Guild of Secrets (Obsidian Queen Book 1)

by Shannon Lynn Cook

  “Go away, Jonathan,” I holler through the door, my reflection’s eyes narrowing in the mirror. He’s already pestered me three times—and Gray calls me a princess.

  “It’s Gray.”

  I flinch, count out three more seconds, and then release a curl from the hot iron. “Just a minute.”

  “You’ve been in there an hour already. The banks open at nine, and we only have three hours to work because it’s Saturday and they all close at twelve.”

  “It’s only seven-thirty,” I tell him.

  “And Jonathan hasn’t even showered yet.”

  I roll my eyes and pin the section of hair up so it will cool without the weight of it pulling out the curl.

  When Gray doesn’t say anything else, I figure he's left. The truth is, I’m surprised he hasn’t dismissed me from the team yet. I thought he’d have already booked me a flight home.

  “We need to talk,” he says after another moment, surprising me.

  “Can it wait a few more minutes?”

  “I have coffee. For you.”

  I close my eyes, trying to collect my scattered thoughts, and then flick the lock. “Fine. Come in.”

  Normally I’d be embarrassed to have a guy see me with my hair half-finished, but I tell myself it’s all right because it’s Gray. My coworker. My coworker who has no interest in me whatsoever…and who I have no interest in. Whatsoever.

  So what if his lips are intimately familiar with my throat, or if the memory of last night makes me tingle?

  That is not the point at all.

  The point is I’m a Fox, and he’s a Wolf, and that’s that.

  He opens the door and slips inside, resetting the lock behind him. I give the doorknob a pointed look and raise my eyebrows.

  “If you give Jonathan half a chance, he’ll sneak in here and toss you and your dozen makeup bags out.”

  I ignore the dig because Gray looks especially good this morning in one of his usual muscle-hugging T-shirts, and I can now imagine, with incredible detail, what lies underneath it.

  He sets a coffee cup on the marble counter and slides it to me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was a peace offering.

  But I do know better, so I’m merely suspicious.

  “You can’t use your magic against us,” he says, sounding like he’s going to launch into a spiel. “No persuasion—”

  “I can’t use persuasion on you,” I point out.

  What is this? It sounds like he’s laying down rules…like he’s telling me he’s not sending me home.

  “You could use it on Jonathan or Eric.” Then he continues like I didn’t interrupt. “And no charisma.”

  “You mean the magic right? You’re not talking about me being my natural, charming self?”

  He almost smiles.

  “And what about the rest?” I ask. “No using stealth to sneak up on you? No cloaking myself in your presence? No utilizing sleight of hand to perform card tricks or pull bunnies from hats? No using magic to pick the heart-shaped lock of your diary and reading all your secrets?”

  Ignoring me, he steps forward. “We’ll treat the next few weeks as a trial period, see if we can make this work.”

  Though I find the whole conversation slightly insulting, I finally nod.

  He taps the white plastic lid of the steaming cup. “Drink your coffee and finish up. Try to be quick about it—Jonathan takes forever.”

  “Yes, sir.” Unlike the first time I said it back at my house, my words are teasing instead of downright insolent.

  With his hand on the doorknob, and his back facing me, he pauses. “About last night…”

  And just like that, images of Gray, shirtless and wrapped in steam, flash in my memory. I resist the urge to fan my face like a flustered southern belle.

  “I put you in an uncomfortable position, and I’m sorry. Please know it will never happen again.”

  I stare at his back, unsure how to respond. I should tell him that I wanted it—oh, I wanted it—but then I might do something foolish like throw myself at him. And since I don’t relish feeling like a wanton hussy who flits from brother to brother, I should probably keep the thought to myself.

  So I say something incredibly profound, something to put the entire awkward situation to rest. “Oh…um. Okay.”

  He nods and then steps out the door.

  Feeling like a ball of lead has settled in my stomach, I go back to curling my hair. I’m just pinning the last curl when Jonathan barges in.

  Guess I forgot to set the lock.

