by Sean Michael
Prologue
"So you kin do the job?"
Plum rolled his eyes, pulling hard upon the hookah in his lips. He could do this job -- and any other, no doubt -- with his eyes closed and his hands bound.
Still, this was part and parcel of the dance -- playing up the danger, the risk to his oh-so-valuable ass and freedom. Honestly. He was getting too old to pull pointless jobs.
"Of course I can do it. There's no one in all the Fellsland who would manage better and you well know it." He tossed his hair, the heavy gold falling around him and catching the firelight. His fingers twitched, the tiny magicks he had making him seem brighter, larger, more.
The little man nodded, head bobbing like a bird's. "That why I come to you." He looked around, and then leaned in, whispering. "You know the Delacroix mansion?"
Oh, by the light in the great Lady's eyes. Why did he always get the over-ambitious ones? "The wizard's house? I know it."
That head bobbed up and down again, a giggle sounding. "O’ course, o’ course you do." Another look went around the room, and his... employer leaned in even closer. The smell wasn't the most pleasant. "You heard of the lodestone?"
"The lodestone? As in the wizard's focus stone? You cannot possibly be serious." Interesting. Possibly entertaining.
"Ah... you can' do it after all." The man sighed. "It was a long shot."
"When, in our conversation, did I say I could not take the job on?" Idiot.
"You said I couldn' be serious!" The little man looked around after his outburst and dragged his chair even closer. Which wasn't going to make them any less conspicuous. Triple idiot. "I am, though. Are you really goin' to do it?"
"It depends on what you're willing to pay, dear man." Honestly, any closer and he'd inherit fleas.
A grin revealed a mouth full of rotten teeth. "Coin’s not an issue. Twenty gold now, another fifty when you deliver."
"Nonsense. For that risk? Fifty now, forty upon delivery." Bright Lady, that he would never be poor or old.
"Thirty now, forty on delivery."
"Forty now, thirty-five when you get the stone." He could feel his nose twitching.
"Thirty now, forty on delivery. I will no’ pay you the bulk and ‘ave you sell the stone out from under me," hissed his would-be employer.
"And I would not risk my skin for less than you could get in payment for selling me out to the wizard himself." Gods, he hadn't had such fun in ages.
The little man's eyes seemed to cross as he worked that one out. Then he began to chew on his lower lip. "What if you left something of value with me? Then I would give you your forty now, and thirty on delivery -- if I knew you would be guaranteed to actually deliver it."
"You could arrange to meet me outside on the street. I have no intention of carrying the stone for any length of time." Honestly, the wizard would be quite put out, once the act was discovered.
His about-to-be employer obviously hadn't thought of that angle, for he bobbed his head up and down eagerly. "Yes. Yes. That will do. It will."
One hand disappeared into the tattered cloak, coming out with a small pouch that jingled enticingly when shaken. "We ‘ave an agreement?"
"We do." He took the pouch so quickly that the little bastard didn't even see it.
Eyes narrowing, a frown on the ugly face, his employer sniffed, shifted. "You're doing it tonight?"
"Tonight? It would be wisest to discover whether the wizard was using the stone, yes?"
The man waved his hand. "Details. As long as you tell me when to meet you."
"Three nights time will be adequate." He could plan, see what the wizard's schedule was.
"Good, good. We ‘ave a deal, then. I'll have your 'ead if you try to cheat me."
"Nonsense. I'll see you in three night's time at the late bell. Keep your threats for those who are concerned."
The little man snarled at him and then looked around, for what Plum had no clue, and then his employer made his way out, scurrying like a rat.
Well, at least he had something to occupy him for endweek. A wizard's place. Terribly interesting.
He'd enjoy this job.
Chapter One
He crept in through the kitchen door, the sweet little maid sleeping soundly by the fire, the draught he'd slipped into the soup assuring the entire house a sweet, deep sleep.
The stone should be in the wizard's workroom; at least that's where they were rumored to be kept. Plum'd not been inside a wizard's inner sanctum more than once or twice. His family didn't worry much with training in the arts; they much preferred learning how to slip in and out. It was in his blood.
He'd been in the house four times now and he didn't need to light a lamp to move toward the back stairs, toward the servant's quarters. The Delacroix place was large and fancy up front, but the rooms beyond were warm and cozy, lived in.
He hadn't managed to get to the wizard's inner sanctum on his other visits, but he knew it was at the back of the house next to Rochefort Delacroix's rooms.
Rochefort. What a name. Honestly.
Plum stuck to the shadows, sliding past one sleeping servant after another.
There was light coming from beneath Delacroix's door, but his workroom, his inner sanctum was dark. Plum knew it was the right room -- it was the only door with spells upon it. Delacroix had to be very confident -- they were simple, easy to subvert spells meant to keep people like him out.
