“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Hannah says, looking offended. “From what I understand, he’s looking forward to meeting you. He’s had the staff running around for the past two days trying to make everything perfect for you while you were healing.”
“It’s just…well…” I fumble for words. Do these people have any idea who Atticus Drake is and what he is capable of? “He sounds…important. And I always get nervous around important people.”
Especially when those important people will probably kill me.
“Well, don’t be nervous. He’s the coolest guy you’ll ever meet. We were all in pretty awful shape when he found us. And now we’re a big, thriving community.” She shrugs. “He’s done us all a favor by bringing us here, if you ask me.”
“I see.” I graze my teeth over my lower lip, my mind spinning in a hundred different directions. “And you’re sure he wants to…help me?”
Hannah laughs as if that’s the dumbest thing she’s ever heard. “Of course,” she exclaims. “Why do you think he brought you here?”
“Sorry. I must be a bit cynical. But I’ve found that there’s a catch to just about everything in life. And I have a terrible time trusting people.”
My thoughts drift to Horace. We didn’t always see eye-to-eye on things. I annoyed him. But I never would’ve thought he’d try to kill me.
She smiles. “Well, I promise, Sophia. You have nothing to worry about.”
Nothing to worry about, my ass.
Once my hair is done, I move to the opposite side of the salon where I have both my makeup and nails done. And when the makeup artist and manicurist finish with me, I am herded over to a row of chairs where I am told to sit and wait for my nails to dry. Perfect. I need to think through my next move. I’m about to meet Atticus-freaking-Drake. I desperately need a next-move.
“You’re Sophia, aren’t you,” murmurs the woman sitting in the chair to my right as she flips through a gossip magazine. “Don’t…look at me. It will seem suspicious to the other girls if they see me talking to you. And I don’t have time to deal with their drama right now.” She blows out a breath. “They’re a little…much.”
I frown and stare down at my glossy red nails. This woman sounds older and wiser than the others I’ve met so far.
“Agreed,” I say, biting back a smile.
“So, considering you’re not like the other blubbering idiots in this salon, and you’ve got magic radiating off you in waves, I can only assume you are aware of what’s up here.”
My heart jumps into my throat.
“I…don’t know what’s up here. I just got here,” I admit. “But are you…magical, too?”
“Yes. I am a mage. I work for Atticus Drake himself.”
“A mage?” I ask, astonished. “I have crossed paths with lots of supernaturals, but you’re the first mage I’ve ever met.”
“A good mage always looks after her employer’s best interests, and, well…I’m worried about him. He’s in rough shape, Sophia. And he’s getting worse.” She gives me a sidelong glance. “That’s why I’m here in this salon now. There are times…I can’t be around him.”
What in the world is she getting at?
“Rough shape?” I ask, astonished. “I thought he was the most powerful druid in the world…maybe even the universe.”
“These are not my secrets to share,” she says, her voice cryptic. I’m not sure why she said anything about it at all. “Look, I have no idea what he wants with you. But keep your wits about you. This place is glittery and beautiful on the surface, just like Atticus himself. Don’t get sucked in like the rest of these idiots. This place is not what it seems.”
“Well, if it hadn’t been for…whoever saved me, I suppose I’d be dead. So I suppose I’m thankful to be here, even if it is all some sort of facade. But I’ll admit, I want to go home.”
“It was me,” she confesses, a hint of pride in her voice. “I saved you. And, I had no choice but to bring you back here. He insisted on it. And yeah…going home? Not going to happen, sweetheart. Not until he gets what he wants from you.”
“So, you brought me here so Atticus Drake could finish what Horace started? Or…or, I don’t know…slowly torture me, or something?
The panic inside of me turns to anger that simmers deep within my core.
“I brought you here because we need your help,” she says, and I can sense her mounting frustration. “You’re the only one who is strong enough to save us.”
“I’m not sure about that. It’s Atticus Drake we’re talking about here, and from what I hear, he’s a pretty powerful guy.”