  “You have a mirror in your room,” he says, already stripping off the shirt he slept in. “Finish up in there.” He then has the audacity to wink at me. “Unless you want a show.”

  I gape at the expanse of toned caramel skin. The knight’s a little lankier than Gray, a little leaner, but just as attractive. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking a shower.”

  “Are you serious?”

  But he must be because he turns on the water and strips off his flannel pajama pants, revealing a pair of fitted black boxer briefs.

  “Jonathan!” I screech, tossing a hand over my eyes.

  While I’m blind, he takes the opportunity to swing open the door and push me through it. Before I realize what’s happening, the door shuts, and there’s an audible click.

  “Jonathan!” I holler, enraged that he didn’t have the decency to at least let me collect my cosmetic kit. “My stuff.”

  Two seconds later, both the makeup case and hairbrush are unceremoniously tossed from a crack that appears in the door. My things barely topple to the ground when the door slams shut once again.

  I turn, hands on my hips, curls bouncing in their temporary pins, and face Eric and Gray, who are on the couches, watching with amused expressions. “He stripped off his clothes and kicked me out of the bathroom!”

  Gray takes a sip of his coffee. “I warned you to lock it.”

  “The bloody Griffon’s a Peacock,” I seethe, pulling out the pins, letting each curl fall. Then I grab my things and stalk to the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me.

  ***

  Because it might look slightly suspicious if the four of us were to walk into the bank and ask to open a joint account, Gray has delegated Jonathan and me for the task.

  “I don’t remember this being part of my job description,” I say, still irritated with Jonathan. “Why don’t you send Eric?”

  We’re sitting in Jonathan’s Hummer, taking up precious bank parking.

  “You want me to send Eric with Jonathan to open a joint account?” Gray says slowly.

  I flash Jonathan an ornery smile. “Jonathan’s pretty enough. I don’t think anyone will question it.”

  Eric laughs, but the Griffon only rolls his eyes. “I’m into girls, Madeline. Something you could have found out for yourself if you didn’t dart out of the bathroom this morning.”

  “I didn’t dart.” I narrow my eyes at the too-handsome knight. “I was shoved.”

  “If I’d known you wanted to stay—”

  “Enough,” Gray interrupts.

  True to Gray’s word, Jonathan took just as much time to get ready as I did. It’s nine-o-four, and we just pulled up to our first stop. We have five banks to check out today, and the clock is already ticking. At least our job is simple enough.

  All we have to do is walk in and let Jonathan get a good, long look at the tellers. Once he spots the pixie’s magic, Eric and Gray can arrest the impostor.

  That part, however, might be tricky considering banks tend to have rather sophisticated security systems. They’re obviously not good enough to keep pixies from following their tellers home, offing them, sticking them in dumpsters, and impersonating them in order to steal personal info from customers to sell on the black market…but enough that it might be difficult to pull a pixie over the counter by the scruff of his neck and zap him with my Taser.

  Side note: no one’s actually talked about zapping anyone, but I have my li
ttle weapon in my purse. You know—just in case.

  “Let’s get on with it,” Gray says, waving us away. “Pretend you like each other.”

  Jonathan’s arm brushes my shoulder as he opens the door for me, the perfect faux gentleman. “After you.”

  I meet his eyes, smirking. “Thanks.”

  The building is one of the larger ones in the area, built in an era when banks were constructed to be impressive. The floor is some kind of rough granite, and the exterior walls are mirrored glass.

  Jonathan and I stand in the teller line, side-by-side. Thank goodness it’s a Saturday, and therefore ridiculously busy, because Jonathan has a good amount of time to check out the people working behind the long counter.

  “Anything?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Just humans.”

  When we reach the counter, Jonathan wraps an arm around my shoulders and tells the young woman, “My fiancée and I would like information about a checking account.”

  Fiancée? Keep dreaming, Jonathan.