Plum whispered the little cantrip to cancel out the wards and then found a coin on a chain, swinging it against the door to make sure the spell worked.
Excellent.
He turned the handle and walked in, a candle lighting on its own. Fancy.
The place was surprisingly plain. Normal. There was an old, tattered and comfortable looking couch piled high with cushions. There was a long table crowded with books, ingredients, bowls.
Lodestone. Lodestone. It had to be here somewhere.
It wasn't until he stopped, standing still for a moment that he heard it -- or rather felt it. There was a faint pulse coming from the corner of the room. Plum tilted his head, hands smoothing down his cape that hid his face, his figure. Close. It was close. He could feel that pulse inside him now and as he took a step toward the corner, it got stronger, drawing him almost to the dark corner.
There was a chair there, ugly as sin, with gnarled black wood carved into devilish faces. Sitting in the right hand arm was the lodestone, the dark blue seeming to glimmer with each pulse once he was near.
He grabbed a bit of cloth from his pocket, a silk bag to hold the stone. He knew better than to touch it with his bare hand. It was set in the armrest of the chair, but loose and it didn't take any effort at all to snatch it up and place it inside the silk. His arm tingled and his eyes shot to the window, Plum trying to decide whether to slide down the outside of the house or slip out the same way he came.
The light suddenly grew brighter, several candles coming to life without a sound. "Well, well, what do we have here?" The voice was low, husky, the snooty accent one might expect from a wizard of noble background to support surprisingly absent.
"Shall I get the guard, sir?"
Delini's Balls.
Window it was.
He went for it at a dead run.
The glass held, and he bounced off it like a ball of rubber, a tall, handsome face coming to hover over him.
"I don't think that will be necessary, Ruben. I seem to have things in hand. Make sure everyone is all right, please."
Hells. Hells. Plum’s mind was working furiously, looking for the way out, the escape route.
Delacroix crouched down next to him, hand pressing toward him through the air, a soft incantation sounding. "Don't bother to struggle, sir
. You're quite stuck."
Plum groaned, fighting to make his muscles work, his body cooperate.
"I believe you're holding something of mine. Where is it?"
Plum tried every freedom spell he knew, focusing only on freeing himself. How had they captured him so easily?
"You would prefer I searched you?" Long-fingered hands began to move over him, starting at his shoulders and working their way down. The touch was surprisingly thorough, sliding over him as if fascinated, rather than searching. And the little silk bag in his pocket wasn't found until Delacroix's search had taken those hands down over his legs and back up. He could still feel the damned thing pulsing, why couldn't Delacroix?
The lodestone was freed from its silk prison, the stone glowing brightly in Delacroix's hand. "What on earth possessed you to attempt to take this from me?"
Coin. Excitement. Honor. He met those eyes, simply staring.
"Did you come on your own or did someone hire you?" Delacroix's eyes were grey, dark.
"Why would I want your stone?" It meant nothing to him.
"Who hired you?" Delacroix leaned in close. "You will tell me."
"I will not." He was no petty thief to be frightened. His boot knife had not been discovered; he would escape.
Delacroix laughed and stood, the spell that was holding him down waved away. "You will. Even if it takes hours. Days. Weeks..."
He feigned a collapse, knife sliding from his heel as he grabbed the wizard, blade at the thin throat. "I have no wish to harm you. None. I simply wish escape."
"You lost your chance for escape the moment you tried to steal my stone, thief." There wasn't even a hint of fear in Delacroix's eyes, and the lodestone thrummed. Before he could even blink, Delacroix's hand had wrapped around his wrist and tugged it away, twisting it until he dropped the knife. "Do I have to strip you naked to make sure you are unarmed?"
He struggled, shocked at the strength and raw power in the man. His hand was forced behind his back, Delacroix twisting it until he was on his toes, pressed up against the wizard's body.
"You're in a wizard's inner sanctum, thief. Do you really expect to escape?"
"You will not keep me." He kept his face, his body as hidden as possible.
His arm was twisted a little more behind his back, pressing him harder against Delacroix's warmth. "I believe that I shall."
He could smell the wizard, rich and warm and oddly fascinating. Arousing. What nonsense.
"Do you have a name, thief?" Delacroix asked, continuing to hold him, keeping him caught.
"No." He whispered a cantrip, his skin going hot, then ice cold. The touch never faltered, never loosened.
"No? None? I am Rochefort Cormier Delacroix. But then you already know that. It's quite rude, you know, a guest in my home who will not give his host his name."
"A guest in your dungeons, more likely." Damn it all.
