The Dark Glamour

by Gabriella Pierce

  He kissed her softly the first time, then again with more intensity, and then she felt the magic in her blood catch fire as he drove her back against the window with so much force that she briefly wondered if the glass would crack. His tongue parted her lips as his fingers found the hem of her top again. This time, when he found it, he pulled it up roughly, breaking their kiss just long enough to pull the scrap of green silk over her head and drop it somewhere behind him. Fortunately, the rest of their clothes could come off while allowing their mouths to stay locked, and for a long moment Jane found herself pressed between the cool glass behind her and André’s smoldering body in front of her, both touching every inch of her bare skin. Not mine, she reminded herself, Ella’s. Who cares who’s scandalized?

  But André apparently had a bit more of a sense of decorum left. He whirled her away from the window, twining his leg around hers so that she lost her balance and her weight was entirely in his arms. Then he set her down on the nearest taupe couch, and followed her body hungrily with his own. He entered her immediately, without hesitation or warning, but she found that her body was fully ready for him, and her back arched so hard that she thought she might leave the couch entirely. Then he was driving her back down into the thick fabric of the cushion, his mouth roaming across her neck and collarbone as he thrust. Her hands glided across his back, and then she felt a sudden spasm of heightened pleasure and her fingernails bit into his skin as her back tried to arch up again. He caught her wrists deftly, one at a time, and pinned them gently above her head.

  In the darkened room, she could still see his even darker eyes and the hint of a smile on his lips. Acting on impulse, she drove one heel into the back of the couch and flipped him, their still-interlocked bodies free-falling to the ground. He grunted a little as his back struck the plush carpet, but the smile was still in place, and she pulled herself upright to straddle him, her body shining in the moonlight, her now-freed hands winding ecstatically in her own hair. He came with a final series of powerful thrusts, and the change of the rhythm triggered shockwaves in her own body, and she leaned down again, kissing him helplessly, until they passed.

  After a long few minutes, she rolled to the side, separating from him. He stayed where he was, breathing deeply, but his hand snaked out and circled her wrist again, this time in a much firmer grip. “Don’t go far,” he murmured forcefully, and then released her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jane kept her oversize sunglasses on until she reached the door of her Greenwich Village apartment. When her retinas were assaulted by the sun streaming through the living room’s massive wall of windows, she wished that she had kept them on, but she reminded herself that she had earned every stab and throb of her hangover and soldiered on.

  “J— Ella!” Dee squealed happily, poking her head out from the kitchen. Jane winced at the noise, but the smells wafting through the doorway made her cautiously optimistic about her ability to keep food down.

  “You will not believe the day I had yesterday,” she told Dee, keeping her own voice intentionally soft. “But before I go there, is there coffee? Mine’s gone.” She waved her empty Starbucks cup pointedly: the venti Americano had lasted her about two crosstown blocks in traffic. “Next time I’m so just taking the subway. But changing trains in these shoes—have you seen these shoes? They’re—”

  She eventually stopped rambling when she realized that Dee was waving frantic complex signals at her with one hand: the hand, Jane realized, that was hidden from the rest of the kitchen by the doorframe. “Hi, Ella,” Dee supplied in the awkward sudden silence, her throaty voice as cheerful as possible while pointedly emphasizing Jane’s cover name.

  “Hi,” Jane began again. “Um . . . coffee?”

  “We were just having some. There’s toast, too, which you look like you could use.”

  We? Jane frowned a little, then more as the wrinkling made her headache even worse. “Hi, Harris.” She sighed as she rounded the corner to find him sitting at the spindly kitchen table. Duh.

  He waved a slice of bacon at her cheerfully, his mouth already full of what looked like French toast. He wore jeans and a white V-neck tee that had a couple of pinpoint holes in it from frequent laundering. His usually sparkling green eyes were still a little puffy and bleary. He slept here, she realized. He looked like a natural part of the apartment, as if he were completely comfortable there. Didn’t take him long to make himself at home, she thought shrewishly, then grimaced at her own meanness.