  He squeezes me closer. “She’s begged me to marry her for years, and I finally gave in to the old ball and chain.” He leans in and lowers his voice. “Hard to say no to a girl who can't keep her hands off you, you know? Just this morning—”

  I jab him in the side, and he winces, still grinning a wicked smile.

  “Of course,” the teller says with a broad smile. She hands me a brochure and then instructs us to take a seat in the waiting area where she’ll have someone meet us shortly.

  Jonathan and I sit for almost twenty minutes waiting for a banker to assist us, but there’s no sign of the pixie. Eventually, we give up and rejoin Gray and Eric.

  “Nothing,” Jonathan says. “No trace of magic whatsoever.”

  We load up into the Hummer and move to our next stop, a tiny bank next to a sandwich shop. Five minutes later, we come back out.

  “Only two people working,” I tell Gray. “Neither of them were pixies.”

  We make it to all five banks on our list, but the pixie must have decided to take the weekend off. Can’t blame him—work burnout is a real thing.

  “Now what?” Eric asks Gray.

  Gray crosses his arms. “I guess we wait for Monday.”

  “Great.” Jonathan heads toward the Hummer. “I’m starving.”

  I follow. “We wouldn’t have missed breakfast if you hadn’t taken forever.”

  From behind me, Eric says to Gray, “It’s nice to see Maddie settling in with the team, yeah?”

  Gray snorts.

  We drive around the lake, looking for a good spot to stop. The men argue about food as I reluctantly call to cancel my spa day. Being the optimistic sort, I’d hoped we’d find the pixie this morning, and I’d be back in time to make it.

  No such luck.

  On the way, Jonathan whines about the many cyclists in the road.

  “They’re like deer,” he mutters, laying on the horn when a pair rolls right through a four-way stop, taking his right-of-way. “They don’t even look before they dart in front of you.”

  “Shhh,” I say, waving my hand around, trying to hear the receptionist on the other side of the line.

  “Would you like to reschedule?” the woman asks.

  “The bicycle painted on the road is there for you morons who can’t read,” Jonathan yells out the window. “It means that’s the bike lane. I suggest you stay in it.”

  “No,” I tell the woman. “I need to cancel this time.”

  A particularly tall, rather stout cyclist flips Jonathan off, which does nothing to improve his mood.

  “His blood sugar is low again,” Eric reasons to Gray as we crawl through the street. “We’ve got to stop letting him drive when he hasn’t eaten.”

  I end the call and realize Jonathan’s pulling into what looks suspiciously like a bar.

  “I’m not eating here,” I announce.

  I’ve had quite enough bars, thank you very much. I’m still mourning the loss of my skirt.

  “This won’t be like the last one,” Eric promises.

  I sit, glaring at the building that admittedly looks more like a microbrewery than a biker hangout. “You swear to me you’re not going to come out with an unconscious body?”

  “Well, that depends.” Gray turns to me, his face serious but his eyes laughing. “Do you plan on using your Taser on anyone?”

  Giving him a dry look, I step out of the Hummer and follow the men inside.

  I pause the moment I pass through the door. I’ve never seen so much brightly colored spandex in my life. Mother would pass out.

  Men of all ages, and a few women too, sit at tables, dressed in cycling gear.

  “Must have been an event this morning,” Eric says.

  I’m looking around, and I can already tell the establishment caters to the pedal-pushing crowd. There’s a rusty bike mounted on the wall, and other random cycling-themed stuff is scattered about.

  I glance at Jonathan, not bothering to hide my sick amusement. He turns my way, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Not a word out of you.”

  Shrugging, putting on an innocent face, I say, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  A hostess welcomes us, already gathering menus. She leads us to a table near the back, and Eric excuses himself and heads to the bathroom.

  “Can I get you some drinks?” the woman asks. “Maybe start you off with an appetizer?”

  “Bring us some mozzarella sticks and wings,” Gray says, glancing at Jonathan.

  Good call—the man needs protein.

  She takes our drink order and then disappears into the back.

  I’m just debating between the barbecue ranch chicken salad and the Italian chopped salad when a familiar cyclist walks through the door with two of his buddies at his side.

