by Dianna Love
Like hell, it wasn’t. I came, he saw, not I wasn’t good enough. Sounded personal to me.
“I won’t get in your way as long as you don’t block mine.” There, I could do this.
He waved his hand. Not spell casting, but as if breaking his own train of thoughts. Not a Franco gesture, but the movement of a man searching for different words than he’d originally meant to use. “Are you willing to face the risks of remaining?”
He smiled in the darkness, bringing my attention to the shape of his lips. Dangerous territory. I could handle him better butting heads, thinking of him as a dangerous warlock.
“Yes.” I flexed my fingers against my jeans, aware they had been clenched. “I’m here to do a job. The sooner I can finish it the sooner I can leave.”
Two polite strangers, dancing around one another.
Just when I thought I had my racing pulse under control he stepped even closer. So close there was little but shadows between us.
Beware the darkness, there be dragons and warlocks.
I remained rooted to the spot. Training? Not likely, especially as it couldn’t explain the breathless free-fall my stomach took. I told myself the sensation was because I feared his powers as a warlock, which I did, but that wasn’t all.
He reached toward me, his sculpted face all angles and slashes in the moon-tinged darkness, his lips curled in a sexy half-smile. His fingers ever so lightly touched my collar. Touched and lingered.
“It is off,” he said.
My collar or my sanity? Or both?
I said nothing as his fingers paused, sucking away the remainder of my breath. His nostrils flared, the skin of his face tightened. Arousal? It couldn’t be. This was the world-famous Bran and I was meant to be invisible.
He wasn’t even touching my skin, for cripe’s sake. Get a grip on it. He was a warlock.
He wasn’t my ally, or even my real employer. There’d be no emotions between us. Not even those between casual acquaintances. If he were behind Van’s disappearance, I’d take him down. No matter how sexy his smile, or how dark his scent on the night air.
Until I could prove otherwise he was the enemy and it was vital I remember that.
“You are frightened?” His words lingered as his fingers had, which now thankfully had been removed.
I shook my head as no response seeped past my desert-dry throat.
“Yet you tremble.”
That snapped my spine straight. I wasn’t a giddy schoolgirl; I was an operative. Best to remember it.
“Nonsense.” I stepped back, curling my arms around my upper body. He was right, I was trembling, but it’d be a cold day in Vegas before I’d admit it. “It’s been a long couple of days and I’m still dealing with jet lag.”
“Are you?” Now the tone mocked. Or was I mocking myself?
“Yes. I don’t like to fly.” Truth was I didn’t like to free-fall. He remained standing there, close enough I watched the increase in his breathing, could almost hear his heart pound louder.
“I’m the hairdresser,” I spoke to him but also to myself. Setting the record straight. Wanting to end the crazy tension lacing between us. “It’s best we both remember that.”
“Are you afraid of me, little witch?”
“No.” On some levels it was the truth. But on others—best not to go there. He wasn’t just any man and I wasn’t just any woman. Keep thinking warlock to witch. Keep my guard up.
“You are sure?” The man was like a waterfall, relentless, determined in his own way. But wanting what? To confuse me? He was doing a damned fine job of that. Distract me? Yup, doing that, too. But making me lose sight of why I was here; he wasn’t going to win on that level.
“Good night,” I said, with more force than I intended, stepping farther away, breaking the invisible spell between us.
“I shall see you tomorrow?”
“Most likely, since I am staying.” Bring it home, Alex. Make it clear. “Until my task is complete.”
His head snapped as if I’d slapped him. His tone tightened. “I understand. But it is not over between us.”
Another threat? Or something else?
I was here to do a job, and the sooner I did it the sooner I could find Van.
“Good night,” I repeated.
“Bonne nuit.”
Damn, even the simple phrases packed a wallop when he spoke them. No doubt it was the accent. It had to be the accent.
I crossed the rooftop, pausing as I reached the stairs leading below to glance once over my shoulder.
