by Linda Wisdom
“Forbidden magick,” the gnome grumbled. “He probably bespelled her into thinking he was human to trick her into accepting him so he could get her with child. I bet she didn’t have a clue what was going on until she gave birth, since the baby wouldn’t look the way Declan does now.” He used his cigar to sketch in the air.
She made a face at the smoky drawing of a baby that looked more like something that had gone through a meat grinder than flesh and blood. She settled back in her chair, waiting for the other shoe to fall. Mal was great at dropping a bomb on her when she least expected it. This time, she hoped she was prepared.
He leaned back in his chair, his stubby legs propped up on the desktop. He continued puffing on his cigar, sending the acrid smoke drifting among the pillars. “We need to talk to this Anna. You got the goods, babe. Use them.” He raised his heavy eyebrows.
She shot up in her chair. “Oh, no, been there, done that. Wore the ton of makeup, skimpy clothes, and learned to pole dance. Never again.”
“You do that every time you go clubbing.”
“But I wear quality skimpy clothes and high-end makeup,” she corrected him. “And I didn’t need a pole to dance.”
“The way I hear it, Declan’s hot for your bod, so it shouldn’t take much effort on your part.”
“Stop pimping me out, Mal, or I swear I’ll have a chat with Brigid,” she threatened, mentioning the saucy gnome he’d been dating for the past five hundred years. The pool predicting their marriage had changed dates so often that everyone involved had given up. They’d finally used the money for a big party.
Even that didn’t deter him. “Just do your thing, O’Malley.” He waved his cigar at her. “Get outta here and do your job instead of sitting around looking decorative.”
“My pleasure to leave your presence,” she muttered.
“And hook up with the demon so you can talk to the female,” he shouted after her.
While the thought of seeing Declan again was oh so tempting, she didn’t think he’d be that happy to see her after the impromptu shower she’d sent his way.
“He deserved it,” she told herself. She moved down the hallway, sidestepping speed-of-light ferrets racing from one office to the next as they made their deliveries.
“You’re talking to yourself again.” Zickie, a white ferret with a saucy red beret perched on his head, paused long enough to grin at her. The rich aroma of high-octane cinnamon mocha teased Maggie’s nostrils. She vowed to pick up a mug of peppermint tea. “Oh, this is for you.” He reached inside his hidden pouch and pulled out a small scroll that felt heavier than it looked. “From Ravenna. She said you’d need this.”
“Thanks.” She tucked it in her jeans pocket to peruse in private. She knew if the Seer insisted she’d need the contents, she’d need them.
“Later, gator.” Zickie took off in a white streak of fur.
Maggie headed outside, only stopping long enough to get a tall to-go cup of her tea.
She reveled in the warm sunshine as she walked to the edge of the compound. The air glistened with the protective spells that kept the complex invisible to the human eye. It wouldn’t bode well if the locals knew that all sorts of supes lived within fifteen miles of the small rural suburb of Houston.
Not when so many humans had shotguns mounted in the back of their pickup trucks. As if Maggie was one to talk, since she had a nice Remington racked in the pickup truck she sometimes used.
Along the way, she snagged a folding chaise lounge from the pool and dragged it with her until she reached a deserted area of grass some yards away.
Once the chaise was set up, she settled down and pulled the scroll from her pocket. A small heart-shaped stone fell into her lap. She picked it up, studying the colorful striations in the opalescent gem. It warmed in her palm and glowed with an eerie light the longer she held it. She finished unrolling the scroll, studying the elaborate calligraphy.
Carry this with you at all times. You will know when it is needed.
“Thanks, Ravenna. I just love it when you spell things out for me.” She conjured up a pair of sunglasses and stretched out on the chaise.
There was nothing like some Maggie time.
***
The rich aroma of spices, tomatoes, and garlic tickled her nose along with her taste buds.
