Deadline

by Jennifer Blackstream

  The thought was all it took to send me to the fridge, trampling my dietary restrictions on the way. The light that shone on me when I opened the door was practically ethereal.

  “You don’t need this. You’ve had enough. Just put it down.”

  I stared at the soda, the bright red comfort of the Coke promising to make this day all better. A little caffeine, a little carbonation. No judgmental pixie hanging about to count how many I had. What was the harm?

  The knock at the door wasn’t harsh or violent, but it startled me all the same, thanks in no small part to the amount of caffeine burning through my system. I jumped and lost my grip on the soda. The can fell in what seemed like slow motion, giving me plenty of time to flail about like a blind cat who’d heard a mouse, trying to catch my beverage before it hit the floor.

  I didn’t.

  I scowled down at the dented can. “Well, I can’t open that one.”

  Another knock. Louder this time.

  “This is a sign,” I said reluctantly. “A sign I’m not meant to have another soda.”

  Dejected, I put the can back in the fridge, my mood somewhat mollified by the row of potions in the door. Liquid armor against charms, a little oomph for my shields. I would need those as soon as I figured out which delightful suspect to chat with next. And if someone was out there intending to kill me, I might need to start popping defensive potions like vitamins…

  I shuffled to the door, feeling foolish for letting my temper get the better of me earlier. I needed to call Vera. I needed to know how the previous investigators had died. Maybe visit those crime scenes too. I reached the door and pulled it open. “Hell—”

  The compulsion hit me like an orb of honey, smacking into my mind and oozing down to coat it completely in warm fuzziness. The stress of researching the grisly ritual, the fear over learning that there very well might be someone out there planning to kill me—it all melted away, leaving a dopey smile in its wake.

  “Hello, Mother Renard.”

  I slumped against the doorframe, grinning at my visitor. “Hello, Mr. Valencia.”

  A wolfish grin spread over his handsome features and he stepped closer, filling my senses with the scent of his aftershave. The bite of February’s winter breeze gave the aftershave a sharper edge, like an erotic slap to the face.

  “I wanted to apologize for our little misunderstanding earlier. I’m afraid the wee one thought I had ungentlemanly intentions when I invited you for a ride.”

  My brow furrowed as I tried to remember what he was referring to. “Oh, yes. Well, Peasblossom is very excitable. Most of the wee ones are.”

  “Let me come inside, and I’ll explain everything. It was all really very innocent.”

  The word innocent did not belong on that mouth. “Of course. Please, come in.”

  His grin widened as he stepped over my threshold, moving with the grace one usually associated with a large cat. He winked at me and I giggled.

  “Can I offer you a drink?” I asked.

  “I would love one, thank you.”

  Still smiling, I sauntered to the refrigerator, kneeling down to reach for two Cokes. My ring caught the shelf above the soda with a loud clink and I scowled. Irritated, I pulled the ring off. It wouldn’t do me any good anyway until I recharged it, and it was only getting in the way. I glanced at the row of potions in the fridge. Besides, I had plenty of potions. I should probably put a few of them in my pouch now…

  Alarm bells went off in my head, somewhat muted by the gooey persuasion coating my brain. Potions. Yes, I’d made more potions while I studied Anton’s files. I’d made more potions because I was dealing with an angry wizard…and a seductive fey.

  The fey who had likely killed a wizard sometime last night.

  The fey who was now standing in my living room.

  I popped the cork on one of the potions and drank it in one long gulp. It tasted like strawberry soda and burned my nose the way carbonation did sometimes. Magic washed over me, invigorating my senses, straightening my spine. Cold reality pushed back the cloud Flint had laid over my mind, stealing that hazy, dreamlike euphoria. Fury rose on a wave of bad temper, and I let it come, let it destroy the last of the fey’s influence. I stayed still while it filled me up, swelling until the magic glittered over my skin in a thin blue shield. I grabbed two Cokes and gritted my teeth. He’d pushed me. It was time to push back.