Bran remained where he’d been. Only he was no longer looking out across the chateau’s grounds.
He was watching me.
I brushed at the sudden goosebumps crawling up my arms and headed downstairs.
CHAPTER 17
When I reached the bottom of the stairs leading from the roof I realized I was breathing hard, as if I’d run a fast race and barely escaped with my skin.
Ridiculous.
A quick glance down the hallway reassured me I was alone yet I’d only taken a few steps when a nearby door opened. Suzette poked her head out of the room, looking in both directions, obviously as focused as I was on not being seen. Unfortunately neither of us were going to get what we wanted.
“Good evening,” I said, as her gaze zeroed in on me. She wasn’t tall, a good four or five inches shorter than I was, and had a slender build, a nervous manner, as if easily spooked. Her bobbed dark hair and wide glasses made her look like a kitten waiting to be pounced on.
Her eyes widened, as if she’d been caught doing something, but her voice was a conspiratorial whisper as she stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her. “Good, I was hoping I could speak to you,” she said, surprising the heck out of me.
“Why?”
She leaned closer, as if her words might carry far even though she was speaking so low. She glanced in the direction I’d just left, a hesitant smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t mean to intrude,” she said.
“Intrude on what?” I didn’t do nuances well. After a verbal battle with Bran on the rooftop and a very long day all I wanted was to escape to my bed. I could practice witchcraft tomorrow if I could find a private few moments. Ling Mai be damned for now.
Suzette glanced down the hallway again, shirking one shoulder in the direction of the stairs I’d just descended. “It’s not my business, but I thought it’d be kinder to tell you.”
I was tempted to grab her shoulders and shake the words from her, but kicking the helpless wasn’t my way.
“Tell me what? I’m really tired and not firing on all pistons.”
Her brows tightened as if I were talking Greek, then she ducked her head, making the dim hall lights spark off her glasses. Her voice carried an accent that wasn’t familiar to me though she spoke impeccable English. “You’re new and may not realize how he operates.”
Now I was glancing toward the stairs. “As in Bran?”
“Yes.” She fluttered her hands as if I had shouted the words. “He’s a good man, deep down, I think. And he can be kind. . .”
I waved her on, leaning closer, more tempted than ever to rattle whatever she had to say out of her. “What should I know about him?”
“He plays favorites,” she said it with a rush of air as if she revealed a deep dark secret.
That was it? Favorites?
Her brow raised, as if willing me to translate what she was saying so she didn’t have to say it herself.
I latched onto the quickest explanation. “You mean he has affairs with the hired help?”
She jerked her head as if I’d goosed her. “I wouldn’t call them affairs.” Her nose scrunched as if smelling skunk. If my ring wasn’t stone cold, meaning she was all human I’d think she might be a Wererat or Weremouse with her small tells. “He means nothing by them. But. . .”
“But it’s easy for the women involved to think he does,” I said, watching and not surprised to see her shoulders relax, her expression smo
oth. I’d come to the right conclusion without her having to betray her employer.
Lucky me.
“As I said, he’s mostly a good man but it’s so easy to see girls get hurt. Thinking he means more than he does. And then. . .”
This drifting off with sentences half said was driving me batty, but I kept my voice neutral and even offered a tired smile as I finished the last part. “And then there are hurt feelings. Maybe a scene or two. People losing their jobs—”
“Oh, he never fires them.”
I bet he didn’t. I bet he left that up to Dragon Lady.
“But they leave,” I clarified. Another list of possible suspects—jilted lovers with an agenda. They’d know how the shows worked, where they were being held and how to get behind the scenes.
“Best for all,” Suzette murmured, bringing me back to the present, her gaze skittering away.
“So you’re warning me to be careful around him?” I’d figured that out myself already.
“Yes.” She glanced at me, her look pleading. “I knew you’d understand. It’d be so lovely to have you stay for a while. You’re nice.”
