Cursed Lines (A Peg Darrow Novel Book 2)

by Camille Douglass

  The car finally came to a stop, and I waited until Deval came around. I knew the drill from the last time. My door opened, and the crisp December air startled me a little. I guessed that we were at one of the mountain ranges that surrounded Phoenix, and the air was cooler up here. Sharp pebbles dug into the foam of my sandals. Yep, that little rebellion had been a stupid choice. I held out my hand and quickly felt Deval’s cool grasp encompassing it.

  “What do you want me to do with this?” I held out the empty cup wiggling it in what I hoped was his face to show it empty. He’d probably figured that out when I’d made a few unladylike slurps at the end of the liquid heaven.

  “Put it in a trash can.”

  Cup still in hand I motioned to my currently covered face. “If I can’t see a trash can, I can’t use it, can I? Say that five times fast.”

  He ignored my tongue twister challenge. “Can’t you scan for one?”

  “Seriously, Deval? Do you really think trash cans have magical auras?”

  He grumbled something but took the empty cup. I felt ridiculously pleased at the exchange, as I’d come out ahead. Sugar and caffeine had a way of making small victories feel more epic than they actually were.

  We did the “lead me through the rocks and gravel stumble dance” that Griselda introduced me to last time, and, well, I stumbled. Just like at his mother’s, Deval eventually stopped me and began a chant. The magic rose quickly, and this time it reached out to me to whisper in my ear. I didn’t speak goblin, so I didn’t know what it said, but it felt welcoming like wading into a warm lake. Gravel paths once again turned to smooth stone, and the headgear was removed.

  The cavern was smaller than his mother’s but still enjoyed the high ceilings studded with dramatic stalactites. Among them hung an ornate copper chandelier with ever-burning candles casting light to bring out the different patterns in the stone that surrounded us. Carpets and sofas in designs interspersed with cobalt blue and deep brown made the room feel luxurious and cozy at the same time; all of the furniture was in pristine condition. That was odd, because the room held the slight damp and metallic taste that were characteristic of caves and mines. Magic was at work for sure.

  “How do you like it?” he asked.

  I looked up at him, surprised that he cared what I thought. “I suppose it’s kinda nice.”

  “Kinda nice?”

  “I mean my jeans would mold as soon as I got them out of the dryer. Is there even a laundry room?” I looked around, noting two hallways oddly arranged in the corners farthest from me.

  “Of course there’s a laundry room, and nothing molds in here…you’re joking.” He finally caught on to my impish grin.

  “As if you didn’t know that your home was stunning. You don’t need your ego to get any larger. So where was George?”

  “My mother told me you named it that.” He said softly.

  “And here I thought Delmy and I shared a secret.”

  “You’ve mentioned George twice now. Why would you if you considered it a secret?”

  Good question. Delmy had after all told me to keep my goblin plane’s name to myself. “Well, since you bought him, I thought you’d want to know his name even if he likes me better than you.”

  “He does; god knows why.” He shook his head.

  “You liked me well enough at one point.”

  His eyebrows pinched as he looked at me quizzically. “Are we having this discussion?”

  I shook my head no. “Nope, there is work to be done.” I broke eye contact, looking around the room.

  “And you don’t want to deal with it.” His fingers touched my chin to bring my gaze back to his, but it was a statement and not a question. He searched my face briefly and then released me.

  I held back the shivers until he looked away and let one tremor shake my body. Maybe I did want to deal with it but not today.

  “George was placed right here.” Deval went and stood between two massive dark wood shelves.

  My gaze drifted briefly over eclectic collection of titles before turning to the place of honor neatly made between them. “You planning on commissioning another one?” I asked, curious.

  “No.”

  “Why not?” I had probably hit on some sort of goblin faux pas. Was asking about the number of planes one owned the goblin equivalent of asking how much money they made?

  Deval folded his arms. “This is not something we talk about lightly.”

  Nailed it in one.

  “But since you are new to our culture I will humor you.”

  “Please do.” I inclined my head.

  “Our realms or planes are sentient, which you must know because you have given yours a name. Mine, too, has a name, and realms can be finicky about having another in their domain.”

  “Interesting. I thought that more realms equaled more power. I assumed that powerful goblins held more than one.”

  “Some do, but some, like mine, may force another out and expand to accommodate their owner’s wishes.”

  “Do you actually own them then, or could they turn on you?”

  “Like George left me for you?”

  “Well, I didn’t want to mention it, but let’s be honest, I have a sunnier disposition.”

  He chuckled. “No doubt, but it is a symbiotic relationship. Our presence breathes life into our realms, and they return it. ‘Own’ is simply a convenient word. In truth it is more of a marriage of magic.”

  “My mother will be so thrilled.”

  “Why?”

  “She always wanted me to get married.” I couldn’t keep the grin off my face at my own stupid joke.

  Deval groaned. “That is akin to saying that you love Cheddar, so why don’t you marry him.”

  “What can I say? I’m unusually giddy and feeling silly after that coffee.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think Dutch Bros put something in your drink.”

  I folded my arms and looked at Deval. “You preferred the angry version?”

