Black Of Wing: A Quentin Black Paranormal Mystery Romance (Quentin Black Mystery Book 14)

by JC Andrijeski

  What if something happened?

  And it wasn’t just him, not anymore.

  Imagining a cadre of our seers pushing a crowd of people in front of a major movie studio right now, given the amount of scrutiny on us, given how high tensions were in the human community already, especially in relation to this exact topic––

  “Relax, doc.” Black held up a hand, giving me his most sincere voice. “Really. I’ve got this. And everyone knows to be careful. Everyone. I gave them a long lecture and everything.”

  “I have no idea what that means, Quentin.”

  My voice came out short.

  I was tempted to say more, but bit my lip.

  I got the gist what he was saying.

  He likely told all the seers to use restraint, and to make sure there were no witnesses if they did have to push someone for some reason. I also knew our people wouldn’t have done it the way Charles and his seers did even without being told. They wouldn’t screw with humans at all, not like that, and certainly not the way Charles had––with his attempts to brainwash humans into extreme ideologies and volatile emotions so he could manipulate them into playing the part of pawns and foot soldiers.

  I knew our people would never mess with humans in terms of how they saw the world.

  They would only do the bare minimum to keep an unruly crowd from attacking one of us, or going full-blown violent.

  It made me damned nervous, anyway.

  Given how hard we’d been trying to convince them that we were the “good guys,” not the evil puppet-masters and conquering aliens they feared, I didn’t want any videos to pop up on social media of seers screwing around with human beings, warranted or not.

  For the same reason, Black’s understatements and omissions around whatever the hell it was he was doing made my teeth grind.

  Black must have heard some of that.

  Knowing him, he heard all of it.

  His grin slid wider.

  “Miriam. Light of my Life. My darling pookie-wookie snookie-cookie baby-cakes––”

  “Where’s Cowboy?” I cut in.

  As I waited, thinking, watching him grin at me, something else occurred to me, and I frowned.

  “Why are you outside, Black? You’re not doing the full interview outside, are you?”

  “Well. We are, actually––”

  “Why?”

  My voice was openly wary now.

  He must have heard that, too.

  He shrugged, his gold, tiger-like eyes sliding back to that inscrutable emptiness, back to flashing nearly blank in the afternoon sun.

  But my mind was already working to fill in those blanks.

  “Well,” he said, shrugging. “I got here, and Grant and I talked, and that’s what made the most sense. So they moved a few things around…”

  He trailed, gesturing gracefully in seer with one hand.

  My jaw hardened more.

  Black promised them a live show.

  Black agreed to do the show outside… in the Los Angeles sun… instead of inside the air-conditioned studio.

  A show that normally aired at night.

  That was after Black found a crowd waiting for them at the studio gates.

  The show’s star wanted that… a man normally based in New York City.

  I could only think of one real reason for any of that.

  “Absolutely not,” I snapped, once full understanding sank in. “Have you lost your mind? Seriously, Black… what the fuck?”

  He shrugged. His shark-like smile only grew wider.

  “Come on, doc. Live a little.”

  “Live a little? Really?” I fought somewhere between wanting to smack him, long distance, and wanting to laugh. “You one hundred percent cannot turn into a damned dragon on national television. All right? Is that clear enough?”

  “International,” he corrected, winking at me through the screen. “And why not? I already told everyone what I am. The whole damned world watched hours of news footage during that shit-show at the border. Might as well put my cards all out on the table… so to speak.”

  “No.”

  “Come on, doc. It’ll demystify me. Maybe me harmless. Like a big, scaly kitten.”

  “No!”

  “Just one little wing?”

  “NO!”

  “It’s called deterrence, my super-hot, bossy, extra-dangerous wife.”

  “It’s called ‘attention whore’,” I shot back, again inexplicably fighting not to laugh. “And I think you’ve had quite enough of that recently. I also think you’ve got quite enough targets painted on your chest already, husband.”

