“Arianne specializes in getting information out of people,” I explained calmly. “I can protect myself from most of her tricks, but she’s powerful enough that I have to consider the possibility that she could force information from me that I don’t want to share.”
“So doesn’t that make this a worse idea?”
“If I question her now, before I know any real information, then even if she gets the better of me, she won’t get anything useful. Right now, all I know is that Roger Temple is acting odd because he thought he saw a monster—or monsters. I don’t know who tipped him off, I don’t know exactly what he saw, and I don’t have any proof of anyone’s guilt. Even if she somehow gets me to tell her everything, she’ll learn next to nothing.”
“Clever,” Peasblossom admitted grudgingly. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you won’t know what questions to ask if you don’t know what happened.”
I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, scowling as the GPS instructed me to merge onto a road that was half orange construction cones. “That’s not true. What has Andy been telling us since we started? It’s all about the timeline. I know whatever happened occurred on May 17th between eight and ten pm. So the first questions I need to ask are all about getting Arianne’s timeline during that night. I need to know where she was, who she was with, and what she was doing. And I can ask all of those questions now.”
“Then you talk to Roger and get more information and talk to Arianne again,” Peasblossom said.
“Exactly.”
“So you’re going to talk to the sorceress who tried to kill you twice.”
“Maybe.” I cleared my throat.
The drive to the hotel didn’t take as long as I would have liked, even with all the construction helping to slow me down. But it wasn’t until my fingers brushed the handle of the hotel’s front doors that my heart skipped a beat.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Peasblossom said hopefully.
“It won’t be any safer tomorrow.” I touched the ring on my finger, reassuring myself with its presence, then squared my shoulders.
I opened the door, bracing myself against the rolling scent of lavender that washed over me when the door closed behind me.
Entering Suite Dreams wasn’t unlike stepping onto a spider’s web. The calming perfume paired with the high ceiling painted like the night sky, complete with tiny twinkling lights to mimic the stars, coaxed the hotel occupants to think of sleep. Overstuffed chairs formed two lines down the center of the room, each one offering the perfect spot for a quick cat nap. A nap during which the dream sorceress who owned the building would scuttle out of the shadows to harvest information from unconscious minds.
Gritting my teeth against the urge to yawn, I marched toward the front desk only to stutter to a stop when Scath came to an abrupt halt beside me, her fur standing straight up. Her reaction was the only warning I had.
Arianne stalked into the lobby from the small hallway behind the front desk. The hotel proprietor was stunning as always, wearing a slinky red dress that hugged her curves and looked soft enough to sleep in. The sensual effect was ruined by the fury crackling in her dark eyes as she made a beeline to intercept me, her spine ramrod straight.
“How dare you come here,” she said under her breath, her voice hot. “I warned you to stay away. You are not welcome here.”
A slap of power accompanied her words, a whiplash of psychic energy. The compulsion to sleep grew stronger, as if Arianne had pushed me closer to one of those comfortable chairs. I leaned into the spell, closing my fist so the ring on my finger dug into my flesh.
Cool blue power pulsed from the ring, flowing over my skin, sliding beneath the sorceress’ magic and pushing it back. I fought through her spell like a surfer bracing against rough waves to get beyond the breaks, and when my mind cleared, I rolled my shoulders and met Arianne’s eyes.
“I’m not here to fight, or draw attention,” I said, giving the few patrons in the lobby a pointed look. “But I will if it comes to that. We can sit down and talk like two reasonable adults, and I can tell you why I’m here, or we can fight it out like a couple of rambunctious schoolchildren. Your choice.”
Arianne’s eyes narrowed, and her attention flicked from me to Scath. The collar around the black beast’s neck was still active, but I had little doubt the sorceress could see through it if she tried.
“Your cat sith has made you brave. But if you’re here with another gift, then don’t. It would only join the rest of your trinkets in the garbage.”