“You are a Summoner, are you not?”
“I am,” I say, faltering a little. I don’t want to tell her I have been on a sort of magical hiatus for the past month. “But if he tries to kill me—“
“He will not kill you,” she says. “He needs you.”
“Then what—“
“Hush. They’re coming for you now,” she hisses. “This is it, Sophia. Are you excited?” There is a sudden bubbly tone in her voice that hadn’t been there a minute ago.
I look up to see two women approach me, huge fake smiles plastered on their faces. They both have blond hair that’s slicked down into identical low chignons, and, coupled with their sleek, black pantsuits, they look like the stars of some 80s music video.
“Oh my God. So nervous…so excited,” I say with a squeal of excitement that hurts my vocal chords. “I’m shaking.” I hold out my hand, forcing it to tremble just a little as I imitate every other girl in this place.
“You’ll be great. He will absolutely adore you,” says the mage with a strange, high-pitched laugh. “Now go. And don’t forget to smile.”
15
I trudge toward imminent death down a long hallway behind the two blondes. Instead of thinking about the fate that awaits me, I focus on the swish, swish, swish of their pantsuits as they walk, faces solemn, toward a set of double-doors at the end of the hallway.
"Right hand, blue,” shrills a female voice on the other side of the door.
A bright chorus of laughter erupts from inside the room. It sounds like a party, and I think I can just make out the sounds of cool jazz on the stereo. I’ve never approached imminent death before, but I wouldn’t expect it to involve a game of Twister, accompanied by the suave musical stylings of Stan Getz.
One of the women knocks on the door, signaling our arrival. There is more laughter, followed by brisk footsteps approaching the door. It cracks open, and I am greeted with a tight, business-like smile from the mage at the salon. She gives me a knowing glance, and I give a slight nod in response, promising not to mention anything of our meeting earlier.
The other blonde gives my arm squeeze as I enter. “Good luck,” she says with a little bow of her head as she presses a gentle hand to the small of my back, nudging me forward. “You have lifted his spirits, Sophia. We are all grateful.”
I offer a watery smile in response.
He’s in good spirits because he’s about to kill me.
I press my lips together and take a couple of small steps until I am standing inside the entryway of a spacious, modern room. Sleek, white leather furniture and expensive-looking teak tables sit in the center of the room. In the corner is a large buffet overflowing with appetizers, desserts, and drinks sits. Enormous windows overlook the ocean where a brilliant sun is setting over the water, throwing dazzling hues of red, pink, yellow, and orange across the sky. It doesn’t scream “Evil Lair” or anything. The day is full of surprises, I suppose.
Four women dressed in almost identical white sundresses hunch over a Twister mat that’s spread out across the spotless bamboo floors. A dark-headed man in a crisp charcoal gray suit is in the center of it all, his body bent at an unnatural angle as he struggles, giggling like a schoolgirl. He reaches his right hand toward the big, blue dot that’s just out of his reach. Is this the famed Atticus Drake, famous for heinous acts of terror and torture that spans
centuries? Is he really in the middle of a heated Twister game? As he strains and stretches, one of his giggling admirers loses her footing, sending the pile of women toppling to the ground in a laughing, shrieking heap and ending the game.
I’m not sure what to do. What have I walked into? It doesn't seem like I’m facing imminent death. In fact, Atticus doesn't even seem to notice I’ve arrived. He pulls himself up off the ground, smoothing the front of his elegant suit as the laughter dies down.
I stand, frozen in the entryway until the mage leads me forward with a nod of her head.
"It's okay," she whispers. "You’re okay.”
As we walk toward the center of the room, Atticus's gaze lifts to meet mine. Like every other supernatural I've met, Atticus Drake is stunning to look at. His suave, debonair, Cary-Grant style is almost disarming. With outstretched hands and a kind, inviting smile pulling across his face, he walks toward me.
What the….
