’m a single mom, and my son… Oh, my God, don’t hurt my son!”

  A flash combination of sympathy and annoyance coursed through Sierra. Lady, I’m not even armed. Get a grip, she thought, almost rolling her eyes. And you could probably take me in a fight if you grew a pair. More guilt washed over her, thinking about how she might react if the roles were reversed.

  “No one is getting hurt,” she said quickly. “I got what I wanted, and I’m leaving.” She spun toward the window, raising the pane, but as she slung her leg over the sill, a shot rang out, hitting the drywall.

  Stunned, Sierra whipped her head around to gape at the mother. She had not been expecting that in the least.

  I read this all wrong, didn’t I? she realized, panic rising in her gut. Her brain screamed at her to run, but shock prevented her from moving when she saw the gun.

  “You just shot at me? Are you crazy?” she breathed.

  The surprise on the woman’s face said that she had reacted without thinking, but fear had overridden her good judgment, accelerated by the sound of small footsteps hurrying down the hall.

  “Mom! Mom, are you okay?”

  Again, the woman raised the gun and fired. Sierra was prepared this time, the disbelief having worn off slightly. She managed to throw herself from the second-floor window to the ground, rolling toward the house and out of the mother’s view. She heard the boy’s petrified screams above her head, and she waited under the overhang, knowing that the mother would need to put the gun down and comfort him at some moment. Hopefully before the police arrived.

  I’ve spent more time waiting on this job than doing anything else, but at least the little bit I did do was action-packed. I’m charging Rowan double for this—danger pay.

  Eventually, the boy’s cries subsided as the wail of sirens filled her ears. Sierra knew she still had time to get away, though, stealing around the side of the ugly, rundown house and making her way into the alley as stealthily as possible.

  In minutes, she was back on her home turf, standing before a weather-beaten psychic shop. She forsook the storefront and went up the side stairs to the second-floor apartment.

  “Well, that was something,” Rowan announced, chuckling when Sierra entered. She raised her head and leered at the witch from where she sat over her crystal ball. “Didn’t see that coming.”

  Sierra scowled, realizing that Rowan had watched the entire affair, her mouth pulled in tightly at the sides.

  “You could have at least warned me that she had a gun,” she grumbled. “I would have gone about this much differently. You know, like armed. Or not at all.”

  “I’ll give you that danger pay you wanted,” Rowan snickered, and Sierra was embarrassed that her aggravation had shone through at such a distance.

  Rowan extended her palm toward her, gesturing for the brooch with long fingers. She was the last of the Collingwood priestesses, a coven that was reportedly extinct save for a handful who had made it out by the skin of their teeth. She reeked of illicitness and immorality.

  “Can you imagine one of us pawning this thing for a fix?” Rowan growled, anger replacing her jeering expression. “What have the mortals done to this place? Even the Enchanted are selling themselves for crack and heroin these days. Unbelievable.”

  Sierra didn’t respond, well accustomed to her boss’ endless diatribes about how the world had gone to hell since the beginning of the Enchanted. It was Rowan’s favorite subject, and Sierra knew better than to interject when the priestess was just getting started.

  “It pains me that I have to pay to get it back when it should never have been sold in the first place. And what do you want to bet that the woman bought it for ten bucks at the hock shop? Shameful.” Rowan wasn’t wrong; it was terrible that something like that had fallen into the wrong hands.

  Sierra nodded in agreement, knowing that the brooch contained a powerful element, even though she couldn’t say what it was exactly. Spellcasting and rituals were not her forte. Her talents were earthlier—and illegal by anyone’s standards.

  “Is this from the Lanuarius Collection?” she asked Rowan, peering curiously at the brooch. It was the first time she had been able to look at it properly since grabbing it.

  “You should not ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” Rowan snapped, wrenching her hand back as if to hide their latest find. Sierra resisted the urge to respond. After all, she would not have asked if she didn’t want the answer, but Rowan seemed to fancy herself a comedienne. She was Sierra’s best client, having brought her into the world of theft and robbery over a decade earlier, and Sierra didn’t wish to antagonize her. She wasn’t retiring anytime soon. She needed all the clients she could get.

  Rowan was not known for her patience, but she was a renowned and well-respected priestess in Enchanted circles. Sierra had always been grateful for her patronage and her teachings. It had only been recently, however, that the jobs had included high-end stakes, objects which could not be replaced as opposed to retrieving stolen watches.

  I’m finally in the big game, Sierra thought with some happiness. That meant that Rowan was trusting her with much bigger projects. Yet Sierra also knew that with bigger risk came greater danger. Like being shot at.

  That afternoon had certainly been a first for her. She hadn’t been expecting a single, struggling mother to be armed.

  Let this be a lesson to never, ever let your guard down, she chided herself.

  Rowan reached into her sweeping gown of coral, one which belonged in the dark ages and not in the new millennium among computers and iPhones. Sometimes Sierra wondered if Rowan forgot that she wasn’t immortal. She liked to believe that she was their ancestor. Not that it was any of Sierra’s business how Rowan acted or dressed.

  When Rowan’s hand reappeared, she presented an envelope to Sierra, but before she could accept it, R
owan pulled back, her crystalline eyes locked on Sierra’s face.

  “You are troubled,” she murmured. “I can see it in your face.”

  Sierra snickered, though there was little mirth in her tone.

  “I think that is my mantra,” she chirped. “Troubled Sierra. What else is new?”

  “No…” Rowan said slowly, her eyes raking over Sierra like she could read into her very soul. “This is different. This is…” She paused, snatching Sierra’s hand, and Sierra smothered a groan. Oh, how she despised Rowan’s impromptu readings. It was as if she purposely overlooked the fact that Sierra also possessed the ability to foresee.

  She was a Collingwood, too, after all, in name as well as in ability—even if Sierra didn’t use it as freely and shamelessly as Rowan.

  This is exactly like going to therapy. I don’t need to waste my time having someone else telling me what’s wrong with me. I’m fully aware of all my shortcomings, thank you very much.

  “It is not about a man this time,” Rowan started, and Sierra could not suppress the sigh or the heat of humiliation staining her cheeks.

  This time, she thought sullenly. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

  “It was never about a man,” Sierra couldn’t resist saying. Rowan shushed her, fingertips tracing the lines of her outstretched hand as she continued her reading. Her already wrinkled brow furrowed more, and her head jerked up to meet Sierra’s gaze.

  “How long has it been?” she whispered. Sierra’s annoyance was replaced by a pang of concern.

  What is she sensing? A myriad of thoughts shuffled through her mind, and she realized how much she had to worry about. Had there ever been a time when she wasn’t trying to hide something?

  “I don’t know what you mean, Rowan, and honestly, I’m a little late as it is—”

  “The sickness. How long has it been?”

  The words sent a terrible chill of foreboding through Sierra’s body.