“Uh, I don’t dream in the middle of the day.” Maggie stood in the tiny foyer of a small restaurant that was below street level. Red-and-white-checked tablecloths dotted the small square tables and booths along the walls, and multicolored drip candles sent waxy colors down the sides of the Chianti bottles while music played in the background. Almost every table was filled with diners dressed in clothing more suited to another era. She noticed they ignored her as if she wasn’t there. But then, maybe she wasn’t.
She looked down to find herself wearing a drop-dead perfect little black dress along with black kitten heels. Wow, the girls have never looked better. “Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra? How cliché.”
“Even though the restaurant was popular in the 1920s, I thought Frank and Dean were better musical choices.” Declan walked out of a nearby hallway.
“What will I find out back? A cocker spaniel and a street mutt sharing a plate of spaghetti?”
He shook his head. “Not when I last looked. You do like to pop into people’s dreams, don’t you? I thought after our hike, you wouldn’t want to venture out again.”
“It’s more like I don’t have a choice. You sleep during the day?” She ignored the fact that she was catnapping herself.
“Night person, remember?”
“So you dream of an Italian restaurant straight out of the 1920s. I would think you’d choose a speakeasy.” She allowed him to guide her to a nearby table.
“There’s no better place for lasagna.” He took the chair to her right. “Your appearance here is a nice surprise.”
“It’s a surprise for me, too.” She looked up when a rotund man wearing an apron bustled out with a large tray in his hands. Smiling and greeting them in Italian, he placed the tray of antipasto on the table and snapped his fingers. A bottle of red wine and two glasses were added to the table.
“You really should try Marcello’s lasagna,” Declan told her with a smile that warmed his dark features.
“I love lasagna, so it sounds good to me.” She smiled at Marcello, who gave a bob of the head and bustled off.
“I have to admit I’m glad you’re here,” Declan said. “I normally don’t have company when I’m here, so this is nice. I hope you like garlic. He tends to go overboard with it.”
“Obviously not a favorite place for vampires,” she quipped, choosing a mushroom and then provolone before picking up a slice of warm bread and dipping it into olive oil alive with seasoning and then moving on to prosciutto-wrapped asparagus. She moaned with delight as the spices and flavor exploded inside her mouth.
“Best dream ever. Mine are never this fun.” She picked up another slice of crusty Italian bread and knifed up some garlic spread. “It looks like Marcello does a great business even in your dreams.”
“He always did.” Declan looked pensive.
“So the restaurant is no longer around?” she gently probed.
He shook his head. “Not when one family enjoyed visiting the restaurant and another family moved in.”
“Ah, you’re talking family as in the Mob.” She leaned back when a smiling Marcello placed platters of food in front of them and urged them to enjoy. She closed her eyes in bliss after the first bite.
“I should have asked you to come here before. Perhaps we’re meant to talk here, since you can’t use your magick.” His teeth flashed white. “Interesting trick of yours, soaking me while my office and everything in it stayed perfectly dry.”
Maggie blew on her nails as a gesture of triumph. “I thought it would be. I hate to turn someone into a toad or slug when I can come up with something more inventive. I thought you’d appreciate it more than being drowned in pink confetti
.”
“Then I give you my heartfelt thanks. Pink confetti would have definitely ruined my masculine image. Although it did provide Anna with hours of amusement as she continually asked me if she should contact you to give me another shower.”
She grinned. “I’ve got to say this date in the dream realm is better than many I’ve had in the real world.” She forked up another bite of lasagna.
“Dating not good, huh?”
“I’m not good with dating,” Maggie admitted. “You know what I mean. There’s all that small talk necessary to get to know one another, which doesn’t work all that well when one of you has been around longer than most of your date’s ancestors. Plus I can’t talk about my work. It tends to put people off.” She picked up her wineglass. “What about you? How do women handle your demon or human half?”
“I don’t mention it.” He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the back. He looked sexy, even dressed more casually in a black fine-cotton polo shirt and black slacks. “Female demons already can tell, and I don’t see any reason to tell anyone who can’t figure it out. Do you tell men you’re a witch?”
