Key to Conspiracy

by Talia Gryphon

  The orgasm jolted both of them. Gillian lifting her hips, instinctively pushing against his tongue, Aleksei making a guttural sound in his throat and clutching her tighter to him. He let her go after the quaking in her body stopped, then rocked back on his heels and took her hand to pull her up.

  “Better, piccola?” His eyes glowed with male satisfaction but his smile was soft and gentle.

  Blushing, she nodded an affirmative. “Uh, yeah, thanks, Aleksei.”

  What did one say when one’s Vampire lover just blew your mind with the best oral sex of your life because he could heal you with his magical saliva? Hopping off the bed in front of him, she yanked up her pants, fastening them with an ease born of long practice. She glanced at him, his arousal very evident against his thigh. “I can’t leave you like that.” She started to remove her pants again but he stopped her.

  “No, bellissima. I have not yet fed and it would be dangerous for you.” Gently he closed her fatigues, tucking her shirt back in and kissing her head affectionately. “We will let my healing abilities do their work, and later tonight, you can do as you wish. I am yours.”

  Sweet Hather, his voice was incredible. She wanted him all over again just looking at him, smelling him, seeing her effect . . . She jerked her mind back to reality and laughed, knowing he knew. He found it charming that he could make her blush, and chuckled with male satisfaction. Her hand covered her eyes, and she shook her head, feeling unsure.

  Enjoying her normally confident persona’s journey into unknown territory, he said teasingly, “Do you think once was enough?”

  “Bite me.” Realizing what she said, she clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “Shit! I didn’t mean . . . !”

  Smiling, he rose, towering above her. He snaked an arm around her, pulling her against his heavy erection, leaned in and whispered warmly in her ear, “Later, bellissima.” He popped her on the butt before taking her hand and, ignoring her blistering diatribe about chauvinism in sexual situations, led her downstairs. Gillian was halfway down before she realized her delicate bits didn’t hurt anymore. His saliva really was healing. Hell, who knew?

  Trocar was lounging in the library, leg over the arm of a chair, seemingly engrossed in a book. “Are you two quite finished?” he asked without looking up.

  Aleksei raised a hand to hide his smile, chuckling, and Gillian thought she just might shoot herself and spare everyone the embarrassment. “Hera’s hackles, Trocar, have you no sense of decorum?”

  The crystalline-haired head rose that time as he snapped the book shut. Laying it on the table next to the chair, he stood, fluttering his cape over his shoulders. “Of course, Gillyflower. I am the soul of discretion.” Icicle eyes raked over both of them. “I see you are well. Are we ready to go?”

  “Yes.”

  The tall Elf mirrored Aleksei on one side of her, grinning to beat hell. “You are certain.”

  “You are expendable, you realize that, don’t you?”

  Ruffling her hair, he winked at Aleksei. “She is crazy about me, you know.” As he walked past the pair, he said to the Vampire, “I grow on you.”

  “I can see that.” Aleksei returned the smile. Though ethereally beautiful and close to Gillian, the Elf was no threat to him. He’d been in her mind and knew the Elf regarded her as an attractive Human, even teased her about sex with him, but his loyalty to her was absolute. That trust would not be broken.

  Trocar shooed Gillian out the door as she swept past him. Aleksei headed out to check the village as he did nightly. He visited with the local Humans and checked on the Vampires in his immediate territory to ensure no more murders had taken place. He’d called a meeting for that night with the local Fey, hoping to solidify some alliances. He knew Trocar’s intent was to diffuse the dampening fields since the Dark Elf had asked him to inquire about the area Fey’s assistance before he’d gone up to get Gillian.

  Back at Dante’s abode, Gillian and Trocar entered the hallway. Without her compulsion or calling, Dante shimmered into view, dressed and whole. “Dolcezza, I humbly beg your forgiveness for intruding on your life,” he said with head bowed and his hands in front of him as if in prayer.

  “Intruding? That’s a nice euphemism for sexual assault,” Gillian said harshly.

  To her surprise the Ghost nodded; his clear turquoise eyes held shadows. “Again, I insult you. I am a monster, Gillian. What I have done, I have never before done in all my years on Earth, both dead and alive.” He seemed sincere but Gillian wasn’t buying it yet.