  “Your friend just showed up,” I say to Jonathan.

  He mutters a curse under his breath when he sees the man who flipped him off not five minutes ago.

  And wouldn’t you know it, the only open table in the entire restaurant is right next to us.

  The man’s face darkens when he recognizes Jonathan. As he walks by, he intentionally slams into our favorite Griffon’s chair.

  “Oops,” he says. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

  Jonathan, probably not wanting to cause a scene, shrugs it off with tensed shoulders and a rigid set to his jaw. “No harm done.”

  The man laughs. “Not so outspoken when you’re not behind the wheel.”

  Then he kicks Jonathan’s chair again, just to get a rise out of him. I suck in a breath, growing more than a little uneasy.

  Jonathan slowly stands, drawing himself up to his full height—which is a full head shorter than the giant cyclist.

  “I promised Madeline we wouldn’t create any unconscious bodies,” Gray says, still looking at his menu, thoroughly undaunted by the whole situation.

  Does he not see the size of this guy?

  The man chuckles, a laugh deep from the middle of his bear-chest, and his two friends flank him, sidekick style.

  Jonathan flashes them a dark look. “How about you go to your table before I have to embarrass you in front of your friends?”

  “Is that a threat?”

  The knight shifts forward. “What are you? Daft? First you can’t figure out how to stay in the bike lane, and now you’re having trouble comprehending when someone tells you to sit your dumb, lumberjack ass down?”

  Here’s the thing about Griffons—they’re incredibly gifted, usually quite bright. But they’re not known for their ability to fight. For example, in the glorious medieval ages of old, a Griffon was often flanked by a combination of four or five Bulls and Bears. The big guys. The strong guys. The guys who are capable of protecting the pansy-tailed Griffons.

  But apparently Jonathan forgot he left his entourage of big, dumb guys at home.

  “Hey, princess,” Gray says, frowning at his menu like he’s trying to decide between a steak or a burger. “Can you take care of
this?”

  “Really?” I ask, startled someone is asking me to use my Foxiness.

  Gray lifts his eyes to meet mine. “I’d like to see your work.”

  “You’re giving me complete artistic control?”

  No one has ever done that before. If I’m not careful, it might go to my head.

  He nods.

  Jonathan and the big guy are chest to chest. Well, sort of—like I said, Jonathan’s a head shorter, so his eyes come to the guy’s neck. They’re both red-faced and snarling, and I know the first punch is going to be thrown any moment. I set a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, silently asking him to step back.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” the man says. “Step down. Listen to your girl.”

  I snap my fingers in front of the guy’s eyes, making him look at me. His face is tomato red. “Excuse me, Mr. Temperamental Lumberjack?”

  He gives me an incredulous look.

  “Hi,” I say sweetly, adding a good punch of charisma magic to the word.

  The man and his friends’ faces go slack.

  “I’m going to need you to apologize to my friend.”

  Instantly, all three of them turn to Jonathan and mutter apologies.

  I swivel to Gray, looking for feedback, not wanting to go too far. After all, our job is to hunt down Aparians who use their magic on humans. It would be hypocritical to push it too much.

  “Seriously?” Jonathan demands, looking decidedly put out. “That’s all?”

  “What do you want me to do?” I demand.

  “How about you have him zap himself like you did that security guard—”

  “What?” Gray demands, finally giving us his full attention.

  I roll my eyes at Jonathan, ignoring Gray. “That’s going a little overboard, don’t you think?”

  “I’ll do it.” The lumberjack steps forward and grasps my hand, taking me completely by surprise. “For you, I’ll do anything.”

  I gape at him, baffled. “You’ll shock yourself with a Taser…for me?”

  “Anything you ask.”

  Well now, I might have put a little too much punch into the magic.

  The man falls to his knees. His friend, suddenly enraged, grasps his shoulder and yanks him to his feet. “If anyone is going to shock himself for the girl, it’s going to be me.”