  “I told you, Peg, I like all versions of you, oddly enough. No one is more surprised by this development than I.”

  I locked eyes with him. “Liking you is also disconcerting.”

  He took a step closer. “You admit to liking me?” I turned, giving him my back and began to study the walls surrounding the area the theft had taken place. Deval didn’t take the hint and stepped right behind me, his breath tickling my ear. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then.”

  Shrugging dismissively wasn’t as effective when said shoulders ran into a hard chest. A shiver went through me, but before he could call me on it, I turned, shooing at him with my hands. “Back up, buddy, I have magic to do.”

  Deval backed away from me, sighing.

  “Do you want to leave the room while I search?”

  “I would not leave you unattended.” He took a seat in a chair positioned in the corner of the room, leaned back, and folded his arms and ankles, watching me.”

  Talk about killing the mood. “Where’s the trust?”

  “Not here yet.”

  I managed to keep from wincing but that stung a little. After all I’d let him into my plane. Technically it had been his but still according to all knowledgeable sources that was a rather intimate thing to do, and he wasn’t even willing to leave me alone in his living room for thirty minutes. I shook my head to dislodge the angry feelings that were beginning to surface. Once I centered myself, I reached out with my magic.

  I started at the corner near the entrance. My magic reached out in tendrils to slowly touch every wall, knickknack, tchotchke, rug, book, speck of dust, anything physically in the room. Slow and steady, I searched for that reactive spark of magic greeting magic. I’d been prepared to go over the room with a fine-tooth comb, so to speak, so feeling that zing five minutes later came as a surprise.

  “There.” I pointed up to a tapestry that hung from one of the walls. It appeared to be from the Middle Ages and likely was. The colorful cloth showed a king
looking over his feast. The magic emanated from the figure’s crown. If they were trying to send a message, they were anything but subtle.

  Deval rose and walked toward the tapestry. “What am I looking for exactly?”

  “The crown.” I walked forward to stand by him. “Is there anything different at all? A speck of dust, a drop of blood, anything?”

  “Well, there’s a small gold bead attached. Considering this is not a beaded rug, I’d say that’s different.” His voice was dry, betraying no emotions.

  Yeah, having your home invaded sucked. I stepped forward to take a closer look. The bead was tiny and blended in well with the gold of the fabric. I turned to look at Deval. “Is the bead real gold?”

  “You should be able to tell that,” he referenced my new and exciting goblin heritage.

  “Not so much. My only goblin skill seems to be that I can walk into George.” Well, and be healed by George and given a super boost of energy, but Deval didn’t need to know everything. Man wouldn’t even leave me alone in his damn living room.

  His look suggested that he wasn’t buying my lack of powers line, but he continued. “It is. I’m surprised they would use gold for their spell. Since I can detect it much like a shark can blood.”

  I pointed at his watch; it was heavy, gold, and some expensive brand that was so exclusive that I had no idea what it was. “Can being in the presence of other gold dull that sense?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why would you think twice about a speck of gold in your room?”

  His jaw clenched while he thought this over. After a minute of waiting for him to speak, I turned back to the crown and let a tiny tendril of magic sweep over the bead. It wasn’t active, but it wasn’t dormant either. I probed a little deeper. Ah, a scrying focus. It would make Deval’s home easy to monitor when needed, but as it was only a focus, it didn’t need to be fully powered, which meant it could avoid detection for long periods of time.

  “You’re right. I never would have noticed it.”

  Caught up in analyzing the scrying focus, I jumped when Deval spoke.

  “I should keep better track of every speck of gold I own, and where it resides. I blame old age and complacency. I never would have noticed this thing if you hadn’t scanned.”

  I didn’t comment because aging was a touchy subject. I considered telling him that I’d had to use Urban Dictionary to look up “ratchet” a few years ago, so I knew his pain, but I doubted he would get the reference, so I kept it to myself. “Do you perform any regular security checks in here?”

  “Annually.”

  “Same time every year?” I prodded.

  “Yes.” He gritted his teeth.

  “When last year?”

  “January.”

  Great, someone could have been spying on Deval for an entire year. Longer if whoever did his check was incompetent.

  “What is it exactly that this bead would do? It’s not as though it’s a hidden camera, and it is too small to hold much magic.”

  I nodded. “It’s a focus for a scrying spell.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I just can.” I shrugged. “Different magics have different tones. I worked quite a bit on scrying spells in the boot camp. They’re a really great surveillance system. Drop a little something intoned with your magic, and you can check in periodically. Good news for you is that it doesn’t work for sound, only visuals.”

  A vein I never noticed before started to throb against his temple. “Visuals can be enough.”

  I looked closer at the bead, which was actually more of a flake. Had they superglued it on? That would just be the cherry on this invasion of privacy sundae. Don’t just spy on a man in his super-secret lair, also defile his fancy antique wall hanging. I decided not to debate the different methods that may have been used to set the anchor.

  “Do you mind if I do another sweep?” Better to be thorough.

  “If you must.” Deval walked purposefully to one of his chairs and sat hands gripping the armrests. Anger roiled off him though he kept his face passive. Yep, really pissed.