  “What did you do to him?” she hissed at Trocar, who gave her an all-too-innocent look, his hands out and open as he shrugged. “Sonofabitch,” she whispered, turning back to Dante.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said flatly.

  Dante visibly cringed. “Dolcezza, what can I do to make this right? I need your help. I know this now.”

  Tapping her forefinger on her teeth, Gillian thought for a moment. Her mind drifted back to her conversation with Dr. Gerhardt. “I tell you what you’re going to do. You are going to help rally all the agonized spirits in the area for some group therapy. Maybe a little peer pressure will help you mend your ways.”

  He floated a little closer to her, nodding. “Sì, yes, grazie, I will do this for you.”

  Gillian held up a hand, her eyes narrowing. “That’s close enough and you bet your ass you’ll do it. A rapist anything is at the top of my ‘Needs Killing’ list. You pull that crap again with anyone, and I will have you exorcised and destroyed, is that clear?”

  She’d gotten word from Dr. Gerhardt that since Ghosts didn’t have a governing body, per se, there was an old obscure law that, while never written down, was accepted by most religions. A hostile-acting Ghost like Dante could be deemed a menace by any religious authority and a healer and be summarily banished, exorcised or destroyed, if possible. Gillian was the “healer” and Trocar, while a wizard, was a sort of cleric in his own society—something that she found interesting, but it did explain his healing abilities. Dante had two willing votes to nail his ectoplasmic ass to the wall. He damn well would cooperate.

  “Sì, dolcezza, very clear.” Her empathy flared. Dante wasn’t lying but he didn’t like it. Tough tombstones. He’d do it.

  Another thought occurred to her. “Where’s Grace?” she asked Trocar, while Dante wrung his hands and looked convincingly sorry.

  “She wanted to go outside into the garden.” The Elf pointed at Dante. “He was glad to see her go. The noise, you see.”

  “There are Fairies in the garden, Trocar!”

  The Dark Elf had the grace to look sheepish. “I shall go retrieve her. After you finish with the Ghost, I am to meet with Aleksei and some of the local Fey so please do not dawdle.” He swept from the hall.

  Dante’s richly accented voice got her attention again. “Dolcezza?”

  She rounded on him. “Back off, Dante.”

  His hands came up in a reflexive gesture. “I truly mean you no harm. The Grael explained the ways of our people and I am forbidden to touch you ever again.”

  “Or what? You’re already dead.” That was mean as hell, but she felt better for saying it. Plus he paled and his eyes widened in fear.

  “No, Gillian, you do not understand. For the Grael, and I am one, if only a diluted bloodline, there are worse things than death. I do not wish to contemplate where Trocar would send me should I break my vow.”

  “I see.” She watched him critically. “I can’t see you anymore as a therapist, Dante, you know that.” He nodded and kept his eyes averted. “I will make sure you get appropriate help but you compromised our relationship the first time you took advantage of me. If I had known you were behind it, I would have stopped seeing you long ago.” Her voice was positively chilly. He got the message.

  “Again, I am sorry. I know it is not enough, but it is all I can give.” Dante finally looked up at her, studying her face. “In all my years, I have never done such a thing. It was as though I were being influen
ced, controlled.”

  Gillian cocked an eyebrow at him. “Don’t even start with the ‘voices in your head,’ Dante. You’re a Ghost. And we are done. I wish you the best and hope you can heal.”

  She started to turn away to leave when she stopped and turned back to him, fishing a business card out of her notebook. “Dante, you need to know that bringing Trocar here last night, then Aleksei storming in, was a violation of your confidentiality. That was my fault. If you wish to file a complaint against me, here’s my card with the IPPA’s number on it. Call them and file a complaint with Helmut Gerhardt if you wish.” She laid the card on the table near the Ghost.

  Dante denied that he would file anything but praise on her when Grace fluttered in, followed by an annoyed Trocar. “She insisted on speaking to you, and I could not convince her otherwise.”

  “Gillian, please, miss. Can I . . .” Grace’s voice trailed off as she looked at Dante, who was standing in all his male glory and not bleeding all over everything. The swordsman Ghost’s eyes flicked up toward her, and she was caught by their turquoise regard.