Delacroix laughed softly, breath warm against his face. "Oh, we haven't kept anyone in the dungeons for ages. I could compel you to tell me."
No. No, he wouldn't tell. Delacroix couldn't force him.
"No? I think perhaps I will save my magick. There are other ways to get men to talk." Delacroix slid a finger beneath his chin, tilting his head up. "Yes. Other ways."
Plum stared into those eyes, groaning as his hood fell away, exposing him.
Delacroix's eyes darkened at the sight of him. "Such a pretty thief."
Plum groaned, struggling a bit harder. He did hate to use sex as a weapon. He'd do it, but he much preferred other games.
"Sir?" A voice came from the doorway, but Delacroix's gaze never left him.
"What?"
"The household is fine, sir. In fact everyone is sleeping quite soundly."
Delacroix's lips twitched. "Are they really? Thank you, Ruben. You may retire yourself."
"Are you sure, sir? I could call the guard."
"That won't be necessary." And still those grey eyes held him.
"I could take the thief to the dungeons."
Delacroix grinned outright at that. "Go to bed, Ruben. I have things well in hand."
Ruben sniffed and Plum thought the man might offer to take his balls or something, but he didn't, and then they were alone again.
"My staff all sleeping soundly, hmm? You are a clever thief, as well as bold."
"I intended no one harm." That, in theory, was the truth.
"Indeed, you have harmed no one. And you will not." Delacroix let him go suddenly and went to sit in the ugly chair where he'd found the lodestone. "You cannot leave this room."
"You cannot hold me here." There wasn't a prison in all the lands that had held him.
"You think not?" Delacroix grinned. "You haven't left yet."
It was only a matter of time and determination. His eyes cut to the window, searching a moment for his employer.
Delacroix stood and went to the window, looking out. "Missing a partner? If you had one, it appears you have been abandoned."
"I work alone." Even wizards slept. Why hadn't the smug bastard eaten the soup?
"I still am fascinated by the question of why you would choose to steal my lodestone." Those grey eyes didn't look sleepy at all.
"I was paid to take it. Take it up with my employer."
"And will you be more forthcoming with your employer's name than you have been with your own?"
"I don't know it." He never did. That information was dangerous.
Delacroix rolled his eyes. "Come now, thief. You stole into my home; you attempted to steal my lodestone. The least you can do in return is entertain me."
Entertain? That he could do. Plum whispered a tiny spell, the wind beginning to blow, to fan the flames in the fireplace wildly.
"Oh, you aren't entirely without magicks!"
Not entirely. Not entirely at all. He tapped at the windowpane, covering the sound with more wind.
Delacroix sprawled in his chair, playing with the lodestone as he watched. "Can you do anything other than make a bit of breeze blow?"
The glass cracked under his fingers. Excellent. "A few things." He set a bookcase aflame, tapping again, harder.
Delacroix stood and growled, hand flashing through the air, putting out the fire. "Do not destroy my study," the wizard ordered, coming to stand next to him. One hand slid over the glass, the crack disappearing. "And leave the window alone, thief -- I've told you, you aren't leaving."
He almost growled -- almost -- but he schooled himself to patience. Even wizards slept.
Delacroix's fingers slid across his cheek, cold from touching the window, surprisingly gentle. "Tell me your name."
His lips opened, but he caught himself, stopped himself from whispering 'Plum'.
Delacroix's head ducked, sliding their lips together. A fire blazed between them, sudden and surprising, startling him badly. The wizard's tongue slid into his mouth, the touch going straight to his cock.
What was this madness? What was wrong with him? Plum jerked back, head cracking on the glass hard enough that the room dimmed and the firelight wavered, then the place went dark.
***
Corm caught the thief in before he hit the floor, using his magick to ease the man down. By the lady of the night, the man was pretty. Not handsome, not beautiful -- pretty.
He brought his fingers to his own lips, the sensation of his thief's mouth against his own fading at his touch. Curious.
Curious enough to keep the thief. Though not in his workshop. His bedroom would do.
He called on his magick, lifting the thief into his arms and carrying him down the hall into the rooms he called his own. The fire burned brightly, his book and his chocolate liqueur -- he had a weakness for it -- sitting abandoned by his favorite chair where he'd been curled up before his home had been invaded.
It was the room beyond his sitting room he was headed for, though, a single candle flaring to life as he pushed the door open with his foot. Darker and cooler than his sitting room, it was also smaller
, holding little more than his bed and armoire. He really was a simple man, despite the facade that he displayed in public.
He put the thief into his bed and sat, examining the pretty face more closely. Lean and pointed, the man had pale skin and hair the color of straw, long and curling around delicate shoulders.
He drew his knees up and rested his chin on them. He hadn't seen anything he wanted more than this man in a very long time.