Boy, had she pegged me wrong, but telling her would be doing that kitten-kicking thing. Besides, she’d tried to do me a favor here. I patted her shoulder, new best buddies. “Thanks, Suzette, I appreciate the advice.”
She smiled, a relieved sigh following it before she nodded and headed down the hallway, stopping at the end to turn and offer a small wave.
Yup, new best buddies. Which could work out great. Having the assistant as my conduit could give me behind the scenes intel. Sweet.
And as for Bran, now his actions on the roof made sense. If you can’t get rid of the problem, seduce her, and keep her focused on what he intended, not what I intended.
Made perfect sense. Hurt like a mule kick but it made sense.
I started walking in the direction that Suzette had gone, but when I reached the turn at the end of the hallway I heard a noise and looked behind me. For a second I thought it was nothing, but just in case I cast a simple cloaking spell, pulling shadows a little deeper around me. It wouldn’t help if someone came up close but could let me see the length of the hallway without being clearly seen in return.
Take that Ling Mai—there were some spells I could do easily, especially the white magic ones.
I waited a few seconds and bingo, there was movement at the opposite end of the hall, near the roof stairway.
Sasha, the new girl, stepped stealthily from shadow, through the dim light, and disappeared up the stairs, heading to the roof.
Right behind her came a large, buff-colored poodle with fluffy hair that would take a full-time stylist. Funny, I hadn’t noticed a dog at the chateau before this, but it looked like something one of the clients would bring along. Another way to stand out to Bran.
Who was being a very busy boy tonight. A tryst? Or something else?
Would he sweet talk Sasha like he’d tried with me? Or—and just like I put what I’d heard on the rooftop with what I knew of nonhumans and I knew what type of warlock Bran was.
A word wizard.
Hot damn. I’d heard of them before, but they were rare, so rare a lot of witches thought they were an urban myth. Word wizards could manipulate language, use the sound of their voices to get what they wanted. The stronger ones, and I held no doubt Bran was one, could actually have humans work against their own best interests, if the word spell was potent enough. Savonarola, the Italian Dominican friar had been a word wizard type of warlock—so had the Russian mystic, Grigori Rasputin and Hitler. Some said Churchill might have had a spark of word wizard blood flowing through his veins, too.
No wonder I’d been so rattled speaking to Bran. What could he convince an innocent human to do? Or a smitten woman?
Time to stop being either and start treating him like the threat he was.
CHAPTER 18
Cars revved along the stone streets of Monte Carlo, flower sellers hustled with fishmongers and a brisk-scented ocean spray blew off the Mediterranean. A scent that reminded me of Bran. A sensory bombardment bordering on overload, especially combined with two hard-pressed days of fashion shows from the Hotel de Paris.
I’d stayed out of Bran’s way since the rooftop, and surprisingly he’d kept away from me. Two wary adversaries circling one another. Either that or he was too busy with nose-in-the-air Sasha who did not play nice in the sandbox with the other models and kept herself to herself. And that wasn’t jealousy speaking. That was a professional assessment of the increasing tension.
The troupe was shifting to a new venue; one that had the hair on the back of my neck standing up straight. We were heading to a luxury yacht and I wanted to go running in the opposite direction.
Instead I softly groaned. Even mention such a la-de-dah statement to my brothers and I’d never hear the end of it. From the Curl Up and Dye Salon to the Hotel de Paris—I’d come a long way in a short time; Mud Lake to Monaco. Who’d have thought it?
Which could explain the fish-out-of-water sensation slapping against me. That and the fact I still hadn’t heard from the IR agency. Intentionally?
My nerves warred with my thoughts. Would they contact me if they found news about Van? Truth was I didn’t trust my team yet. I didn’t trust them to watch out for me and I didn’t trust them to work as hard to find and free Van as I would. Problem was I had a real team before I’d ever come to the IR agency—my family, and hanging out doing my hairdresser thing was not getting me closer to helping Team Noziak. That and expecting to be pulled and sent straight to prison if I screwed up, no passing Go and collecting anything, had my nerves razor tight. No way could I help Van from behind bars.
