Harlequin Dreams_A Reverse Harem Urban Fantasy

by Tansey Morgan

  Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  Synopsis

  Also by Tansey Morgan

  Follow Tansey!

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  Follow Tansey!

  About the Author

  Also by Tansey Morgan

  Copyright

  HARLEQUIN DREAMS

  The Harlequin’s Harem

  Book Two

  By Tansey Morgan

  People are dying, and it's all my fault; but how do you stop a killer that doesn't exist?

  It's been a week since the night my best friend died, and I'm still in mourning. My life is upside down, and all I want to do is make sense of it, make sense of something. That's when the Department of Paranormal Affairs calls me in for a meeting with the chief of the New Orleans branch. I've been recruited, I'm skipping the application process, and they're making me a special agent of the department, just like Eli, Logan, and Damon, but I'm also given a case right away. Still, despite my lack of training, I have to do the best job I can because healthy people are dying, no one knows why, and this is exactly the kind of thing the DPA is supposed to investigate.

  I thought working on the case and making myself feel useful would help right the drifting ship my life has become, but I was wrong; terribly, terribly wrong.

  Also by Tansey Morgan

  The Last Serpent

  Serpent’s Touch, #1

  Serpent’s Desire, #2

  Serpent’s Kiss, #3

  Serpent’s Bite, #4

  Serpent’s Hold, #5

  Serpent’s Revenge, #6

  The Last Serpent, #7

  The Labyrinth Queen

  The Labyrinth Queen, #1

  The Harlequin’s Harem

  Twisted Fate, #1

  Harlequin Dreams, #2

  Twilight Warrior, #3

  FOLLOW TANSEY

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  You can also join Tansey’s Serpent Coven on Facebook, where you’ll be able to interact with me directly whenever you want! That’s also where I’ll be sharing early snippets, early cover reveals, and more contests!

  CHAPTER ONE

  I still see her sometimes. Lucia, my best friend. She was gone. The way she looked at me that night, the confusion, the pain, the anger, I could tell she was conflicted about what she was doing, choosing to go with people who wanted to hurt her over choosing to come with me. I never understood why she did it. Even now, almost a week later, I’m still plagued by the memory, I still wonder if there was something I could have said or done to get her to come with me, with us.

  They had promised her things, things she needed, and wanted, and maybe she thought she would get them as long a she stayed. I think about her, and about all the people that had been there in that tunnel beneath the Mississippi river, and then I see It, the jester; the Death Jester, as Brishan had named it, and it’s as if the cold fingers of death itself are walking along my spine, inching closer to my neck, desperate to squeeze the life out of me as it had Lucia’s.

  Fingers brushed up against my shoulder, and I jumped, could have yelped from the sudden shock, but it was only Logan. Sensing my reaction, he pulled his hand away. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  I turned my head. He was sitting in the back seat with Damon while Eli drove us down Loyola Avenue. We stopped at a red light at an intersection, and a large construction site caught my eye. A building was being picked up and assembled by huge cranes. It was going to be another commercial block, I figured, one with a big garden and fountains in front of it.

  “Sorry,” I said, “I guess I’m just still a little nervous.”

  “Don’t be nervous,” Eli said. “What do you have to be nervous about?”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Look, nothing bad is happening today. It’s a good day. Just keep telling yourself that.”

  “I don’t know if I can. All my life I’ve been the kind of person to get flustered around authority figures.”

  Thanks, dad.

  “That’s fine and everything,” Eli continued, “But this place is pretty chill.”

  “I don’t think chill is the word we should be using when describing the DPA, Eli,” Damon said. “Let’s not give her the wrong impression before she even sets foot in the building.”

  “The DPA might be pretty serious up in Boston, but this is New Orleans, man. Everything’s just a little jazzier down here, a little more mellow.”

  “Mellow is exactly what I need today,” I said. “I can’t remember the last time I had an appointment with a government official that wasn’t the DMV or the post office.”

  “It’s gonna be fine. You just go in there, be your usual self, and it’ll all work out.”

  I glanced at Damon and Logan in the rear-view. Damon returned my attention, watching me from the back with his clear blue, silvery eyes. I watched the hint of a smile form on the corner of his mouth, and warm tingles spread throughout my chest. I turned my eyes away from him, choosing instead to look at the building under construction; something tame, and not so… intense.

  “Is this normal?” I asked.

  “Normal?” Damon said.

  “What’s happening to me. My… recruitment.”

  “The department recruits agents like most others would—there’s an application process, training involved, and then usually a selection process from a handful of applicants. So, no, this isn’t normal.”

  “Is anyone gonna… say anything?”

  “What do you mean by that?” Logan asked.

  “I just mean, like, is anyone gonna say that I’m being given special treatment? Gossip, and stuff. People do that.”

  “You’re still being put through the training, you’re just skipping the application and selection parts. We went over this.”

  “I know, I’m just, I guess I’m just psyching myself up for it.”