  By the time I stood, Flint was no longer standing in the living room, admiring my bare walls. Now, he stood behind me in the dining room—at my desk.

  Reading Anton’s files.

  My heart seized, and I almost dropped the sodas. “Mr. Valencia, that is private, and I’ll thank you to step away from my desk.”

  My voice lashed across the room. It wasn’t power, per se, not a spell. More like ultimate authority. A witch who served her people, used her power to help others, earned a right to be heard. That right bestowed on them a certain tone that froze people in their tracks.

  All mothers had it too.

  Flint didn’t recoil, but he stepped back from the desk. He moved like a shifter, all rolling muscle and careless grace. If he was surprised I’d shaken off his influence, he didn’t show it. “You aren’t working for a jealous husband.”

  I frowned. “What?”

  He tilted his head, considering. “When you contacted me the other day, asked for my alibi, I thought you were working for someone’s husband.” His attention slid to the file again, my notebook lying beside it. “But you’re not. You’re working for the vampire.” When he looked at me again, there was a glint to his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Someone stole his little black book.”

  A few decades ago, Mother Hazel had taken me to meet a seafaring medicine man in Florida. While swimming there, I’d had the unfortunate experience of looking toward the shore to find a very large alligator watching me. For what had felt like an eternity, the beast just watched me. Not moving, not baring its teeth. Just watching. Deciding. Flint looked at me now the way that alligator had looked at me then.

  I couldn’t move. I could barely think, scarcely breathe. If it weren’t for the potion, I didn’t know how long I would have stood there, unable to fight or speak.

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss it.” My voice came out a whisper. I wrenched my spine straighter and tried again. “Get away from my desk.”

  He didn’t move. “You have little notations here about the sorceress Dabria. Do you think she has it?”

  I tried to think past the pounding of my own heartbeat. Was he toying with me? Pretending not to know who had the book? Or had he really been unaware of the book’s missing status? “Do you know Dabria?” I asked.

  “Everyone knows Dabria. There is no kingdom she hasn’t stolen from, no creature she hasn’t robbed of a treasure of one kind or another. She is a master thief.”

  He knew Dabria was a thief, and a good one. He could have seduced her into stealing the book for him.

  “Do you believe Dabria has the book?”

  His eyes shared the same quality as his voice. Sensual, and full of wicked promises. The potion flared inside me, reacting to his power and snapping against my skin like a rubber band.

  My willpower writhed beneath his magic, keeping the silken net from ensnaring my senses. He was trying to influence me again—and he was good. The seduction wasn’t overt this time, wasn’t dramatic, over-suggestive. He wasn’t trying to seduce me—he was just oozing sensuality in a way designed to make me wish he would. Preparing me for his next attempt. I stalked over to the desk and thrust the can of Coke at him.

  A long-fingered hand took the drink before I punched it through his ridiculously muscled chest, an easy smile wiping away the surprise that had widened his eyes.

  I needed to get him out of my house, get him away from me so I could think. Interviews with the fey needed to be restricted to phone calls. Always. “Mr. Valencia, I’m sorry, but I am very busy today. I have to ask you to leave. I will call you later, at a t
ime convenient for us both.” I gave my voice the lilt I used with small children when I was trying to bribe them with a sucker. “You may take the Coke with you.”

  He didn’t move, and kept gazing at me with a hint of admiration on his face. A silent touché for resisting his influence?

  “I want to help,” he said finally, gesturing at the file. “How can I help?”

  “I do not want nor need your help. In fact, you’ve done considerable harm just reading part of my private file.”

  “I would not have read any of it, had I realized it was private. I was merely occupying myself while you fetched me a drink.”

  He opened the Coke with a loud crack of aluminum, followed by a carbonated hiss. Brown eyes watched me over the rim as he took a drink. I put my own Coke down on the desk so I could open it with one hand, keeping the other ready to draw a spell if necessary.

  “You must be a talented detective if Anton hired you,” he continued. He gestured at the file. “Pity about his book. I know how that vampire prizes his…secrets.”