I didn’t rise to the bait. If she wanted to throw away my apology gifts, then fine. “I’m working a case. Right now, all I want is information. At this point, I consider you a witness, but if you’d like to skip right to suspect, that’s fine. I’ll just go back to Ian Walsh and let his side of the story be the only one I hear.”
Arianne stiffened. “Ian Walsh. What do you mean ‘go back’ to Ian Walsh?”
“I spoke with him earlier. I believe you’ve been actively supporting his rival, Scoria Security?”
Arianne’s dark eyes sharpened, and she abandoned her easy hostility toward me for a deadly calm. She was scarier when she was calm. “What exactly are you investigating?”
I gestured toward the hallway I knew led to her office. “Why don’t we go somewhere more private and continue our conversation?”
Arianne’s eyebrow twitched upward, then fell back into place. I’d surprised her with my willingness to go to her office—out of the public eye. The last time I’d done that, I’d walked out under her influence, dummied into a stupor by one of her hypnosis spells. I lifted my chin without breaking eye contact. The sooner she stopped treating me like a witchling the sooner she’d take me seriously enough to answer my questions.
“Very well,” she said slowly. “We’ll go to my office.” She gestured toward the hallway. “After you.”
I didn’t hesitate. Scath walked by my side, and I trusted her to have my back if Arianne tried anything. The ring on my finger would give my shields a boost, at least enough that I’d have some warning if the sorceress tried to pry open my brain. Add that to the pixie hiding in my pouch, and I was as safe as I could be.
Arianne’s office wasn’t dissimilar to the hotel lobby. The overstuffed couch was a match to the lobby’s chairs, and the entire room held the delicate scent of lavender. Everything you needed to fall asleep in the spider’s web.
An amethyst paperweight in the shape of Morpheus the god of dreams on the large mahogany desk almost made me smile. It was one of the apology gifts I’d sent Arianne—the first one. So she had kept them. Since I was the one who’d purchased it for her, I didn’t have to use a detection spell to know that it was an object of power. Not to mention a brilliant tool for bludgeoning someone to death, if it came right down to it.
“You didn’t bring your human partner,” Arianne said conversationally, lowering herself into her seat. “I hope nothing has happened to Agent Bradford.”
I froze before I could stop myself, anger welling up inside me, solidifying until I felt as if I’d swallowed the amethyst carving. “Excuse me?”
Arianne paused, registering the abrupt shift in my mood. A hint of wariness crept into her voice. “I’ve done nothing to Agent Bradford. Nor do I mean him any harm. I expressed concern, there was no hidden threat.”
I sucked in a deep breath, dragging it past the lump in my throat. “You’ll understand if hearing you mention him is less than comforting. You haven’t exactly expressed warm feelings for him in the past.”
“Ms. Renard, I believe you know me better than to think I would harm a man of the law.” She tilted her head. “Even if I did harbor ill will toward Agent Bradford—which I do not—I would never put my business or my position at risk by threatening an FBI agent. Since you’re well aware of my aversion to any interaction with the police, it does make me wonder what prompted your reaction? Has someone else threatened your partner?”
“I think you’ll find most people react strongly when someone who’s tried to kill them mentions someone they care about,” I said evenly.
Arianne stared at me a moment longer. “Perhaps.” She leaned back in her chair, trailing one finger over the padded arm. “I understand how upsetting it is when someone pries into your personal life. Asking questions they have no business asking, stirring up situations they know nothing about. It’s so easy for people to get hurt when they meddle in affairs that don’t concern them.”
My hand hovered near my phone. Arianne was toying with me. She had no reason to hurt Andy, and she was right, I did know that she wouldn’t willingly meddle in the affairs of law enforcement. But still. Hearing her say his name didn’t sit well with me.
“If you would like to call your friend and confirm that I’ve done nothing untoward, by all means,” Arianne said softly.
The lump in my throat turned to a ball of ice. I couldn’t call him. I couldn’t text him. Flint had expressly forbidden it. But Arianne couldn’t know about that. Could she?