  Dante even seemed to see her for the first time. “You are not a demi-Fey, piccola.” He was puzzled. His inherent magic allowed him a multitude of abilities. Dante knew magic when he felt it. There was magic here but it wasn’t Grace herself; it was around her and in the body she occupied.

  Suddenly there was the distinct feeling of sex in the air and Grace’s noncorporeal eyes glazed. Shit. Dante apparently either had Ghost attention deficit disorder or he was still heavily into denial about his sexual predation because he was just moving along, turning on his charm and sex appeal for Grace as if he hadn’t just nearly had a Grael wizard’s metaphysical boot up his transubstantiated ass for assaulting Gillian.

  Grace shook her head as if to clear her thought and shared with Dante how she wound up in the hands of Gillian and her crew. Gillian pulled up a chair to watch. Ghost peer therapy, Goddess, she didn’t see this coming. She felt Trocar move in behind her, his hands beginning to absently rebraid her hair while they both waited for the Ghosts to stop talking.

  Trocar’s hands were gentle and soothing. Gill felt herself drifting a little and paying less attention to the Ghost’s discourse. Lost in thought, she jumped when the Dark Elf cleared his throat meaningfully. Looking up, she saw both Dante and Grace in front of her.

  Yup, Dante had swept all of yesterday and today into some dark corner of his twisted psyche, ignoring the fact that his ego was what had gotten him into trouble in the first place: narcissistic personality disorder. That was going to be fun to work with. Gillian didn’t envy his next therapist. Dealing with Dante was seriously a bitch. He was staring at Grace as if he’d devour her. Grace was blushing. Holy Revlon. Ghosts could blush. Who knew?

  “Miss? I want to ask, can I go back to what I was?”

  It was Trocar who answered, “You want to again be a spirit? Out of this body you now inhabit?”

  Grace nodded solemnly. “Yes, please. I am a simple lass, flitting and fluttering around in this small body. I can’t see Tanis anymore anyway.” She sounded sad and a little lost.

  “Grace,” Gillian began, “you can go back to England, close to where we found you if you wish, and you don’t have to stay in that body if you don’t want to. You’re here because we brought you. I will be happy to take you back there if it is what you want.” As an afterthought, she added, “No, I’m afraid you can’t see Tanis anymore. He is still healing.”

  That was a small white lie. Tanis was fine, but he wanted nothing to do with Grace, who had been a spy, a plant, for Dracula and was meant to lead the Dark Lord to Aleksei. Gillian saw no reason to hurt the woman’s spirit further.

  “If it pleases you, miss, I would like to stay here.” Grace flitted a little closer to Dante. “That is, if it is all right with Sir Montefiore?” She made it a question and looked at Dante.

  “It is all right if you wish to remain here, in my hallway with me, piccola. I would enjoy getting to know you.” Dante smiled brilliantly. “I would like to see your true form as well.”

  Grace blushed. “Then I will stay.” She looked at Trocar. “Can you undo this thing you have done?”

  The Dark Elf looked impatient, then murmured a few words, which they all heard but which seemed to melt away into the air, not to be remembered. He made several runic gestures. There was an audible “pop” and the demi-Fey body crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Grace swirled up and away toward the ceiling, spinning and expanding until she floated down, formed as tightly as a normal Ghost could be.

  She was actually very pretty, Gillian noticed, fairly tall, about five foot six with a slender build and small, shapely breasts. Curly brown hair pulled back in a Victorian hairstyle, a dress which was modest but nicely made in dark blue with lace at the cuffs and throat. Her eyes were a warm hazel surrounded by dark brown lashes, her mouth generous and full. Grace was staring unabashedly at Dante, who was turning on the charm.

  “Why, you are lovelier in your own form, dolcezza, than in that Fairy body.” He took her hand and kissed it while Grace giggled and blushed, then curtsied to him. Dante tucked her hand in his arm and began to walk with her toward the end of the hallway, speaking softly to her. Wherever he touched the lady Ghost, she seemed more solid, more like him. Interesting, Gillian thought, glancing at Trocar. She saw he noted it too.