  “And the secrets of others,” I said evenly.

  Flint’s jaw tightened. “Do you have any leads?”

  My shields flared again. I gritted my teeth. “I thank you for your offer of help, but I must decline. I have things well in hand, and, as you might imagine, I have promised to protect my client’s privacy. So if you don’t mind, I’ll say goodbye now.”

  “I have a gift for getting people to…open up. I could assist you in this investigation.”

  The words “open up” pinged off my shield like bullets. Not very subtle, that one. My temper spiked, and I narrowed my eyes.

  “Tell me, Mr. Valencia, are you an experienced man?”

  He paused, genuine surprise shifting his eyebrows up. Supple lips curved in the start of a grin. “Yes.”

  Cocky bugger didn’t even think to ask, “Experienced in what?” I sniffed, channeling Mother Hazel as I summoned the witchy look of all witchy looks. “Then I would think you would have better control over your power. Unless your attempts to influence me—a witch standing in my own home—are deliberate?”

  Flint studied me for a moment, running his gaze up and down my body. It tugged at my shield, like a man pulling on the strap of a dress, preparing to pull it off a woman’s shoulder.

  He gestured with his chin to the file. “He thinks I did it, doesn’t he? Thinks I seduced someone into letting me in.”

  I took a sip of my Coke, still holding the witchy look. “Goodbye, Mr. Valencia.”

  He didn’t back off, but he did look away, hiding the small retreat behind a casual sip of soda, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Dabria is ruthless when she sets her sights on something. And there is nothing she wants more than access to her sister’s castle.”

  I tore my eyes from the muscular slope of his throat, concentrating on the magic of the shield potion humming inside of me. “I am not discussing this with you. Please leave.”

  “She’s tried for years to make Isai let her in. Only two people can give her access—the wizard and the vampire.”

  He didn’t know the castle was double-warded, that Isai couldn’t get in himself. I didn’t share that information. Brownie point for me. And later, a real brownie.

  “If Dabria got her hands on one of his little black books, she’d have the means to bargain for access to the castle.”

  Over Anton’s undead body. The thought almost made me smile. Holding on to that brief distraction, I put my Coke down on the desk. “I do not want your help. I will not discuss this case with you. Please, leave, so I can attempt to salvage my very busy schedule.”

  “Anton probably told you Dabria is a failure as a sorceress. He thinks her magic is weak, that she relies on objects of power?”

  I didn’t answer. There was no reason to point out that Anton hadn’t pointed me at Dabria, that I’d found her on my own.

  “He’s right, of course,” Flint continued, “except for one specific magic. Spying. When it comes to spying on others, there is no one who comes close to Dabria’s magic. She wasn’t always so skilled with traps. In the beginning, she eavesdropped, learned how to trip the traps from the people who set them. And how do you think she finds out about those objects she steals, chooses what to go after next?”

  I gritted my teeth. I was familiar with Dabria’s gift for spying, as Isai would now attest to.

  “She’s used spells to spy on wizards who never felt a thing,” Flint went on. “For the love of flesh, I’ve seen sorcerers fail to detect her spying magic even when they were looking for it. She ties it into their aura, makes it part of them. I don’t know how she does it, but the magic isn’t taking information. It’s more like the person she’s spelled is offering her the information, giving it up without even knowing it. If you’ve never seen it before, you won’t find it. You can’t.”

  I felt a little better about not knowing she’d put the spell on me now, but I was beyond irritated that Flint ignored my commands for him to leave. He hadn’t called me a witchling, as Arianne had, but he may as well have. He was disrespecting me in the same way. I jutted my chin out. “So it works like your power.”

  Flint had been pacing around me as he talked, like we were business partners working through the mystery together. Every once in a while he’d gesture with his soda and take a sip. At my words, he paused and stopped a few feet away from me.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Your power doesn’t drag people into your bed. It just makes you so very tempting. Dresses you up in layer after layer of sensuality, raw sexual appeal, complete and utter masculinity.” I was staring at the breadth of his shoulders again, and I rolled my eyes at myself. “You make people want you to seduce them. Make people want to seduce you.”