  Dee pressed a mug of black coffee into her hand and Jane finished nearly half of it in one scalding swallow. “Long night?” Harris asked amiably, having finally finished chewing.

  “Apparently those are going around,” Jane replied loftily. Under his light dusting of freckles, Harris blushed. Leave it alone, Jane told herself, but part of her was quietly gleeful at his embarrassment.

  “Harris took me out to celebrate my first day of work,” Dee inserted between them, not looking embarrassed in the slightest, and this time her pointed emphasis was on Harris’s name. “Ella, have you ever been to Masa Bar? It blew my mind. And then, of course, we went and finished the job with tequila.”

  “I’m so sorry I had to miss it,” Jane told her, more or less sincerely. Even if it stung a little to watch Dee and Harris together, she knew she should be there for her friend. At the very least, she should want to. “My work ran really, really late.”

  “Clearly,” Dee agreed, her amber eyes raking over every wrinkle in Jane’s clothes. Jane, who had fished them off a still-sleeping André’s floor just an hour before and was painfully aware that they looked a little too “lived-in” for eight in the morning, scowled at her. Dee’s eyes came to rest on a substantial bruise that was starting to surface under the bare, dark skin of Jane’s left arm. Jane, suddenly and vividly recalling the splintering crash against André’s coffee table that had put it there during Round Three, decided to scowl at her plate instead.

  Harris’s green gaze flickered back and forth between the two women, watching them like an approaching storm cloud. He stuffed two more pieces of bacon into his mouth while Jane and Dee both sulked in their opposite corners of the narrow kitchen, chewing and swallowing in record time. “I should go,” he declared abruptly, pushing his chair back and depositing his plate in the dishwasher in one elegant movement. “I just need my . . . um . . .” He flushed again, glancing at Dee but studiously avoiding Jane’s eyes.

  “In front of the couch,” Dee told him, as discreetly as she could manage with Jane sitting right there.

  Harris kissed her quickly on the cheek and then strode away into the living room, where he scooped a pale-green button-down shirt off the floor. He fastened it as he moved toward the door. He kept his head down, but Jane could still see his blush. When he was halfway through the door, he politely hesitated to call, “Bye, Ella, nicetoseeyou,” before pulling it shut behind him with a solid thud.

  “So,” Dee said, turning a black rubber spatula over and over in her tawny, calloused hands.

  “So,” Jane echoed, swirling the dregs of her coffee in the thick white mug and wishing for more.

  Suddenly Dee was a flurry of tangled hair and long, golden limbs, and within seconds Jane was facing a plate piled with French toast and bacon. “So my new job is awesome,” Dee went on, apparently deciding to go first. “Way better than the bakery, because our clients want all kinds of things and I’m completely in charge of the desserts. More variety and more responsibility, and Kate—I told you about Kate, right? You never really know with start-up caterers; half of them are just bored home cooks who have no idea what they’re doing. But I can actually learn from this woman, and she was showing me some of her past menus and I couldn’t believe it. So then we spent all day prepping for this huge birthday thing on Wednesday, and I was watching her work and it was incredible! I guess the birthday girl has a house in Bali, and so her sister wanted a ‘tropical theme,’ so I’m sitting there doing my little pineapple custards like it’s
2002, and Kate’s like, ‘Okay, now I’m going to brine this suckling pig.’ In Manhattan; seriously.”

  There was more—a lot more—but Jane tried to tune it out with her chewing. She was happy that Dee was happy, really. And Kate the Caterer sounded awesome. And, she reminded herself, Dee had had to leave her job, her apartment, and her life thanks to Jane in the first place. She had helped Jane when Jane had needed help, and she had paid a heavy price for it. But do I have to hear every single detail of how the woman rolls her own noodles at this hour of the morning?

  Jane chewed the inside of her bottom lip between bites of breakfast. I’m jealous again, she realized with a pang. It was certainly true that Dee had lost a lot because she had helped Jane, but Jane had lost a lot, too. And, unlike Dee, Jane still had a ton of difficult and dangerous work to do before she could hope to return to any kind of normalcy. Meanwhile she’s got a cute boyfriend and an awesome new boss, and I’m drinking half the day and sleeping with a completely unsuitable guy I’m trying to use for access to my mortal enemy’s fortress. It wasn’t Dee’s fault, she knew, but it wasn’t fair, either.