  He grinned. “Husband. I just got a little hard from that––”

  “Coreq won’t do it anyway,” I cut in, before he could wander too far down that tangent. “He’ll never go for it, and you know it.”

  Coreq was Black’s dragon’s alter-ego.

  Coreq called the shots when it came to Black’s dragon transformations, not Black himself. As to what “Coreq” himself was, we still hadn’t quite figured that out yet, although the seer infiltration team was working on it.

  Regardless of the exact breakdown of physiological traits, psychological components, non-physical seer light, or whatever composition of “Coreq” vs. “Black” might exist, the logistics of the thing worked the same.

  Black only turned into a dragon when Coreq decided Black should turn into a dragon. Black only came back from being a dragon when Coreq let him… which, up until now, for whatever reason, only happened when I was there.

  When I came to Black, in person, and asked Black to return to his regular, seer form, then Coreq morphed my husband back into his human-like shape.

  So far, at least.

  Let’s just say, Coreq’s mind wasn’t exactly the most predictable… or stable… part of Black’s consciousness as a whole.

  Which, come to think of it, was saying a lot.

  “He won’t do it,” I repeated, a little triumphantly that time. “Not to show off to a bunch of humans. You know he’s weirdly racist. And sociopathic. And lacking in any discernible sense of humor––”

  “He absolutely will do it,” Black said, his voice supremely confident. “We’ve already had that discussion, sweetheart. Coreq agrees it might be helpful to remind ‘the humans’…”

  Black unfolded his arms to create air quotes with his fingers.

  “…that he’s around. Coreq thinks the occasional ‘demonstration’ of his ‘true form’ might be the ‘most efficient’ means of ensuring that humankind remains ‘properly respectful’ towards one of our kind…”

  Black’s grin widened more after each of the air quotes.

  He knew I hated air quotes.

  “He also thought it might help you with your negotiations, doc. Nothing like a little shock and awe to remind them why it’s not a good idea to piss us off…”

  I exhaled at that, shaking my head.

  “No,” I said.

  “You don’t approve?” he said innocently.

  “I ONE HUNDRED PERCENT do not approve,” I said, throwing up my hands. “Which I just said. Like a dozen times. I DO NOT APPROVE, Black. At all––”

  “What’re you wearing there, doc?” he cut in.

  He motioned with a hand, seer-fashion, indicating my clothes.

  A pulse of heat left his seer’s light as he continued to stare.

  “Are those new?” he said. “If not, why the hell haven’t you worn them around me?”

  I looked down at the designer pant suit I wore, sans jacket, the pants in particular, where his eyes clearly rested.

  When I looked up at him, that heat in his eyes grew more prominent.

  “Are you kidding me right now?” I said.

  “How’s about doing me a little spin?” he coaxed, giving me a wider shark grin. “Letting me see how well those form-fitting little beauties hug your ass? Just for… you know… fashion’s sake. We just established we’re both deprived…”

  “No!
” I snapped, fighting not to laugh. “Absolutely not!”

  When he grinned wider, lifting his eyebrows suggestively, I rolled my eyes.

  “What the hell is up with him…?” a voice muttered behind me. “Is he on drugs?”

  I turned, giving the seer who said it, who happened to be Jax, a hard stare, even as Mika was throwing up her hands, letting Holo know in no uncertain terms that she saw the same thing Holo did.

  Kiko sat at the same side of the table, arms folded, smirking.

  When I returned my eyes to the monitor, and Black, he quirked an eyebrow.

  “Really?” he said. “You’re letting the kids hang out in the room while we have grown-up talk? That’s not very nice, wifey-poo.”

  I snorted. “At least one of those ‘kids’ is probably a hundred years older than me, Quentin. Two of them, more likely.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Not really, no.”

  The tone went off overhead, signaling the end of our break.

  I looked up in rote, frowning, knowing I was out of time.

  “That the five-minute bell, doc?” Black said.

  I didn’t bother to answer.

  We both knew it was.

