Naughty Karma kc-7

by Vivi Andrews

  “She went through a phase in her twenties, trying to make up for the fact that she was still in middle school during Woodstock. What hours are you available to work?”

  He shrugged. “Whenever. I don’t bother with a regular schedule at my store. It’s open when I want it to be. What do your parents do?” He closed the cabinet and began roaming again, hands in his pants pockets as his gaze flicked on every surface in her office, missing nothing.

  “They’re retired. What exactly are your abilities?”

  He snorted. “It would be quicker to tell you what I can’t do. I can’t see the future, I can’t change the past, I can’t read minds and I can’t force anyone to do anything against their will. Beyond that my limits are a question of stamina and finesse.”

  His suggestively arched brow emphasized the double entendre, and again she refused to reward him with a blush. The massive slab of her desk between them reassured her, comforting her with a sense of unshakable control. She was in charge here.

  “What did they do before they retired?”

  “My mother worked at a greenhouse and my father was in law enforcement. Would you be able to exorcise a demon or transcend an unwanted ghost?”

  “Easily. You get along well with your brother?”

  “Very. Aura reading? Warding?”

  “Of course. But curses are my real forte.”

  She glowered. “We don’t do curses.”

  He shrugged, still strolling, pausing long enough for his slim fingers to trace the lines of her green cloisonné dragon bowl. “Breaking them is as easy as making them, but if I get a choice, I’d prefer to use my good deed time to unlock your abilities.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” The very idea was horrifying. She’d spent the better part of her life teaching herself how to effectively box in her unruly powers. The last thing she needed was Prometheus to assign himself the quest of unleashing them. “But your aptitude at breaking curses will be taken under advisement.”

  “So you don’t resent your brother for being your father’s real child?”

  “You’re trying to be an asshole, but if you want to piss me off, you’ll have to pick something I’m actually sensitive about.”

  “That works for me.” His stroll around the room took him behind her and she refused to turn, focusing on the papers in front of her, no matter how the thought of him at her back made her instincts scream in alarm. “Where are you sensitive?”

  A feather light touch brushed down the nape of her neck and Karma caught her breath, fighting to keep her eyelids from fluttering. Why did that have to feel so impossibly good? And why did he have to be the one to rev her up with just the brush of a finger?

  She set her pen on top of Prometheus’s forms, concentrating on blocking the heated press of his power against her back. “If you were half as smart as you think you are, you’d try not to piss me off since you’re depending on me to save your ass.”

  “Is that what I’m doing? Pissing you off?” The words were pure lazy seduction, a caress in their own right. His fingertip traced a pattern into her skin, sending delicious sensation shivering down her limbs. Knowing him, he was probably hexing her, but she’d never suspected a hex could feel like that.

  “You don’t want to be on my bad side.” Damn that husky catch in her voice.

  “Don’t I?”

  His presence rolled over her from behind, a thousand teasing flickers of power assaulting her senses, though the only physical touch was that one fingertip, wreaking havoc on that spot at her nape. She wanted to smack that hand away almost as badly as she wanted to lean into him and give in.

  Then the lingering stroke on her neck retreated, leaving in its wake a startling coolness—and the urge to curse.

  Testing for weaknesses. That’s all he’d been doing. And he’d found one. The bastard.

  “Your sense of honor won’t let you renege and neither will the binding I activated at my shop,” he said, unaffected, as he moved on and reverted to touching her things rather than her, “but if I annoy you enough, you’ll be in more of a hurry to get rid of me.”

  Able to breathe again as distance grew between them—how did he do that to her?—Karma cleared her throat and realigned the already perfectly straight folder. “Whether I’m in a hurry or not, my best finder is backlogged—” and possibly drowning later this week “—and my other best finder is on his honeymoon in Bali.”

  “Is that the one who married your brother?”

  “No, the one on his honeymoon is not the one who married my brother. That was Lucy. She’s a medium.”

  “Who’d the finder marry?”