Arianne leaned forward like a cobra swaying closer to its victim. “You’re projecting, witchling. What is it that has you so worried?”
“What is your relationship with Roger Temple?”
“An answer for an answer, Ms. Renard. Tell me why you’re so worried about Agent Bradford.”
I stepped toward the door. “I’m not playing games with you, Arianne. If you’re not going to answer my questions, I’ll get my information elsewhere. I’m sure Mr. Walsh will be impartial in his analysis of your relationship with Aaban and Charbel Nassir.”
I turned away from the sorceress, the itch between my shoulder blades making me look down at Scath to gauge her reaction to the situation.
“Who are you?” Arianne asked.
I frowned and looked over my shoulder. “Excuse me?”
But Arianne wasn’t looking at me.
She was looking at Scath.
I stared down at the dark feline standing beside me, but Scath’s expression didn’t change. She didn’t appear the least bit interested in Arianne’s question, if she’d even heard it. In fact, she looked bored.
“What do you see when you look at her?” I cursed as soon as the question left my lips. Stupid. I didn’t need the dream sorceress to know how little I knew about my companion.
Arianne smiled, a slow spread of ruby red lips. “A more interesting question, I think, is what do you see, Shade Renard? When you look at that beast, what do you see?”
I pressed my lips together, but Arianne didn’t give me a chance to respond. She chuckled and shook her head. “Your third eye hasn’t opened yet. Your mentor must be so disappointed.”
My third eye. The sense that let witches and other magic users see the world and the creatures in it not just on this plane, but as they were on every plane. If I opened my third eye, I would see the people and places around me as they were in truth, their physical, astral, and even dream selves. No glamour could hide them, no spell could remain secret. The third eye revealed all. And opening it could cost you your life if you weren’t careful. An open mind, a truly open mind, was an invitation for so many horrible things.
Arianne was wrong. My third eye had opened a long time ago, before I knew I was a witch. It had opened wide, and it had given me some of the worst nightmares I’d ever had. It was closed now, and I didn’t know if I could open it again if I wanted to. Right now, I didn’t want to.
Arianne leaned forward in her chair. “What are you thinking right now, Shade Renard? What do you see?”
Her power brushed over my mind, gently this time. The ring pulsed in response, and in my mind’s eye I saw a blue bubble glimmer to life around me, keeping out the probing spell.
“You’re stronger,” she murmured. “You’ve been practicing.”
“You’re wasting my time.” I stepped back, closer to the door. “Ian was much more forthcoming.”
Arianne gripped the arms of her chair until her knuckles turned white. “You must see the fey for what he is. Even a witchling should know not to place her trust in the sidhe.”
I paused and studied the dream sorceress more closely. There was something about her behavior that wasn’t right. Not that I was surprised she didn’t want to answer my questions, but if she wasn’t going to talk to me, then why let me into her office? Why not make me leave? Why keep trying to steer the conversation onto meaningless tangents?
She’s stalling.
I turned on my heel, my pulse skipping a beat as I closed my hand around the doorknob. “I’ll call later when you’re in a more cooperative mood.”
Arianne stood, fast enough that her chair grated over the wood floor as the abrupt movement shoved it into the wall. “Wait. I will answer your questions.”
My heart pounded. She was definitely trying to keep me here. Which meant I needed to leave. Now. I jerked the door open—
And collided with someone standing in the doorway.
Large brown-skinned hands closed around my upper arms, squeezing enough for me to feel the inhuman strength in his grip as he kept me from tipping backward. My magic ricocheted inside me, a defensive spell blazing against my palms. The man was just shy of six feet tall, with a wave of black hair and a beard that covered his upper lip, jaw, and a wide triangle below his bottom lip. He had a broad, rounded face, and my heart skipped a beat as I found myself staring into twin pools of smokeless fire where his eyes should have been. My throat closed, but one word echoed in my head.
Demon.
Chapter 6
“Leaving so soon?”