  Subtly this time around felt unnecessary, and I let my magic pour from, coating the space, but doing my best to contain it to this room. The gate to his plane was in here, so there was no need to be nosy even if curiosity gnawed at me. Taking a deep breath, I cleared my mind and removed my focus from the watchful man. I searched the room once more. Magic lived in the room, but Deval had a particular signature, and after a few minutes, I could say that there were only two other signatures in the room. One belonged to the scrying focus and the other belonged to the plane.

  About to pull the magic back to me, it suddenly had a will of its own, surging forward to the chest that served as the gate to Deval’s plane.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I mumbled as Deval surged to his feet. I yanked on my magic, bringing it back to myself, but it brought along a friend. Goblin magic surrounded me, singing the same siren song George had used to coax me into visiting him. Last time I’d been unable to stop myself from accepting that invitation and had nearly frozen to death, being unused to the conditions of goblin planes. This time around, I didn’t want to travel into another magical dimension. I wanted Deval, now.

  The euphoria and desire that suddenly pulsed through me had me turning, about to pounce on the object of my desire. Before I’d taken a single step, Deval lifted me and shoved me against a wall. My mind briefly wondered how he’d gotten over to me so quickly but halted completely when he nuzzled my neck, stubble scratching at my skin. He moved his mouth higher and bit my ear.

  I threw my arms around his neck and wrapped my legs around his waist. I couldn’t get close enough, and the friction was so good. His mouth abandoned my ear, and his eyes met mine as he leaned in and bit my lower lip. I sucked in a quick breath before his mouth covered mine. Before I’d been a little too shocked, overcome with magic, to be an active participant, but his tongue slid against my lips, and my desire finally caught up with his.

  His hands gripped my ass, and I managed to pull him even closer as he rocked his body against mine. I began to wonder if I’d ever breathe again and decided that it didn’t matter when Deval suddenly pulled away from me. I nearly fell but managed to brace myself against the wall. The magic that had flooded the room thick and hazy shot back into its respective owners. My magic hit me hard, and my knees buckled a little.

  The desire remained, but it had dampened to manageable levels. I didn’t want to look at Deval, so I bent over, hands on my knees and took a few deep breaths. A few moments later, when I found the courage to look Deval in the eyes, I wasn’t prepared for the equal parts fear and awe I saw there. Why would he fear me?

  “Well, uh, that isn’t part of my usual security check, so please don’t tell your mom.”

  His brows drew together. “I don’t share intimate details of my life with my mother.”

  “Me neither,” I lied. “Uh, so that was odd. Is your plane also your wingman? I’ll have to tell George he’s been slacking.”

  Deval just stared at me. “I think it’s best if I return you to your home.”

  Guess my attempt at humor to alleviate the tension had failed. We stood awkwardly for a few moments. “Okay, I really do need to come back though. With preparation, I may be able to reverse the scry.”

  “We will make those arrangements. Please gather your things.”

  Deval turned formal when he wanted to avoid something. I debated asking him what the hell that had been, but frankly, I felt drained: magically, emotionally, physically, but not so much sexually, and that was a bother.

  7

  Being left in front of my house, hot and bothered, after a very silent drive home from quite possibly the sexiest man I knew while blindfolded, really made me wonder about my life choices. Especially when he peeled away from my curb like a bat out of hell.

  I stared at the black sedan until it turned off my road and shook my head. I noticed a neighbor had come outside to glare at
me from her front porch. A little wave from me had her turning to march back inside. I didn’t advertise myself as a witch for the most part, but I wasn’t closeted, and some people thought I’d brought down the property values even though my aunt, another witch, had owned this house for decades.

  Nothing like a microaggression to kill the mood, oh wait, it was probably being rejected faster than a counterfeit bill at a bank that had done that. Two things would make it better: coffee and George. My new pick-me-up usually worked even better than me trying to cuddle Cheddar into submission only to end up bloody for all of my trouble. Cheddar was a simple cat. Snuggles were rare and on his schedule.

  An hour later, and I had reached peak magic and caffeine levels thanks to my new ritual, but it didn’t take the edge off the turmoil churning in my gut. I wanted to gab with Lola, but when I called, she sent me directly to voicemail. Anger and worry did not make a good combination. When on the outs with one friend, it helped to have a backup. Bruce, a bear shifter of Pima or Akimel O’Odham origin, picked up on the second ring.

  “Good looking, I thought you’d forgotten about me,” he answered a mournful tone in his voice.

  “I’ve only been home a few days.”

  “After being gone six weeks, I’d expect a call within forty-eight hours.”

  “Sorry, things have gone haywire, and you got bumped to the seventy-two-hour group.” I teased.

  “Ouch, I’d be hurt, but if you say things have gone haywire since picking up the fortune gig, I tend to assume you’re fighting off vampires, reversing treacherous curses, and trying to knit your cat a sweater, all in the same weekend.”

  “I tried to knit a cowl one time, and it wasn’t for Cheddar.” I thought back to the beautiful skein of yarn I’d purchased along with the needles. After watching a few tutorials, I’d dived into what turned out to be a bundle of tangles, knots, and missed stitches that ended up in a forgotten drawer where crafts went to die.