“Sophia, Kelly,” he purrs, his voice every bit as warm as the balmy breeze that floats in through the open windows. Just the sound of it sends goosebumps rippling across my bare shoulders. “We meet at last.”
He glides toward me and takes my hands in his. The magic he radiates from his fingertips sends shock waves coursing through my body, and I struggle to keep myself from staggering backwards. I'm not sure why he's being so friendly and so polite, but I remember some advice I heard once…something about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. So, despite my frazzled nerves, I decide to play along.
“Atticus Drake,” I say, offering him my most dazzling smile. “It’s a pleasure.”
The other women have all regained their composure by now, and they’ve taken notice of me. Very jealous notice. They all wear different variations of the same envious frown, arms folded over their chests, or placed at their hips in a blatant display of cattiness. It’s obvious they don't like that I've crashed their party.
Atticus offers me an apologetic smile. He seems to sense the tense, almost hostile vibe that’s taken over the room.
"Ladies, thank you." Atticus folds his hands together and bows to the group of women as if he’s Sarah Taylor, offering a namaste in the final yoga class of the evening. “I have had a marvelous time with you all.” He shrugs. “But, it would seem that our business has concluded for the night.” There is a collective murmur of disappointment, along with some death-glares thrown my direction that I pretend not to notice. Maybe Atticus Drake isn’t the one I should be worried about at all. These women are out for blood. “Now, now, Atticus continues. He holds out his hands as if about to make a peace offering with the girls. "We'll do this again tomorrow. And perhaps the next day, too. After all, we have all the time in the world here, don’t we?”
This seems to placate them. Ugly looks fade back into dreamy, awestruck smiles as the girls clap their hands and make little squealing sounds in their throats while jumping up and down with excitement.
If you idiots only understood the depths of his evil soul…
“That… That would be wonderful, sir,” one of them says in a shy voice. She hesitates before stepping forward and bowing her head like she’s speaking to royalty.
"Well, be prepared to lose next time. Consider yourselves warned."
The girls explode into a chorus of ear-splitting giggles once again, and I can’t help but to grit my teeth, cringing a little inside. I wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in a sorority.
Atticus nods toward the door, and the girls obey, shuffling out of the room. Some of them even curtsy as they pass. Once they’ve all gone, the mage releases a relieved sigh and closes the door behind them.
“You may go too, Margaret," Atticus says, with a polite smile. “Thank you for setting all of this up for us tonight.” He surveys the room, nodding with satisfaction. “It was fun.”
Margaret glances between Atticus and me, offering me another brief but reassuring glance. She's got my back. At least, I hope she does.
The mage leaves, and I am all alone with Atticus Drake. Anything could happen at this point.
“Come, sit down.” Atticus takes my elbow, leading me toward the couch. “You are exhausted, dear girl. I can see it all over your face. When Margaret told me what happened…I couldn't believe it.” He shakes his head. "The Fae Prince Auberon's trusty advisor, turning against you, attempting to assassinate you. The traitor.”
“You knew about that?” I take a seat on the white leather couch, which is about as uncomfortable as it looks, despite its high-end beauty.
“My dear, Sophia, you'd be amazed at how much I know about you.” He stops and holds his hands up in a playful, defensive posture. “That sounded creepy.” To my surprise, he reddens a little. He seems as awkward around me as I am around him.
"So you know where I was going that night,” I say. “When Horace tried to kill me, I mean…I was on my way—“
I stop before I reveal too much. Atticus may seem warm and fuzzy on the outside, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to confess all my secrets to him. I need to let him do the talking…see how much he knows and go from there.
"Well, I can only assume it had something to do with the Fae Prince Auberon. My nurses told me you called out for him several times in your sleep.” He winks at me before walking over to the buffet table. “Well, this looks a bit sad, don’t you think?” He glances at me before replenishing the refreshments with a wave of his hand. “You do like In ’N Out Burgers, don’t you?”