The man’s voice was surprisingly smooth and carried a soft Middle Eastern accent. Somehow staring into those burning eyes, I’d expected more of a rasp, something appropriately scary. The eyes were disturbing enough that I tried twice before I could speak.
“You’re an ifrit.”
Memories from an apprenticeship spent reading rushed forward, filling my thoughts with dry facts to cover up the panic rising steadily inside me. Ifrits were demons who reveled in the murder of murderers. They were creatures of vengeance. They may have been considered righteous beings, if not for the joy they took in the slaughter of those they punished. It was said that an ifrit took seven years to kill you. Seven years of constant attention. Constant pain.
The ifrit in the doorway had taken a human form, but his true self shone through his eyes. No iris, no pupil. Just flame.
“I am,” the man said. “Does that trouble you?”
“Of course it doesn’t trouble her, Aaban,” another man’s voice said. “It would only trouble her if she felt guilty. If she felt she had done something to make her worthy of our…attentions.”
A second man stepped around the first. He was shorter than his companion, but he shared the same dark hair and fire-filled eyes. His face was narrower than Aaban’s, and his hair left to grow a few inches long and styled in an artful mess with carefully applied hair gel. Like Ian, he wore a button down shirt with the first two buttons unfastened. Casual and a little sexy, just the sort of tactic to put people off their guard.
Scath stood by my side, a warm wall of support that calmed my nerves significantly. She didn’t react to the demons’ presence beyond a cursory glance, and some distant part of my brain that was still functioning properly registered that the feline had angled herself to keep an eye on Arianne. Apparently Scath still considered Arianne to be the greatest threat in the room. Interesting.
I lifted my chin and stepped back to give the ifrits room to enter. “I’m not troubled,” I assured them. “I’m merely surprised.” I glanced back at Arianne. “I’d thought this was a private meeting.”
“I sent Aaban and Charbel a text on our way to my office.” She plucked an invisible speck of lint from her dress. “You said you’ve spoken to Ian Walsh. I can only assume the insufferable sidhe told you about Aaban’s bid for a government contract, and now you have concerns.”
I froze. “Aaban and Charbel Nassir? Of Scoria Secu
rity?”
My brain spun with a new wash of possibilities. Roger had encountered at least four Otherworlders that I knew of. Ian Walsh the sidhe, whom Roger considered a friend, Aaban and Charbel Nassir, the ifrits that Roger had apparently given a job to, and Arianne Monet, the dream sorceress who’d offered support for said ifrits. Any one of them could be the monster that had frightened Roger out of his wits. Though if I had to choose the scariest of them all, the ifrits would win.
Easily.
“In that case, I’m pleased you could join us.” I gestured to the couch opposite Arianne’s desk. “Won’t you sit down?”
Charbel’s lips spread in a slow smile and he sauntered past his brother to the couch and sat down, reclining in the corner like a model ready to have his picture taken. He didn’t pat the seat next to him when he looked at me, but the invitation was there.
Aaban took a step to the side, but remained by the door like a silent sentry.
“Aaban prefers to stay near the entrance,” Charbel said mildly. “I’m afraid his profession has rendered him rather paranoid. Always expecting violence.”
As I expected had been his intention, my mind immediately went to what sort of violence an ifrit might have to offer. Say, to a witch who was poking around in his business.
Out of my peripheral vision, I saw Arianne’s mouth quirk at the corner as amusement flitted across her lips. I stiffened.
Charbel and Aaban both seemed to share Barbara Temple’s understanding of service dogs, and neither of them spared Scath more than a glance. Charbel looked at me. “Arianne mentioned that you’ve spoken to Mr. Walsh?”
I nodded. “Yes, I’ve just come from a meeting with him. It’s my understanding that congratulations are in order. Apparently you convinced Roger Temple to consider Scoria Security for a recommendation for a government contract, and such a recommendation carries considerable weight.”
“Mr. Temple has carved out quite a name for himself, it’s true.” Aaban studied me, his burning eyes uncomfortable to look at directly. “Have you met with Mr. Temple?”
Mercenary Page 7