“Touché. No wonder the two worst people in the dating world ended up here.” She chuckled softly. “Maybe that’s a sign.” She nodded when Declan picked up the wine bottle and gestured toward her glass.
“Plus there are times when I need to leave immediately, and I can’t say where I’m going or when I’ll be back. I’ve probably cancelled more dates than I’ve kept. Elle’s had a busier social life than I have, although her dates don’t tend to survive to have a second one with her.”
“Who’s Elle?”
“Oh, that’s short for Elegance, a black widow spider—when she’s not tattooed to my arm, she does tend to have a life of her own.”
Maggie noticed Elle was conspicuous in her absence. Hmm, maybe that meant she really was safe in this dream-world. She looked around, admiring the warm, family-style atmosphere.
“Of course, maybe if men had swept me off into the dream realm to a place like this, I might not have been so willing to abandon them.” She turned back to him with a broad smile as she lifted her glass in a toast.
Declan inclined his head in a brief show of thanks. “Perhaps someone thinks we need to hook up.”
“I can’t imagine a dating service setting us up.” She finished her food and pushed her plate away. A second later, Marcello appeared and whisked their plates from the table.
She looked around. “While the era is too early, I could see Bogie and Bacall or Gable and Lombard coming in here. There’s no sense of celebrity here, more a family atmosphere.”
“It was back then.” He reached across the table and took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.
“You must finish your meal properly.” Marcello brought out rich, dark espresso and plates of tiramisu.
Declan stood up and picked up the plates and cups with the dexterity of a waiter. “Let’s have dessert on the patio.” He led the way.
Candles burned on the tables outside, the air smelling of spring and flowers.
Maggie felt a warm sense of intimacy as she relaxed into her seat and Declan took the chair next to her. He forked up a bite of tiramisu and lifted it toward her lips. She obliged by opening her mouth and allowing him to feed her. She wasted no time returning the favor.
“There’s something about you, Maggie O’Malley,” he murmured. “You may be a member of the Guard, but there’s no denying you’re also a desirable woman.” His dark eyes gleamed like polished obsidian in the candlelight. “You brought light into my dark world.” His gaze roamed over her like a warm caress.
Just as he liked looking at her, she enjoyed looking at him. Especially when most of the males she interacted with were either in serious need of manscaping or sported fur. She wasn’t even going to think about how terrible most of them smelled.
“You do know how to make a girl feel good,” she purred.
“Actually, this is the way I’d prefer making you feel good.” Declan leaned over and covered her mouth with his.
Heat, the rich taste of coffee liqueur and chocolate, and Declan melded into a sensation that rocked Maggie’s world. She gripped his wrists, her short nails digging into his skin. Her tongue danced with his, pulling him inside her mouth to keep him captive as she fully participated in the kiss that had her visualizing a big bed, lots of fluffy pillows, and a naked Declan.
Who needed dessert when a tasty man was right here?
She leaned into the kiss, feeling the warmth of his hand cupping her cheek.
“Maggie.” He breathed her name, making it sound as if it was something precious.
She smiled against his mouth. “Declan.” It seemed enough just to say his name as his kiss deepened, intensifying the visions racing through her head.
The idea of transporting them elsewhere tempted her, but Maggie had learned that her magick didn’t work in Declan’s part of the dream realm. It didn’t stop her from thinking about it.
Slut, Mags. You’re turning into a major hexy slut.
Maggie bitch slapped her common sense and gave in to the moment.
“I want—” Something kept niggling at the back of her mind, starting to interfere with the serious make-out session going on.
“What’s wrong?” He nuzzled her ear.
Her nose wouldn’t stop doing the Samantha Stevens twitch.
“I—”
The world suddenly started spinning like a carnival Tilt-A-Whirl, and she felt as if she was going to be catapulted into space.
***
Maggie opened her eyes to find a black ferret batting at her nose.