  “A scientist. She’d probably love to scan your brain to see how your powers work when she gets back. Not to mention document the fact that you’re still alive without a beating heart.” Mia was a science nerd to her core. She’d probably have a spontaneous orgasm at the thought of dissecting Prometheus—and not solely for scientific reasons. There was no love lost there. “You’ve met them actually. The watch you stole? It was hers.”

  “Theft is such an ugly word.”

  “Yes. It is. Maybe you shouldn’t steal things, if you don’t want to be called a thief. Put down that box.”

  Prometheus raised a brow and the carved wooden box from the display case, rolling it between his hands. “It’s a puzzle box.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “What does the famous Karma of Karmic Consultants keep in her puzzle box? The curiosity is killing me.”

  “Then maybe I won’t have to wait two and a half months to be rid of you. Put it back.”

  He shrugged and set it back on the side table, wandering on, his eyes and fingers touching everything in her space, marking it.

  “The watch thing was a misunderstanding. I was told the watch had the power to find the ‘keeper of your heart’. I love a good shortcut, but turned out the watch was just about true love. Such a waste. You’re not really going to make me wait three weeks?”

  No. His plan was working. She wanted him gone, and if that meant jumping into Ciara’s high-priority queue or picking Chase and Mia up at the airport after their honeymoon to drive them directly to Prometheus for a find, that’s what Karma would do. But in the meantime, there really was nothing she could do for him.

  “Give me a detailed description of the box containing your heart. Anything that makes it unique.” Ciara’s gift was triggered by specifics. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “There is one slight complication.”

  “Of course there is.”

  “The box isn’t just your average organ-transplant cooler. It’s enchanted.”

  “It would have to be to keep your heart functional for twenty years.”

  “It’s Bacchus’s vessel.”

  Karma folded her hands on her desk, keeping her calm as he continued to walk and touch and walk and touch. As long as he didn’t touch her again, she could handle anything. “So you said. And as I said, the vessel is a myth.”

  “So are demons and ghosts and devils.”

  “Keep your fingers off that silk,” she snapped. “The oils in your skin are bad for it.”

  He stepped away from her hand-painted silk fan and bowed in her direction with mocking obedience. “I think Deuma was a maenad.”

  “The handmaidens of Bacchus? How can a devil be a Greek demi-goddess?”

  “There aren’t any rules against it that I know. Though I admit I’m not a hundred percent sure she was a devil. I was a kid when I summoned her and I wasn’t very savvy about the finer points of mythology and magic at the time.”

  “Wait, so you want my exorcist to summon a devil and we’re not even sure it is a devil? Weren’t the maenads known for going mad when they were filled with Bacchus’s power and ripping the flesh from men with their bare teeth?”

  “Beside the point. The point is Bacchus was the god of all sorts of drunken revels, but he was also the god of illusion. His vessel was enchanted to vanish whenever it was closed, hidi
ng itself from sight.”

  “I’m familiar with the story. Luckily, my finders don’t rely on their vision. The illusion won’t stop them.”

  “But the additional enchantment Deuma placed on it might. When the box is closed, it will continue to hide itself, but as soon as it is opened, my heart will die. And me with it, of course. Even if we find it, we may not be able to hold it and we can’t open it until all the other pieces are in play.”

  “I thought you were limited only by stamina and finesse. Can’t you put a binding on the box to stay until we are ready to open it?”

  “I can’t perform magic on my own heart. One of your people would have to. If you have someone who can.”

  “I do.” She had a coven of witches on retainer, but they were unpredictable and not her favorite recourse. Karma focused on her center, refusing to be annoyed by the fact that Prometheus’s task was coming to involve a cast of thousands.

  By the time he was done, he would know the ins and outs of her entire organization.

  Karma went still, not with premonition, with doubt. What if that was his real goal? What if everything he’d told her was a ruse to get close to her? Why had she let him into her office? What did she really know about him?

  Keeping her breathing steady to avoid revealing her flash of panic, Karma angled her head to eye Prometheus casually. “You know, now that I think of it, there is something we can do today to start moving forward with your reformation.”