My mouth falls open. “Really? Why does everyone assume that all I eat are burgers and fries from the In ’n Out Burger? I don’t…” I bite my lip, embarrassed by my sudden outburst.
“Eat,” he whispers, his lips curving into a friendly smile. “You’ll receive no judgement here.” He picks up a burger, unwraps it, and sinks his teeth into it as if he hasn’t had a meal in weeks. “I, personally, love them,” he says, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin. I can’t help but to admire the way he eats his burger. He’s ravenous, but in a graceful, well-mannered way. I could stand to learn a thing or two from Atticus Drake.
Once he polishes off the last of his burger, he pours two glasses of red wine and then saunters back to the couch. He offers me a glass, which I eye warily.
“Oh, come now, Sophia,” Atticus says with a slight roll of his eyes as he nudges the glass toward me. "Do you really think I brought you here so I could poison you with burgers and wine?” He glances at his glass and back at me. “Do you realize how much this stuff costs?” He laughs. “If I was going to poison you, dear girl, I would’ve used a cheaper bottle.” I bite back a smile. Who knew Atticus Drake had a sense of humor? “Sophia,” he says, his laughter fading. “Relax. There is nothing to fear here. You are safe.”
“I dunno,” I say, swirling the wine around in my glass. “From what I understand of you, Atticus Drake, you're a pretty slippery guy.”
"Do you think that I would've saved your life so I could bring you back here and kill you all over again?” he asks.
"Well, let's just say, it wouldn't surprise me,” I say, my stomach rumbling at the thought of a burger.
“Well, I suppose I must prove it to you then.” Atticus takes a huge gulp of wine before offering me a toothy smile. "See? All good and poison-free.” But I’m not convinced. He moves in front of me and sets his wine glass on the coffee table before stretching his arms out in a t-shape. “Okay. If it makes you feel better, then I encourage you. Give it your best shot.” I narrow my eyes at him as I try to figure out what he is getting at. “Go on,” he coaxes. “You know you want to. Kill me. Please. Do it. Kill me and put me out of my misery. Be the hero, Sophia.”
He grins at me, trying to keep up this odd, cheerful facade, but his pain and sorrow are too obvious. They’re written all over his face. I think he may really want to die.
“That won’t be necessary,” I murmur, wondering if I might regret not giving it my best shot, or any shot at all.
“Good,” he says. My window
of opportunity slips away as he turns toward the window. I can’t help but notice the way the setting sun shows off the stubble on his cheeks and the slight dimple in his chin. He may be evil, but damn is he handsome. I turn away before he can catch me staring. What is wrong with me? Alexander would take my head if he caught me checking out his mortal enemy. Atticus glances at me, his expression amused. Busted. “Now please.” He motions toward my untouched glass of wine on the table. “I don’t bring out my best bottles for just anyone, Sophia.”
I stare at him for a moment before I decide to throw caution to the wind. The wine is delicious, unlike any wine I've ever had before—not that I have much to compare it to. It tastes old and rich, as if it's been sitting around in some European cellar for hundreds and hundreds of years. I take another sip and then set the glass aside. I wait, wondering if poison will soon seize control. Will I foam at the mouth and fall to the ground? Will I clutch my throat as I gasp and wheeze for air like they do in the movies? Fortunately, nothing like that happens. It's just wine. Excellent wine.
"So," I ask, as if I'm shooting the shit with some old friend over happy hour. "Why did you bring me here if it wasn’t to kill me?”
He gives me a wicked smile and seats himself next to me on the couch. “Because I have a proposition for you.”
Heat rises to my face, spreading across my cheeks. I would ask what kind of proposition he has for me, but based on his charming behavior, the fancy wine, and the sultry midnight jazz music playing, I think it’s quite obvious what he wants.
“Look, Atticus, if you think I’m going to flounce around here in a little sundress playing Twister and curtsying and giggling and all that, you’re mistaken. And if you think for one second, I’m going to sleep with you, then—”
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