Ling Mai was a pro at playing her cards close to her vest.
With a quick prayer to Ayami, my shaman spirit mentor, for the rash act I was about to commit, I edged away from the crowd of models and assistants standing near the quay waiting their turn to be ferried to the foo-foo yacht in the harbor, our next design venue. Monte Carlo was glitzy and exotic and even more fairytale like than the chateau, but the yacht was said to put the town to shame.
Either way I was out of my comfort zone. Plus it’d mean I’d be isolated physically, and over water. Water meant it was harder to access ley lines for back up magic, plus warding spells didn’t work well without being able to ground to earth.
So working on a yacht, no matter how big it was, felt like stepping into a big box with my powers seriously compromised. The powers I was trying to fine tune and practice but rarely got a moment alone. No wonder my hackles were up.
I paused near an older fisherman, leaning against a stack of plastic crates, my ring alerting me to his otherness. A selkie was my best guess. Mostly harmless if left alone.
I’d been on my mission less than a week, but even a slow learner could comprehend this wasn’t going as I’d hoped—no quick in and out gig. Which brought its own set of frustrations. Were Bran and troupe involved with Van’s disappearance? What clues was I missing? When was I going to get yanked? And the biggest question: how long could I remain ineffectual with my brother’s life at risk?
I wasn’t the only one who appeared to be walking on nails. I couldn’t put my finger on the cause or causes of the models’ unease. The new model Sasha? Who barely spoke, much less mingled with anyone else? Franco Chop-Chop with his frenzied dictation and changing hair colors? His short Caesar now dazzled lava-color with highlights of apricot. It almost required sunglasses to look at him. And then there was Bran, who I should be treating as just another suspect.
Too bad it wasn’t working that well. I’d caught his gaze on me time and time again. A gaze that made my stomach clench and my breath back up.
Magic casting? Possibly? He was a word wizard, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have other talents. I could use white magic and then there was my other ability. The one I’d promised my dad I’d never access. Because when I did, things went from bad to worse, really worse. Which is why I
was an Invisible Recruit versus locked away in prison for manslaughter.
Magic could backfire in so many ways and I was living proof of that.
Or maybe Bran’s actions, or lack of interaction with me, was simply my imagination?
But I had to keep moving forward as if I didn’t know that Bran was a powerful warlock and his cousin Dominique St. Clair was something “else.” It didn’t take my ring to see that she was planning something. What she was I didn’t know, and my breaking into her office at the last two venues was a no-go based on how public the venues were. All day and most of the night people traipsed through the chateau and hotel and sleeping with a dozen other people didn’t make for easy disappearing and reappearing. Talk about a mess.
I still had three sets of fingerprints to collect, including the new girl’s. Two days ago the model had caught me slipping another girl’s water bottle into the overlarge backpack I used. A stupid mistake on my part, but nothing had been said, only brows raised.
“They getting to you, luv?”
I snapped back to the present and glanced up to see Collette leaning against a low stone wall, taking a drag on a cigarette like it’d be her last.
“They?” I glanced in the direction of the quay. “Oh, you mean the rest of the group?”
“Like living back in boarding school, not that I did boarding school mind you, but criminy, these women never shut up.”
Or leave a person alone. But maybe I could use that. Build a local network of backup help, even if they didn’t know what I was doing or why. As it was Suzette had inadvertently helped me by being a font of local gossip, so maybe it was time to buddy up more to Collette.
I grinned, propping my butt on the wall next to her—a chance for a little more probing. “So feeling sardine-style jam packed is not just me?”
“Nah, luv, it’s why I smoke these things.” Collette stabbed the air with her Turkish cigarette. “Gives me an excuse to get away a bit, if you know what I mean. I grew up with sisters, three of them, and between them and my mum, my old man high-tailed it to the pub every night just for a pint and a bit of privacy. Surprised we didn’t drive him around the bend.”