  “Oh?” He smiled, clearly feeling like he was still in charge. Karma resisted the urge to gloat. He spread his hands in a patently false gesture of willingness. “I’m at your disposal.”

  “Leave.” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth to protest. “Give me a couple hours to get things in order. Say, nine?”

  “Why do I have the feeling you’re calling in an executioner?”

  You aren’t far off. “No assassins. Scout’s honor. But you can hardly expect me to be prepared to utilize your unique skills at the crack of dawn on a Sunday.”

  “Is that a smile? Now I know you’re setting me up.” He folded his arms, ropey muscles shifting under his tan. “Lucky for you, I’m dying to see who you call for air support. Nine o’clock?”

  “On the dot.”

  He caught her hand and swept her a bow over it that wouldn’t have looked out of place coming from an eighteenth century courtier, and yet somehow it worked for him. “I’ll count the seconds until I am once again in your presence.”

  She refused to give him the satisfaction of jerking her hand out of his grip. “You can count whatever you want. Just try to stay out of trouble.”

  “My lady.” One long finger stroked the inside of her wrist as he lifted her hand. She thought he would brush a kiss across her knuckles, was braced for it, but he turned her hand at the last moment and his lips caught her unprepared on the soft, exposed skin of her inner wrist. Tingling awareness shot up her arm, but she kept her gaze steady on him, fighting to appear unmoved—an exercise in futility when he could feel her pulse racing against his lips.

  “Goodbye, Prometheus.”

  He smiled as he released her, black eyes twinkling with pure devilry. “Karma.”

  She listened for the sound of the outer door opening and closing. When she heard the click, she pulled out her laptop and brought up the building’s security feed, watching through the exterior cameras as Prometheus took his time putting on a black helmet and leather jacket, throwing one long, spidery leg over the seat of a black motorcycle and finally roaring out of the parking lot.

  One eye still watching the cameras, not entirely trusting the man to stay gone, she plucked the handset from her desk phone and dialed from memory. It was still ungodly early on a Sunday morning, but she would beg for forgiveness later.

  Her touch-reader, an infallible human lie-detector with a weakness for carnivals, answered on the fifth ring with a groggy, “‘lo?”

  “Ronna. It’s Karma. I’m sorry to disturb you so early, but can you come into the office today?”

  “Karma? Whassat? Come in? Yeah, I… What time is it?”

  “It’s early. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. Could you make it in by nine?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, sure. I’ll just…yeah. Nine.” A male voice rumbled in the background. “D’you want Matt too?”

  “Please. And Ronna, if you would, have him bring his gun.”

  Chapter Seven

  Which Lie Did I Tell?

  Prometheus wasn’t surprised Karma had caught on to his annoy-her-into-cooperation plan. He hadn’t exactly been subtle, arriving at the crack of dawn on a Sunday morning. Unfortunately, she’d been ready for him and seemed to have reservoirs of teeth-gritted tolerance beyond anyone he’d previously encountered.

  Curiosity, always his Achilles’ heel, goaded him to play along and go quietly, if only so he could see what she would mount as a counterattack. He pointed his motorcycle up the coast and drove, considering the enigma that was Karma from every angle, biding his time until nine o’clock—or a vague approximation thereof; he’d never been a stickler for punctuality. When he returned and let himself into Karma’s inner sanctum for the second time that day—knocking was so overrated—he saw that her reinforcements had beaten him there.

  The couple didn’t look like anything to strike fear into the heart of a fearless warlock. The girl, a fair-skinned African-American with reddish-brown curls, gave off a pleasant, low-level buzz of power, enough wattage to power a microwave, but hardly impressive when she was standing next to Karma, who could have single-handedly lit Manhattan if she let herself go. The man appeared to the naked eye to be more of a threat, a buzz-cut Caucasian with a bad attitude. Cop or criminal, he had to be one or the other—but he barely gave off enough energy for a static shock, so Prometheus dismissed him with a glance, turning his attention to Karma.