  “There’s nothing to psyche yourself up for,” Eli said, “You’re already an agent. All you’re doing today is meeting the chief and getting your desk.”

  “I still can’t believe I get a desk.”

  “It’s a real job, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it’s just gonna be a huge change from working at the restaurant. I feel bad leaving them.”

  “Why?” Damon asked.

  I shrugged. “I’ve worked there for years. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

  “Just be glad Damon was able to convince your boss not to ask for two weeks,” Eli said.

  I took a deep breath in, held it in my lungs, and exhaled the tension. Then Eli pulled in to a multi-story car-park, a tall black building, and I knew we were close. That drew all the tension right back to me, stiffening my spine and sending nervous prickles crawling along my arms and the nape of my neck. I really didn’t think I was ready for this. I was about to become an agent of the Department of Paranormal Affairs—no, I already was an agent; I was about to meet my new boss.

  We parked on the third floor of the multi-story. Across from where we’d parked, I had a great view of Duncan Plaza, with its many trees, walkways, and statues. That was one thing I loved about downtown New Orleans; no matter how tightly packed downtown was, there was always room for a park, a plaza, or a little patch of greenery somewhere, just to make everything look a li
ttle prettier—a little less grey.

  After parking, Eli led the rest of us quietly out of the multi-story and to the building adjacent to it. It was a high-rise, maybe five or six floors, brown and unassuming, with no distinguishing marks or lettering on the front—only an American flag swaying with the lazy breeze, and the American crest over the front door.

  On the door itself were the letters DPA, and nothing else.

  Eli pushed the door open, then stepped aside. “Ladies first,” he said.

  I went through, immediately feeling the cool, air-conditioned air touch my neck. It was hot outside, too hot, but in here it was blissfully cool. The floors were grey, and carpeted. There was plenty of natural light in here, and I thought this place had the potential to be more than just an office space; it could be pretty, and colorful. But the walls were boring, and white, the reception desk was black, and square—not even curved—and in the corner of the room, between a set of grey couches, a sad little tree sat, trying desperately to catch the sun on its browning leaves.

  Someone should water that.

  The receptionist, a young man with neat hair, a clean, buttoned down shirt, and a set of tired eyes, looked up as we came through. Eli approached. “How’s it goin’, Mikey,” he said.

  Mikey nodded. “Yeah, good. You’re here to see the chief, right?”

  Eli pointed at me. “She is, we’re just here for moral support. I’m gonna take her into the back, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. Go right ahead. I’ll let the chief know you’re here.”

  Eli tapped the reception desk and put a fist out. “My man.”

  Mikey bumped the fist, then pressed a button on his desk. There was a buzz and a click coming from the only other door in the room. Damon was the first to walk to it and push it open, but Eli stepped through first. It was clear this was his domain. Damon and Logan weren’t from here, they’d just been assigned to New Orleans. Maybe if this office were in Boston, Damon would be the one calling the shots and making the introductions.

  Eli held the door for me again, and again I stepped through after him, this time into what looked like a bull-pen… and a really empty bull pen at that. There had to be six desks here, and only two of them were manned. The others were, and looked like they had been, empty for some time; three of them didn’t even have computers.

  We walked past the two workers in silence, heading for the other side of the room. I spotted the open door to what looked like a kitchen area. Next to it was a closed door which led to a bathroom. Next to that, an elevator. Along the other long wall there were plenty of windows, but the shades were mostly drawn shut, casting the room into relative dimness, if not darkness. I had a feeling this was how people liked it in here, though. Too much light, and all that.

  Are both of those people Mages? Was Mikey?

  I had questions, but I didn’t feel like I could ask them right now. Not yet. Wait until after. Part of me also thought they were stupid questions. I was a Mage, as were Damon, Logan, and Eli, so why wouldn’t Mikey be? Why wouldn’t the people working at the desks also be Mages? Even supernatural creatures needed to pay rent, and to do that they needed jobs, and Damon had said there was an application and selection process, which meant you didn’t become an agent by simply being a Mage.

  Eli pressed the call button on the elevator, and we waited for it to arrive listening to the clack-tap-tap of fingers on keyboards and the whirr of the air-conditioning. When the elevator arrived and we got inside, it was Logan who finally spoke.

  “I thought you said this place was mellow, not dead.”

  “It’s understaffed, has been for a long time.”

  “Do you ever get used to the quiet here?” I asked.

  “I’m not here too much,” Eli said, “I mostly work from home. I only really have to come here if something breaks down.”

  “So, you’re the IT guy?”

  Eli laughed. “I’m an agent, but I’m also the IT guy.”

  “Can’t the department pay for a dedicated technician?” Damon asked.

  “They could, but I doubt they’d find anyone qualified enough to run the system I put in place. This precinct may not look like much, but it’s got the most sophisticated computer network in the country, courtesy of yours truly. That thing damn near runs itself.”

