Seeking Magic

by Eden Briar

  Seeking Magic

  The Lost Seeker

  Eden Briar

  Copyright © 2019 by Eden Briar

  All Rights Reserved

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Author’s Note

  1

  “Are you sure this is the place?” I stare doubtfully over at the townhouse while Lincoln checks his phone.

  “This is it,” he confirms. “Through that gate and in the green door.”

  He strides confidently across the street. With a quick glance left and right, I follow a few steps behind. I slow down to let a cyclist pass, then step up onto the sidewalk, jerking to a stop when a runner almost collides with me. Where the heck did he come from?

  “Sorry,” he says, catching me by the shoulders before I can face-plant on the pavement. He looks me up and down with a frown, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “Didn’t see you there. Are you okay?”

  His gaze lands on my face, his dark eyes lock onto mine, and there’s a moment of perfect stillness as we stare at each other.

  “Indy,” Lincoln calls impatiently, breaking the spell.

  We both glance his way before I blurt out, “Uh, I’m fine. Thanks.”

  I hurry to catch up, realizing the green door is already open. As I step inside, I look back over my shoulder, but the runner is already out of sight. Still, his piercing gaze leaves me feeling oddly unsettled. Most people look right through me.

  The door leads to a staircase, and we head down. The security guards barely give me a second glance as Lincoln and I walk past them into the basement room. That’s more like it.

  We pause just inside the door, taking stock. For an underground casino, this place looks far less rough-and-ready than the usual venues Lincoln likes to haunt.

  I trail Linc over to the buy-in table, my eyes roving the room while he hands over a roll of cash and gets a neat stack of chips in return. There’s something weird about the guys on the door, but I can’t quite put my finger on what. They’re built like typical bouncers—broad shoulders, endless muscles, and blank faces. Still, I can’t shake the feeling something’s off.

  “Indy?”

  Lincoln is at my elbow, nodding toward the bar on the left side of the room. As we walk, both our gazes are on the tables to the right. There are two poker tables and a game of roulette going on. Plus a fourth table playing blackjack. I know exactly which table Lincoln will be heading for.

  My boss passes his card to the bartender.

  “G and T,” he says, then points to me. “She can have whatever she wants, as long as there’s no alcohol in it.”

  The bartender leans forward, giving me a closer look, but his attention is back on Lincoln a moment later. “If she’s underage…”

  I swallow a laugh. Who runs an illegal underground casino without batting an eyelid, but the second there’s a risk a twenty-year-old might get a sip of alcohol, suddenly everyone’s on the straight and narrow?

  “She’s twenty-one,” Lincoln confirms.

  The bartender looks unconvinced. I know what he’s thinking. That I’m Lincoln’s underage girlfriend that he’s snuck past the bouncers. It’s not the first time that mistake has been made. There’s only a few years between Linc and me. People look at him and assume boyfriend, not boss.

  Rolling my eyes, I pull out my driver’s license and hold it up for the bartender to see.

  “But she’s my PA, and she’s on the clock. I don’t like my employees to drink while they’re on my time.”

  To emphasize the point, Lincoln hands me his work phone.

  “If those contracts don’t come in by midnight, call Homer and tell him to pull his head out of his ass.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  Lincoln takes his drink and makes a beeline for the poker table that hasn’t got a game going yet. There’s a brief back-and-forth, and then he’s sitting down with his back to me. I deliberately turn my back too, clearing my throat to get the attention of the bartender, who’s already forgotten my existence.

  “Whatever soda you’ve got that doesn’t taste like watered-down crap.”

  “They all taste like that,” he mutters, but uncaps a bottle and sets it and an ice-filled glass on the bar next to me. A bowl of peanuts follows, and my stage is set.

  There’s nothing here to draw anyone’s attention. Just one bored girl sitting at a bar, sipping a lame drink, and babysitting her boss’s phone.

  The back of the bar has a mirror, which makes life a little easier as I scope out the others at Lincoln’s table though I take care not to stare too long. Mirrors and I have a complicated relationship.

  There are six sitting there, including Lincoln. I pick the guy sitting opposite him to start. He’s older than Lincoln by a decade or two, wearing an expensive business suit, his tie loosened like it’s been a long day. It takes only a moment of concentration before I’m looking through his eyes. There are a few seconds before my vision adjusts, and then I have a front-row view of his hand of cards. Zilch. He’s got nothing. The woman to Linc’s right is next. Her hand is stronger; she’ll be one to watch out for.