  “So, um, do you want an ice pack or anything?”

  Realizing that Dee had apparently finished the rundown of how great her own life was, Jane glanced up. My arm, she realized. Good thing she can’t see my hip. After we broke that vase . . . “I’m fine,” she said out loud, grateful for the change of topic, at least. “I met a guy.”

  Dee, ignoring her refusal, wrapped a bag of frozen peas in a dishtowel and pressed it against Jane’s arm. It stung, then ached. “An enemy?” Dee guessed sympathetically.

  “A means to an end,” Jane replied grimly, and told her everything she had learned about the Dorans and the Dalcascus. She sketched her plan to manipulate both families through André, drawing patterns in her maple syrup with her fork in order to avoid eye contact. She had made real progress, surely, but instead of confident, she mostly felt uncomfortable.

  Dee looked concerned, but she refrained from commenting on Jane’s recent redefinition of “unsafe sex.” “Well, you have a plan,” she mused delicately, although her distaste showed in the tension of her full mouth. “Two, actually, because befriending Laura could still totally work.” Jane twisted her own mouth into a noncommittal shape. “Okay, but as long as you’re . . . involved . . . with this André guy, I guess we’d better get the most out of it. I mean, he must be newsworthy in his own right, right?”

  Jane frowned. “I’d never heard of him.”

  “You’d never heard of the Dorans, either,” Dee pointed out patiently, “but that doesn’t mean that the tabloids hadn’t. And if Lynne is dealing with André and his sister, then they must have something she wants but can’t just throw her weight around and take. So they must be on her level somehow, which means there’s a good chance that Page Six will be interested in what they’re up to, where they’re going, and who they’re . . . dating.”

  Jane winced at the euphemism but mostly had to agree. “You think gossip columnists would be interested in me if they think there’s an ‘us’?” She felt a tingling in her biceps that spelled the beginning of numbness, and she set the bag of peas on the edge of the table. A fat brown sparrow settled on the windowsill above the sink, tapped the brick with its beak a few times, and then took off again.

  “I think they’d be interested in you anyway, Baroness, but they’ve never heard of you before, since you didn’t exist before. And if you had a debutante ball for yourself or whatever and tried to publicize it, they’d probably have a lot of questions about your background that we can’t answer. But if you’re just with someone who’s already tabloid-ready on his own, you’re in the story without being the story. And it might even make the Dorans curious to meet you, which I’m sure André will be happy to help them out with.”

  Jane steepled her fingers together on the table, examining the pale half-moons that stood out against the dark skin of her nail beds. “Shouldn’t you be off masterminding a coup d’état somewhere in Africa?”

  Dee chuckled hoarsely, and Jane felt a slight lessening of the new awkwardness between them. “Their puff pastry leaves something to be desired,” she replied airily, and then sat up straighter. “Although Kate showed me this thing where you just take a spray bottle filled with tap water, and . . . it’s a revelation, seriously. Anyway, I can call a couple of tip lines and say I’m an employee at the hotel or something. I know the kind of rumors they like to print: I’m pretty sure I can get some press about your . . . relationship.”

  “Thanks,” Jane told her, sincerely but with renewed stiffness. She wished that she could relax more, but it still felt like there was a short circuit somewhere in their usual, easy rapport. I’ve got a silly crush on her new boyfriend, and she’s worried I’m in over my head with mine, she pointed out to herself gently. We’ll both get over it.

  “We should probably be ready for you to get invited to the house anytime; that part could be hard to predict,” Dee went on pragmatically. “And we don’t know how much time you’ll have alone to go looking for Annette’s old room or her things, so I was thinking you might need some magic ready to help you look. I don’t know any spells that would help, but we could go by Misty’s when I’m done with work, and—”

  “That’s okay,” Jane told her abruptly. “I’ve got nothing but free time. I’ll go over to Book and Bell myself in a little bit. Misty’ll probably want to inspect her handiwork, anyway,” she added in a not-quite-successful attempt at levity, waving her left hand to indicate her face and body.