“Man, when you sleep, you sleep,” Bickie told her. “You also snore.” He hopped off the chaise.
“Why are you here?” Her voice was hoarse, and if she wasn’t mistaken, she felt as if she’d just gone through a major hormone explosion. She swore her skin felt ready to split from the tightness. “And I do not snore.”
“Came out for a break and found you sawing logs. You’re also looking a little pink.” He touched her bare shoulder, but even his gentle touch was enough to elicit a wince. “Even witches aren’t immune from sunburn, ya know. Later, babe.” He hopped off and scurried away.
Maggie sat up and flinched. The tautness in her skin was twofold. Sunburn and arousal.
Wow, if he’s like that in a dream, what would he be like in real life?
Chapter 6
Declan didn’t need anyone to tell him that Maggie had stepped into his territory—for real. He sensed her presence immediately.
Moments later, the expected telepathic message from Anton rippled through the air. The witch wants to see you, boss.
He smiled at the grumble in the bouncer’s voice. Maggie. She’s a member of the Guard, Anton. As much as you wish to, you can’t keep her out. He shook his head upon hearing a meaty grunt in reply that sounded a little pained. He counted to ten and started to wave his office door open, but there was no need. A blonde-haired whirlwind threw it open and stalked inside.
Maggie advanced on him with fire in her dark-emerald eyes and the expression of a witch ready and willing to create mayhem. He wasn’t worried about her temper as much as surprised by the bright patch of pink skin marring her nose and the somewhat stiff way she moved.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you had too much sun,��� he said mildly. He arranged his features into a somewhat confused frown and leaned back in his chair. He continued to study her; pleased to see—more than just her temper—that hint of attraction she couldn’t hide. He couldn’t help but remember how kissing her had felt, even if it was in his dreams. Damn, he was getting hot just sitting here thinking about it, and that had nothing to do with his genetics.
“I didn’t know witches could get sunburns. Don’t you have ointments to treat that?”
She started to scowl but seemed to reconsider when her sunburned forehead wrinkled.
“To what do I owe the honor o
f your visit?” He leaned back, his fingers steepled in front of him.
“It has to do with Anna. What she needs, and what we can do for her.”
He waved his hand in dismissal. “We will not have this discussion.”
“No doing the talk-to-the-hand bit,” she argued. “For once, think of her, not your macho demon ego. I need to talk to her. Better yet, Sybil needs to.”
“She’s an interrogator,” Declan bit out. “Someone trained to inflict pain and nightmares if you lie. Your prisoners leave there bloody and damaged in the mind.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me, page forty-five of the demon manual on what to do if you’re captured by the enemy. You know what? That sounds more like what happens on your turf than on mine.
“We have a thing about turning our detainees bloody. Namely that it’s a bitch to clean up blood and guts. The brownies who live in our compound may enjoy cleaning and keeping our quarters neat, but they’re not too keen on the crime-scene cleanups.”
She softened her tone. “So will you bring Anna? Will you let us help her? If not to Sybil, let her talk to Ravenna, one of our Seers.”
“I’ll think about it.” He leaned forward. “Would you care for some lunch?”
“Lunch, and you’ll bring her to the compound.” She didn’t budge.
“No one bargains better than my kind,” he reminded her.
Maggie shifted in her chair, the hem to her top rising and revealing a hint of gold as her belly ring winked at him.
“You should see me when I visit the bazaars,” she quipped.
Declan continued gazing at her with his hot dark eyes. “We could visit the Babylon Gardens or the Great Pyramid of Khufu. Visit Pompeii when the city was known for its culture and decadence. I could take you to places that existed long before your ancestors walked this earth.”
Maggie prided herself on her ability to refuse any dip into temptation. Looking into Declan’s dark eyes, with the hint of flames in the depths, was about as enticing as you could get. She didn’t need to look south to know he was aroused. She could see it in his face. Judging by the way her breasts felt tight and full, she knew they were on the same hormonal wavelength.