  She looked smug. What advantage did she think these two gave her?

  “Prometheus. So nice of you to join us.” Karma stood in front of her desk, propped against the edge. She unfolded her hands and gestured to the pair to her left. “I’d like to introduce Officer Matthew Holloway, one of my security consultants—”

  Cop, then. No surprise there. Karma did like the white hats.

  Holloway nodded to acknowledge the introduction and deliberately shoved his hands into his front pockets, pushing back the edges of his jacket to reveal the awkward bulge of a shoulder holster.

  Prometheus almost smiled. If a guy with a gun was supposed to scare him into obedience, Karma was going to be disappointed. A man with less than three months left on the clock felt a certain reckless disregard for bullets—at least Prometheus did. He’d never really developed a healthy respect for his own mortality to begin with.

  And pointing a gun at a telekinetic was just plain stupid. There were a thousand different ways to jam a firearm and Prometheus knew them all.

  “—and Ronna Mitchell. My lie detector.”

  Tension jerked the muscles in his shoulders up before he could control the reaction. A touch reader. He’d known Karma had one on staff, but he hadn’t seen this play coming. She’d warned him, but he’d thought he could sweet talk his way out of being put to this test.

  Karma had the grace not to smile at his reaction, acknowledging his discomfort with an inquisitive tilt of her head. “You don’t mind if I ask you a few questions, do you, Prometheus?”

  She wanted to test his intentions. That much was clear. She would have been stupid to trust him outright, but Prometheus found himself equal parts annoyed that she so obviously didn’t and uneasy at the idea of letting the touch reader put her hands on him. He wasn’t sure what she would see, how deep she would be able to go. Hell, the reader herself probably didn’t know. Everything he’d read indicated that particular gift was unpredictable, reacting to others with talents in unexpected ways.

  Would he be shielded? Was it possible he could even lie to her? Or would his every secret be laid raw? He’d never been comfortable being
vulnerable to anyone. Why else would he have given away his beating heart for power?

  “You can say no,” Karma offered when he didn’t answer her question.

  He could. He could refuse. But the subtext was clear. She wouldn’t trust him. She wouldn’t do beyond the bare minimum to help him. He would lose her as an ally. An ally he couldn’t afford to alienate. Karma was the key.

  He forced his shoulders to relax and spread his hands in a magician’s nothing-to-hide gesture, drawing their attention to his hands so they wouldn’t see the nervous tightness in his face. “I’m yours to interrogate. Do your worst.”

  Karma did smile then, a close-lipped curve. “Hopefully my worst won’t be necessary. Have a seat.”

  She waved to one of the straight-backed chairs in front of her desk, but Prometheus crossed to the couch on the far wall and tossed himself onto it. If he was going to do this, he was going to be comfortable. Holloway dragged over one of the straight-backed chairs for the reader, Ronna, who perched on the edge and gave him a tentative smile.

  “It doesn’t hurt,” she assured him.

  He stopped himself before he snorted out, Yeah, maybe not physically. The reaction would have been too defensive. Revealed too much. So instead, he lolled back on the couch, draping his hand over the arm to put it within her reach. “Don’t be gentle, sweetheart. I’m into the rough stuff.”

  Holloway, hovering over Ronna’s shoulder, folded his arms so one hand rested against the butt of his gun. His fingers stroked it slowly, like he was fantasizing about all the holes he would like to put in Prometheus.

  Karma moved to stand a few feet away, feet braced in her high heels, arms folded tight. It was a power posture, but with her arms bound around her, she also looked like she was holding herself inside, the picture of intense restraint. “Don’t try anything or I’ll have Matt shoot you.”

  Prometheus raised a lazy brow. “Noted.”

  Karma nodded to Ronna. The touch reader licked her lips, returned the nod, seeming to psych herself up, then reached for his hand. Prometheus slammed up his mental shields, pouring every scrap of will-driven power he had into his defenses.