  I go through the other three, relaxing into my little routine. As I sip my drink and idly stir the ice with a straw now and then, I make sure to punctuate the silence with a bored sigh every once in a while. I don’t even have to fake it. Gambling is Linc’s thing, not mine. He likes the challenge, the excitement. Some nights, he wants the ‘advantage’ that he earns through me, but not tonight. Tonight he just wants to play. And me? I like the look of triumph on his face when he clears the pockets of everyone at his table. Linc never calls it cheating when I help him. He says we’re just using a different type of talent.

  The first hint that something’s wrong is when I see through the mirror that I’m being watched. One of the security guys on the floor is definitely checking me out, and not in a good way. I don’t react, because it happens now and then. Whatever quality I have that usually makes people ignore my existence doesn’t work as strongly on everyone. Lincoln being a case in point. Once in a blue moon, I get someone who’ll stare for a bit, as if they’ve figured out something’s not quite right. But their attention never lingers for long.

  It’s only when I see two more men emerge from a side door and head in my direction that a frisson of worry curls its way around my stomach. I slip from my barstool, deciding this is the perfect time for a bathroom break.

  I have to wave to get the bartender’s attention. “The ladies’ room?”

  He gestures to a nondescript door to the right of the bar. As I walk, I switch my purse from my right to my left shoulder: a sign of a problem, should Lincoln be looking in my direction. I make certain not to look in his.

  Through t
he door, I find a third guy waiting. He’s wearing a swanky, checkered tie, which means he’s management, not security. Damn it.

  I pause midstride, smiling at him. “Is this the way to the ladies’ room?”

  He doesn’t answer, and I turn back around, finding the other two guys coming through the door right behind me.

  Lincoln’s voice is just audible as the door swings closed, loud but courteous. “I don’t know what the problem is, gentlemen, but I’m sure we can get this straightened out.”

  Damn it to hell.

  “Um, is something wrong, guys?” I play the dumb personal assistant. It might be easier if I was blonde, playing up the stereotype, instead of a brunette. “I’m just here with my boss.” I wave his phone at them. “Emails don’t answer themselves, you know?”

  The two guys in front of the door step forward, pushing me toward Tie Guy. I go quiet. The best way to lose their attention is not to do anything to attract it. But, for reasons that aren’t readily apparent, all three seem unusually focused.

  “End of the line, Clary,” one of them says to me. “Our boss doesn’t tolerate cheaters.”

  “Who’s Clary?” I ask, breaking my silence when it becomes apparent playing possum isn’t working. “I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

  They ignore me, herding me toward the door at the end of the corridor and up a narrow set of stairs that leads out into an alleyway behind the building. As soon as we’re outside, I make a break for it, racing down the alley. When I hear laughter and not footsteps behind me, I almost pause. I press on, around the next corner, and jerk to a stop. At least now I know why they’re laughing—it’s a dead end, blocked by a chain-link fence I haven’t a hope of climbing. I still try, running at it, grabbing on, and hauling myself up, but I’m back on the ground before the bouncers even round the corner.

  And then it’s three on one again, and I am not liking these odds.

  “Where’s Lincoln, my boss?” I ask. “I want to see him.”

  If anyone can sort this out, he can.

  “Your human is being dealt with as we speak. He’ll be on his way home soon enough.”

  My human?! What the hell is up with these guys?

  “Uh… then I’d better leave with him. I’m his designated driver; he’s had a few too many to be getting behind the wheel.”

  I walk toward them as I talk, trying to pretend I’m not quaking in my boots.

  The same guy speaks again. “You’re not going anywhere. You know better than to try that shit in here, Clary. We don’t make the rules, but we do so enjoy enforcing them.”

  His smile sends a bolt of fear through me. There’s something predatory in his gaze.

  “My name isn’t Clary,” I snap. “And I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  They crowd closer. The nearer they get, the less I like how this is going.

  “Look, guys, I’m sure we can work this out. There’s been some sort of misunderstanding. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but—”

  The guy on the left grins, flashing teeth that have no business being that long. What the hell?

  “We’re going to make an example out of you, so none of your associates decide to try their luck in our place of business.”

  “Yeah,” Tie Guy says. “We’ll drain you dry and put your body somewhere nice and public, where all your clary friends can see.”

  Ignoring the first part, I focus on the second. Good thing babbling comes naturally to me. “The thing is, I don’t really have friends. There’s only Linc, and he’s really more my boss and kind of like a brother to me…” But my existential loneliness needs to take a backseat, given that I’m starting to suspect these guys are crazy and they’re about to kill me.

  My back hits the chain-link fence, and there’s nowhere to go.

  “I don’t understand what I did.”

  The guy with the teeth flashes those long incisors at me. “You know exactly what you did. Matthias has a zero-tolerance policy for clarys working his casinos. Did you really think you could use that pet human of yours to slip under our radar?”

  The more they talk, the less sense they make.