  Dee’s smile was a fraction too late and too wide, but Jane told herself there would be plenty of time to shore up their friendship later. She had made huge strides in her crazy mission already, but there was still a long and difficult road ahead: getting into the mansion, finding something of Annette’s, finding Annette herself, and then bringing her home. And then I can focus on being as happy as she seems to be lately, instead of being all grouchy about it.

  In the meantime, the best thing she could do would be to put some physical distance between herself and Dee. And if she got some research done in the process, so much the better.

  She pushed her chair back from the table and slid her syrupy plate beside Harris’s in the dishwasher. She crossed through the living room, studiously not looking at the spot on the pale-gold boards of the floor where Harris’s shirt had been, and moved with relief into the relative darkness of the hallway. Her entire body ached in one way or another. Research would have to wait; her top priorities were a long bath and a short nap.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The uneven floorboards squeaked underneath the thin red carpet of Book and Bell as Jane stepped inside. A tiny bell jangled above the door, and Misty turned her cloud of frizzy blond hair toward the sound. The Wiccan’s face didn’t register any kind of familiarity, though, and Jane reminded herself that she wasn’t herself—literally. She had opened her mouth to explain when she noticed a college-age girl with skinny jeans and punk-short black hair leafing through a copy of Tea Leaves and Chicken Bones: A Modern Girl’s Guide to the Secrets of the Universe. The girl didn’t look like the type to be following tabloid drama, but Jane still hesitated to broadcast her real name within earshot of strange New Yorkers.

  She sidled up to the pressboard counter instead. As she approached, Misty’s right hand disappeared beneath the counter. The older woman’s eyes remained calm, but fixed unwaveringly on Jane. She realized that Misty either had a panic button back there, or something more sinister and supernatural waiting for people who came into her store looking as cagey as “Ella” probably looked right now.

  “Misty,” she blurted out, and the shopkeeper’s blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I’m Dee’s new roommate,” Jane rushed on. “My name is Ella. We were supposed to meet this weekend, but you had to leave the party before I got home.” She set her own left hand on the counter for emphasis, and saw Misty’s eyes dart to the plain silver ring that had held Celine’s magic unti
l Jane had arrived to inherit it. It looked like a perfectly smooth band with beveled edges, but she would also once have sworn that it was covered in ancient carvings. Lynne and Malcolm had both recognized it on sight, and Dee had noticed something strange about it before she had even known for sure that witches were real. Jane felt certain the ring would vouch for her among people who knew magic, even if she couldn’t exactly say why.

  Misty nodded curtly, her right hand returning to rest on the top of the counter, and Jane relaxed a little. “Well, any friend of Dee’s is more than welcome to come browse anytime, but I get the feeling that you’re looking for something a little more specific.” She glanced at the punk-haired girl, who didn’t look up or indicate that she was paying any attention to them at all.

  But then, Jane thought, isn’t that exactly how an eavesdropper would act? Fortunately, she had spent enough time in the shop to know that there was a simple solution to the problem. “I think you keep what I’m here for in the back room,” she announced casually, and Misty smiled in apparent satisfaction.

  “Things are a little disorganized in there right now,” she answered, swishing toward the curtain divider in a cloud of curling hair and gypsy skirts. “I’ll show you where to look.”

  Jane followed, her mind full of her previous trips to the shop’s tiny back section. It had the same worn red carpet as the front of the store, but instead of the attractive displays of crystals, candles, and silver jewelry that cluttered the main selling floor, every inch of the wall space in back was devoted to books. There was a small triangular table in one corner, and a few sturdy wooden chairs that reminded Jane of extra pieces from a public school. She had come here with Dee and Harris and learned to use her magic deliberately for the first time, back when it had been a cool new secret and she hadn’t realized just how scared she should have been. She sighed a little at the memory, and Misty spun to face her.