  “Except for when it doesn’t, right?” Logan said, his voice full of sarcasm.

  Eli shrugged. “I’d like to see you try and do that job, wolf boy.”

  The elevator dinged, then the door opened to another empty floor. Well, it wasn’t empty—it looked like there were places for people to sit, desks for people to work at, but there was only one person present—a heavyset man wearing a fedora. He was on the phone, leaning back on a chair that didn’t look like it could take more punishment. He glanced up at Eli as we walked past, but didn’t wave or say hi, instead he just gave a distant, and disinterested uh-huh- to whoever was on the other end of the line.

  Speaking of lines.

  Eli, Damon, and Logan stopped a couple of feet from a semi-translucent, closed door with the word Chief marked across it. On the other side I could see the impression of someone sitting at a desk, maybe hunched over it, writing something down, but it was hard to tell exactly who the person was. Randomly I noticed how the section of carpet I was standing on was darker than the section of carpet directly in front of the door, as if that part was newer than this part, creating an actual line between me, and the chief.

  “This is where we leave you,” Damon said.

  I turned to look at him and nodded. “Is it too late to ask you guys to come in with me?”

  Damon frowned and cocked an eyebrow.

  “Sorry…” I said, blood flushing to my cheeks. I hated how he could do that with a look. “I know. Be confident. Got it.”

  “You’re gonna be fine,” Eli said for the hundredth time, though his incredibly bright smile made me forget—or not care—that he’d been repeating the phrase like a mantra all day.

  “I know,” I said, “I’m just nervous.”

  Eli grinned. “I couldn’t tell. Just, remember… take it easy with the jester thing. The chief isn’t convinced.”

  “I can’t understand why. We were all there, we know what happened.”

  “We do, but we can’t go into things without knowing all of the facts, and none of us actually saw what happened. Let’s not jump the gun.”

  Logan placed a hand on my shoulder, then leaned close to my cheek. My heart started to race at his proximity, the heat of his touch, his body. Holy hell. Then he kissed my cheek, and I thought my heart was going to leap out of my chest. “Go get ‘em,” he whispered, and tingles invaded every one of my nerves. Very few men had ever been able to do that to me at the drop of a hat, but Logan was one of them.

  Smiling, blushing, I shook my head to take the excitement away. “Okay,” I said, “I’m gonna go. Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck,” Eli said, “Not that you need it.”

  I turned away from the guys and crossed the Rubicon, the dividing line between old and new carpeting. A couple of paces was all it took before I was in front of the door marked Chief. I knocked on the glass, waited, then knocked again. I was about to turn around, puzzled, when a woman called out from inside.

  “Come,” she said.

  A woman… the chief is a woman. Why’d I assume it would be a man?

  I opened the door and stepped into the moderately sized office behind it. A set of filing cabinets occupied one of the long walls, each door marked with a letter from A to Z, others marked with symbols I couldn’t even begin to identify. On the other wall was a rack of shelves on which sat a number of plaques, pictures in frames, and even a few small plant pots. From the door I spotted one plaque in particular with the word Commendation written on it, though I couldn’t see what the commendation was for. Now that I’d seen one, I saw more of them—five in total. Five commendations, all handed to her as plaques.

  In the center of the roo
m was a small brown desk covered in papers and stationary, tons of it, but most of it arranged in a way that would allow the person sitting at the desk plenty of access to her things. These files and papers were either important, or she’d gotten used to living with them nearby, but she didn’t want them all over the place. I noticed a picture frame on her desk, but the picture was pointing to her, not me, so I couldn’t see what was on it.

  Somewhere between the picture frame, one stack of files, and the back of her computer screen, was a plaque with her name on it: Chief Evelyn Baker, MD.

  Evelyn finished writing on the document in front of her, clicked her pen shut, and looked up at me. From where I stood, with the natural sunlight hitting the back of her head from behind, it looked like her hair was fire; red, vibrant, full. She had clearly put it up into a bun before the day began, but a lot of her hair had come loose and gotten frazzled throughout the day, and she had just never tried to correct it.

  Her eyes, I noticed—because I couldn’t not notice them—, were clear green, the color of a Hawaiian beach, though she had bags under them that she’d either never bothered to hide or couldn’t hide. She was a vision of Celtic beauty, though one that had come on hard times, and was probably on her fifth coffee of the day. The jacket of her grey suit lay thrown over the back of one of the chairs. I stood behind the other one.

  She smiled a tired smile. “It’s Andi, right?” she asked, reaching for my hand from across the desk.

  I took it and shook. “That’s right,” I said, “Andrea Daniels, but my friends call me Andi.”

  “Please, sit.”

  I sat down on the chair I had been standing behind and rested my hands on my lap while Evelyn scanned me, maybe trying to size me up, see if she could figure me out without even saying a word. Was she a Mage? Was she a Warlock? Did she have the same powers of perception as what Damon had, or was she something I hadn’t yet encountered?