  She gathered their things then followed the Elf downstairs to ask Arkady’s permission to let Dante have his Ghost Group somewhere on the premises, twice a week. Arkaday was accommodating as always, believing that he would attract more tourists with the show. Then she dialed Helmut Gerhardt at the IPPA, explained the situation and how they had handled it, and about the confidentiality issue. He made note of it but felt that there was sufficient reason for caution after everything that had happened owing to Dante’s molestation of her. The reason for the wizard’s involvement was an ethical and legal one to determine Dante’s fate. Since her own personal safety concerns were at the crux of that involvement, he saw no reason to sanction her, especially since she was hell-bent to get the Ghost help rather than opting for revenge, though she had a right to request it.

  Gillian was grateful, acknowledged that she had his list of new clientele then requested a new therapist for Dante and Grace, who would need some adjustment counseling. Feeling satisfied that she’d covered everything as best as she could, they drove off to the places Trocar had marked to investigate the dampening fields Aleksei felt had been in place.

  CHAPTER 17

  PULLING over to the side of the road where Trocar indicated, Gillian flipped open the trunk and took out a non-UV flashlight, glancing at the moonlit meadow they paralleled. Trocar, like most Paramortals, could see just swell in the dark. The moon was almost at three quarter, but it was dark enough for Gillian to break her leg if she stepped in a hole or tripped over a tree root. He waited for her, impatient to know who or what had put dampening fields up around the village and the surrounding areas.

  Just for shits and grins, she’d also brought her gun. No sense in being stupid was her thought as she hurried to catch up with Trocar. The tall Elf strode noiselessly through the field, elegant, noble looking. Gillian tried to match his stealth; for a Human she was quiet. She’d had to stalk living prey before on Black Ops missions. To the Elf’s ears, she was going to alert everything in a three-mile radius to their presence and he shushed her.

  Gritting her teeth and swearing silently about all pointyeared beings of note, Gill focused on being lightweight and at one with her environment. When Trocar didn’t turn again and smirk, she felt redeemed. So she was a little out of practice, she could slide right back into her profess— branch!

  There was a loud crack as the bit of old tree limb, concealed by dirt and grasses, was destroyed under her boot. Trocar whirled and the stiletto he snapped toward the unknown enemy who was obviously sneaking up behind Gillian whizzed by her ear to embed in a tree some distance behind her.

  To her cred
it, Gillian didn’t shriek at the sound of a needle-sharp blade whirring by in close proximity to her face. She did pale a bit and glare reproachfully at the Dark Elf, who looked both disgusted and relieved that he hadn’t just killed her inadvertently. There was a sudden crack of thunder and the smell of ozone in the air as lightning scored on some unfortunate tree. Trocar had noticed the clouds gathering earlier, but since Human visual skills were more limited at night, Gillian twitched a little at the sound then recovered, moving along toward him. She hoped that the rain would wait until they checked out whatever it was Trocar thought he saw in the field.

  “Lower your shields.” Trocar’s suggestive voice was a musical whisper on the wind. Gill obeyed him, opening herself to her surroundings and clamping a firm barrier between herself and Aleksei should he inadvertently eavesdrop.

  Instantly she felt it. Pulsing. First a deep thrumming, then weaker and weaker, then back to a fairly strong pulse again. Magic. Trocar was drawn to it through his sensitivity to magic, and his entire aura vibrated like a tuning fork. Gill was drawn to it through him. But wait, there was something more here. Something that felt anticipation. Felt, eager. It recognized Trocar as a magical force and reached for him.

  Trocar went to a small, innocuous-looking pile of rocks. As Gillian approached, she could see they weren’t just jumbled together but stacked in a tiny cairn shape. The Dark Elf stalked around the little structure. It was placed up against the hollow of a dying tree, unseen from the road or by a casual walker. They would have missed it if they hadn’t been searching with their combined talents. Gillian watched as he held his hands out toward the object. The moonlight, not yet obscured by the fast-moving clouds, glinted off his ebony skin and crystal white hair, giving him an ethereal glow.

  Murmuring ancient words of magic, Trocar painstakingly unraveled the spell. It was as he thought. The spell itself was rather rudimentary, not the work of a powerful wizard but rather of several lesser magic users. Careful not to be overconfident, he took his time, dissipating the field, which was already corrupting and weak. As he finished, a wave of his hand obliterated the little structure. He knelt and swiftly rebuilt the stones. The new pattern was subtly different than the old one. Only a true wizard would be able to tell the difference.