  “Enough chat,” Tie Guy growls, his hands clenching into fists. “Let’s get this done.”

  That seems to be the signal to advance, and they close in.

  I settle my attention on the toothy leader, using my abilities to see through his eyes. It splits my focus for a moment, giving me double vision before it settles. The brief distraction is worth it, giving me one key advantage—I anticipate the exact moment he decides to lunge for me. I dodge to the side, aware I can easily avoid him. So when his hand closes around my arm, it shocks me to stillness. No human can move that fast.

  I press back against the fence, fruitlessly yanking at my arm and trying to dredge up the lessons from those self-defense classes Lincoln insisted I take. Words run through my mind—groin, eyes, noise. I hit upon that last one, opening my mouth to scream for help, when a voice drawls from above me.

  “Guys, come on. Three-on-one? That’s a little unfair, don’t you think?”

  I look up to see a guy crouched on top of the chain-link fence like he belongs there. Not just any guy; the one who almost ran into me earlier. A second later, he’s standing on the ground next to me. He gives me a smile that makes my heart skip a beat, and something twists low in my belly. I try to shove my libido someplace out of sight. This is so not the time.

  “Stay the fuck out of this, half-blood mutt. Don’t stick your nose in unless you want it bitten off.” The bouncer grins at the newcomer, flashing those teeth again. What is that? Some weird prosthetic? Orthodontics gone wrong?

  “I would but she and I go way back, don’t we?”

  As the runner speaks, he wraps an arm around my waist, leaning in and whispering in my ear. “Get ready to jump.”

  I have no idea what he’s talking about as he turns back to the three guys. But then he moves in a blur of speed, and I’m flying up into the air. The top of the fence comes into view and I grab onto it for dear life, struggling to pull myself up and over. My would-be savior is right there, lifting me up effortlessly.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  “For what?” I blurt out, and then he jumps, taking me with him.

  2

  The landing is softer than I expected, but there’s no time to appreciate it as I’m hustled down the alleyway by the stranger who seems intent on saving me.

  “Hurry,” he says. “They’re not far behind us. We need to reach the main street before they catch up.”

  It’s enough to spur me to run faster, even though we’re almost flat-out. I get the logic. The main street might be busy, too many witnesses for the crazy guys to do anything.

  “Almost there,” my rescuer encourages, and then we’re out into the noise and bustle of a regular urban street. He keeps moving, and I have to do likewise, thanks to the death grip he’s got on my arm. But to my dismay, we’re running away from the busy end of the street. We reach a bus shelter, and he comes to an abrupt halt, looking this way and that. There’s no one nearby.

  “We need to get out of sight,” he says as he turns to me, wrapping one arm around me.

  Before I can ask what he’s doing, he jumps again, grabbing the top of the bus shelter and throwing us both onto it. I wind up flat on my back in the center, him on top of me, covering me like a blanket.

  I’m about to push him away when he speaks softly in my ear.

  “They’re on the street. Stay still, don’t speak.”

  I freeze, unable to see anything but his neck and chin and the cloudy sky above us. Angry voices reach us, followed by running footsteps loud across the concrete.

  “Where the fuck did they go?” the guy with the teeth asks. He sounds like he’s right below us. I hold my breath, my heartbeat deafening in my ears.

  “Matthias is going to have our heads for this,” Tie Guy adds.

  We’re going to be caught any moment now.
They can’t fail to see us, out here in the open like this. All they have to do is look up. So it’s a surprise when they run right past, like we’re not even there, their voices disappearing as they round the next corner.

  I go to move, but my rescuer stops me.

  “Not yet,” he murmurs in my ear, his voice barely audible. “Vamps have pretty good hearing, not to mention an excellent sense of smell. Let them get another street or two away, just to be safe.”

  As awkward as it is to have a stranger literally wrapped around me, there’s something kind of nice about being held in a strong, warm embrace by a handsome guy. Then there’s the fact that he’s actually still paying attention to me. By now, most people would have forgotten my existence and wandered away. But not these crazy guys and not this guy, apparently. Either I’m losing my cloak of invisibility, or something is up with these people. And since I’m not willing to believe I’m losing my edge, the problem has to be them.

  It’s a long five minutes before my rescuer finally pulls back and gives me a grin that I’m pretty sure would make the average girl swoon.

  “Uh, thanks?” I manage, wondering what the appropriate way to express gratitude is when someone saves you from having your throat ripped out by wannabe vampires.

  “You’re welcome.” His grin broadens, but I notice his hands are shaking, very fine tremors that don’t seem to bother him. “It’s Jazz, by the way.”

  “Jazz?” I repeat blankly.

  “My name. Jasper. Jazz for short, like the music.”