  Sighing, I walked over to where I’d left my suit jacket slung over a leather office chair. I retrieved the tablet on the table as well, and stuck it temporarily under my arm. Looking back at Black, I felt a kind of frustration wash over me, not sure what I could say to him that would make any difference at this point.

  He was going to do what he was going to do, just like always.

  It hit me then… I was worried about him.

  Not just a little, either.

  A lot.

  Strangely, he looked vulnerable to me, sitting in a make-up chair on the grounds of a major movie studio, waiting to go on national television.

  “International television,” he said, breaking into my thoughts.

  I looked up, ready to scowl at him, but when I saw his expression, the more nuanced smile he now wore on his face, my annoyance and frustration faded.

  “For the love of the gods, be careful,” I said, losing the edge in my voice. “Please, Black. Don’t do anything crazy. Not while I’m here and you’re there.”

  He shrugged, that more subtle smile still toying at his lips, visible in his flecked gold irises.

  “One advantage of having a wife who teleports,” he told me, letting that smile grow a few millimeters wider. “If I get too far in the shit, I know you’ll come for me.”

  I did scowl a bit at that.

  If he saw it, he ignored it, eyeing me instead in the fitted red suit pants.

  “Gaos,” he said, sending another pulse of heat. “I can’t believe that’s what you’re wearing with those stiffs. Not to mention the top,” he added, indicating the cream-colored blouse I wore. “Tell Kiks and Jax to grab every single article of your clothing and bring it back with them on the plane, if you do have to jump… that, or write down the brand and measurements, so I can have a new pair waiting for you when you get back here.”

  I felt a harder whisper of his pain and took another step back.

  “Focus. Okay?” Exhaling, I folded my arms. “We still have two weeks for the wedding. And I have to go. Don’t do the dragon thing, okay? Please don’t.”

  “I told you,” he said, waving me off. “Coreq’s cool with it. He said he’d change me back. You won’t have to jump back to save me, doc. Not this time. Promise.”

  “Coreq agreeing with you on this particular subject doesn’t exactly reassure me,” I muttered, setting down the tablet long enough to shoulder on the matching, dark red suit jacket. “…Not at all, in fact.”

  “My point is, I know you have the real job right now, sweetheart.” His eyes and voice grew almost serious, or the closest they’d been since we’d started this conversation. “I’m the distraction, love. I’m the diversion. I can dance a bit, take some of the pressure off. I’m good at this part, and you know it.”

  I nodded, but my time was really up now.

  Biting my lip, keeping my expression still with an effort, I just nodded once.

  Then I clicked the connection off.

  It was game time.

  For both of us, as it turned out.

  4

  Movie Studio

  “Really?” Grant Steele, the number one late night talk show host in the United States, barely could contain his glee. “She approves? That’s fantastic, Quentin! Just fantastic! I thought you said she wouldn’t be in favor of any demonstration of this kind?”

  Black grunted, barely looking over from where a make-up artist bent over him, touching up his face now that they were seated in the studio set chairs under the sun.

  “She absolutely one hundred percent is not in favor of it,” the gold-eyed seer said, giving the late-night talk show host another sideways look with his strange, tiger-like eyes. “She told me I was out of my damned mind.”

  Angel grunted, exchanging looks with Cowboy, who stood at the other side of the set area, wearing an earpiece.

  Cowboy quirked an eyebrow in return, a faint humor ghosting his lips.

  Angel didn’t bother to voice through the earpiece what she thought about Black’s words.

  At the same time, a slightly more evil part of her wished she’d been a fly on the wall for that conversation.

  Miri probably ripped Black a new one.

  Then again, Miri was in London. There wasn’t a lot she could do from there to control her crazy-ass husband’s more reckless impulses.

  Cowboy, almost like he heard her, grunted a laugh.

  Angel touched her headset that time, switching to sub-vocals so the camera and production people around her wouldn’t hear.

  “You think Miri’s going to have to jump back here?” Angel murmured.

  There was a brief silence, then Cowboy grunted.

  “If you’re lookin’ for a wager, I’m not sure I’d take those odds, darlin’,” he returned easily. “Not even if we were the gambling sorts… which neither of us is.”