  Flint’s eyes changed. Not a lot, just a subtle shift. His irises darkened to match his pupils and the stare fixed on me now was more sinister, not so easygoing. The alligator was in the water now.

  “It’s not working on you,” he said softly. “But, for what it’s worth, I don’t think I’m as mercenary as you think I am. I’m offering my help. That’s all. If you feel an attraction, then that’s—”

  “Please do not suggest that what I feel has nothing to do with your deliberate attempts to influence me. You insult us both.” I called my magic, drawing a lazy zigzag pattern on my thigh then curling my fingers into my palm. The ghostly touch of flames licked my skin. “If you’re being so helpful, then let’s talk about you. You seduced one of Anton’s guards. You could have known about the book.”

  “Oh, I knew about the book.” Anger tightened his jaw. “The vampire wants to use me as his own personal weapon. He was crystal clear.” His jaw twitched. “I will not sign his contract. And yes, I would have loved to get my hands on that book.” He took a step toward me. “I would still love to get my hands on it. I’d like you to help me with that, Shade.”

  “Could you have gotten past the traps?” I asked, my throat dry. The heat of my fire spell grew hotter, and I prepared to force him out of my house by any means necessary.

  “Not by myself. But if I located someone with the necessary skills…then yes.”

  That hungry gaze started at the top of my head and dragged down the length of my body. A strange sensation followed in its wake, more intense then the last time. I had the unnerving sensation of a veil being peeled away from my body, stripped by that look.

  His mouth curled into a lazy grin. “My skills are more of the interpersonal sort. They don’t work on mechanized traps. Or wards.”

  “Where were you last night?” I asked, the pulse in my throat throbbing so hard that it was difficult to swallow.

  “In bed.”

  The way he said it told me he hadn’t been alone. “Not with Tybor Aegis?”

  Flint paused. “Who?”

  “Tybor Aegis. The wizard. He’s one of the best at wards. Or was.”

  “Are you telling me he’s dead?” Flint took another step toward me. “What does a dead w
izard have to do with me?”

  I retreated a step. “The ritual you used—the one that got you into Anton’s book. What does it do? Does it let you steal someone’s talents?”

  “Let’s not talk about that now. Let’s talk about what I can do for you.” He took another step, and another. “You have so many questions, Shade. Let me help you find your answers. We can help each other.”

  Alarm bells went off in my head, but I couldn’t concentrate enough to figure out what they meant. My thoughts were sluggish, my body feverish. His power was sinking past my shields. I’d underestimated him. Again. I raised my hand, only to realize my attention had wandered too far, I’d waited too long. The spell had dissipated.

  Shake it off, Shade. Concentrate. You need another spell. “You could have seduced someone to get the book for you. That’s how you work, isn’t it? You seduce people into doing what you want done, getting you what you need?” I put a hand to my forehead. Goddess, why can’t I think?

  His eyes glittered. “Yes.”

  I never saw him move. One minute, he was a few feet away, pacing as he answered my questions. The next, I was in his arms. Those thick biceps I’d so admired earlier flexed as he wrapped his arms around me, holding me against the solid line of his body. One hand palmed the back of my head, and he swallowed whatever feeble protest I might have offered when he put his mouth over mine.

  Heat soaked my body. Everywhere he touched me burned with a delicious sensation that had my head falling back, my hands pressed to his chest. He opened his mouth and coaxed me to open mine. His tongue swept in to taste me, a deep rumble of satisfaction vibrating his chest when I did as he wanted, letting him deepen the kiss. My head swam, thoughts bobbing along like limp flower petals on a swollen river.

  Something cool pressed against my back, and I realized he’d backed us up, had me pressed to the wall. I tried to pull away, tried to turn my head to break the kiss, even as I wriggled to press more of my body against him. Goddess, it had been a long time since I’d been kissed, since physical pleasure had been more important than all the other things I needed to get done.