  Pausing, he added, “Not like it means much, but Captain Black assures me he can turn back on his own this time.”

  Angel snorted. “Of course he does.”

  Cowboy chuckled, shaking his head as he continued to scope out the area, his gray eyes taking in every detail and every face.

  “Did they finally manage to take care of that protest out front?” Angel said next still using the sub-vocals. “I heard from Frank that some of them came back. Dog said the same. Waving their we’re all the devil signs…”

  “Holo’s got it. Luce’s out there with him now.”

  “What?” Angel frowned. She looked around for the Filipino vet, seeking out the boxer’s short, spiky, bleached-blond hair. “Who do we have on the inside? Did they all go out there? Besides us?”

  “Dex is here,” Cowboy said patiently. “Kiessa. Easton. Devin.”

  “That’s a lot of humans,” Angel muttered.

  “Ayuh.”

  “That means not a lot of seers,” Angel emphasized more sourly.

  “Well. Yeah.” Cowboy exhaled, hands on his hips on the other side of the camera crew. “Luce is a human, an’ that’s what started this whole discussion, darlin’.”

  At Angel’s flat look, Cowboy added,

  “The bosses seem to think we best keep a low-profile with the seers for now. Most of ‘em, at least. Especially those as tend to look and act more seer-ish. That’s why Black told a lot of ‘em to stay home. ‘Least the ones who weren’t already in D.C., scouring for more of Charles’ people. Or backing up the doc in London.”

  Pausing, Cowboy added, his voice more reassuring.

  “Yarli’s team’s keepin’ an eye out. We’re good, babe.”

  Angel grunted, refolding her arms.

  She refocused back on the two chairs that had been put out, with the perfectly manicured lawns behind them. The section they were in formed part of the studio’s backlot. Grant Steel
e’s team set up the interview at the edge of a fake town square complete with white-painted bandstand under a large elm, scattered park benches, fire hydrants, rose bushes, tulips, red, white and blue bunting, a clock on the Town Hall.

  Black was still talking to Steele.

  “My wife is definitely the wiser of the two of us,” the billionaire-dragon-seer was saying now, as the make-up person continued to fuss with his hair. “I’d love to say it’s made me smarter, being with her, but I doubt she’d agree…”

  Grant Steele laughed, shaking his head.

  The blond, handsome, thirty-something host, who’d previously been based out of New York but recently changed networks and now worked out of his home town of Los Angeles, looked positively delighted at this news.

  Steele had to be positively tickled to have gotten the first exclusive interview with Black since he’d “come out.” Steele managed to scoop all of his friends in the media on the Quentin Black Story, Straight from the Dragon’s Mouth… (Angel just knew that was coming) …even though more prestigious venues had called, as well.

  Black told her that he’d do the “serious” interviews with Miri.

  Grant Steele, on the other hand, was all his.

  Clearly, Steele thought the fact that Miri might skin Black alive for this stunt––not to mention that Black and Miri possibly fought about “the dragon thing” at all––only added to the drama and conflict of the interview.

  Angel found it deeply weird, honestly, that Steele didn’t seem at all unnerved by Black, now that he knew what he was.

  In fact, Grant Steele’s whole demeanor towards Black struck Angel as exactly the same as she remembered from New York, back during that original interview Black gave him.

  Back then, Black was Wall Street’s wonder boy and Steele hosted a fast-rising, hip new show in the late-night slot.

  Back then, Black was still pretending to be the notorious womanizer he had been before he met Miri.

  He’d also been singularly focused on finding and killing the vampire king, Brick.

  …Brick, who now more or less had become Black’s ally, if only in the thinnest, least-trusting, most expedient and sheer-act-of-desperation sense.

  “So how is married life treating you?” Steele reached over to clap Black on the shoulder, a wide grin on his face. “Wait,” he said, eyes widening suddenly. “She’s like you, isn’t she? She’s one of those ‘seer’-things you came out about?”