“You deciding if you believe me?” She returned with the dirty towels, dumped them in the hamper and grabbed clean ones from her cart.
“Yes.”
“I suppose you could check with the management if you want, but I promise I’m legit.” She shrugged. “You shouldn’t complain though, I’m a much better cleaner than the previous one. She didn’t vacuum very well.”
“Dust bunnies under the furniture?”
“No. Magic spells under the bed.” She pulled an envelope from her pocket. “I found this yesterday. Sorry it ripped but the vacuum was already sucking it up when I caught it.”
He took the envelope she offered and looked inside. A page from the grimoire he’d purchased was in there. It was torn in three, the edges tattered.”
“You must have dropped the book or something and a page fell out.” Roxi suggested as she carried the clean towels to the bathroom.
“Right.” He thought of the night he’d fallen asleep looking at the book. It had fallen on the floor, some of the pages scattering. He’d never thought to look under the bed. “Thanks for rescuing it.”
“No problem.” She grinned. “Do I get an extra tip for service above and beyond?”
He dug some bills from his pocket and she scooped them from his hand before he’d even counted them.
“Roxi…”
“You know you love me, Dante.” She grabbed a rag and began to dust.
Deciding to ignore her, he moved to the table and tried to fit the pieces together. The text was still intact and he began to decipher the writing.
Roxi walked past and glanced down. “It’s a generational curse.”
“A what?”
“You know, a curse. Bad luck, that sort of stuff. This one is worded to last several generations.”
He stared at the words. Was this it? The spell that had plagued his family?
“You said several generations. Can you be more specific?”
“Nope. It all depends on the phase of the moon.” She started to plump the pillows. “If the spell was cast under a quarter moon, it wouldn’t last more than a generation or two. Under a blood moon or a black moon, it could last for centuries.”
He frowned and rubbed his neck staring at the piece of paper. “How do you know all this? I thought you were a demi-witch.”
“I am. Not enough magic in me to boil water but my cousin is a full witch and she tells me stuff she’s learned.”
“Would your cousin know how to reverse this spell?”
“She might.” Roxi folded her arms. “What’s it worth to you?”
He mentioned a sum that made her whistle.
“Hot damn.” She pulled out her phone and took a picture of the paper. “I’ll show her this and get back to you as soon as I can.”
Gwyn had finished taking delivery of a shipment of beer when she heard a key in the front door of the club. She left her office wondering if Dante had returned, though he’d pick the lock if he wanted in, the annoying dog.
Surprisingly enough it was Matt. She checked her watch. “You’re way too early. We don’t open for hours. I thought you’d be busy getting caught up with your construction projects.”
He shook his head. “I have a good crew. Everything was under control. And after being away for so long I thought I’d come in early and get reacquainted.” He slowly turned, surveying the room. “I missed this place.”
She glanced around, taking in the familiar sights. Mystique had been a hole in the wall bar when she’d bought it. Since then she’d worked to make it a respectable club. Not too upscale but a place where you weren’t ashamed to be seen either. No drugs, good booze, a small but varied menu, music for those who wanted to dance, a close-captioned TV in the corner if you wanted to watch a game. She’d miss it when it was time to move on.
“Anything interesting happen in my absence?” Matt walked over to lean against the bar.
“You mean besides kidnapping, black magic and killing a malefic witch? Not much.”
He laughed. “Yeah, that was a dumb question.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, his smile crooked.
She reached out to touch his arm. “In case I didn’t say so yesterday, I’m really glad you’re safe.”
“Thanks.” He leaned forward and kissed her.
She didn’t respond and he slowly pulled away.
He cocked his head to the side. “It’s Dante, isn’t it?”
“No.” She shook her head. “We’re not—”
He held up his hand. “It’s okay. I thought maybe the reason you ended things was because you were trying to keep me safe.”
“That was the reason, Matt. But,” she frowned. “In retrospect, I realize Cyrus encouraged me to let you go. He probably thought if we were split up, I wouldn’t notice your disappearance right away when he nabbed you.”
“Perhaps.” He looked down and traced a scar in the wooden bar top. “I think we might have been coming to the end of our relationship anyway. For all that I said I didn’t want more, I think I’m ready to settle down.” He looked up at her, a sad smile on his face. “That’s not in your plans, is it.”
“No. Not ever.” She reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “I’m sorry, Matt.”
He nodded. “It’s okay. You never promised more and I knew that. I guess it’s familiarity that made me start to consider you.” He took a deep breath and then sat up straight. “So, tell me about you and Dante.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
He tapped his nose. “Werebears have an excellent sense of smell. His scent is on you.”
“There’s nothing between us. We slept together but that’s it.”
“Same old Gwyneth. Never commit.”
“I have my reasons.”
“And I’m sure you think they’re valid.” He took her hand and held it in both of his. “Just don’t hang on to those reasons too long or you might miss out on something good.”
She arced a brow and he elaborated.
“From what I saw of Dante, he’s a good guy. Smart, calm under pressure, sense of humour. I think you’d be good together.”
“I can find my own companionship when I need it.” She pulled her hand free.
“Is it because he’s a Lycan?”
“I—” She paused and then gave a soft laugh. “I’d actually forgotten that.”
Matt grinned. “Then we’re making progress. The unbudgeable Gwyneth O’Donohue has moved an inch.”
She made a face. “Go. I need to make the bank deposit.”
Several hours later the club was full. Servers moved from table to table, dodging dancers and taking orders with practised ease. Regular patrons were happy to see Matt had returned from his ‘vacation’ and Rudy appeared his usual self now that he was no longer worrying about the well-being of his cousin.
Gwyn checked the crowded room once again and then scanned the line-up of people waiting to get in. No sign of Dante. She had played out this scene before. Last time he didn’t reappear for days.
She pressed her lips together. This wasn’t how she’d envisioned their association. She’d expected him to come looking for her. That’s what usually happened in her relationships. Of course, Dante seemed to be a law unto himself. Take his ‘I don’t fuck’ statement this morning. Utterly ridiculous.
A table near her emptied and she automatically began to gather the glasses. Could Dante have left town without even a goodbye? Her gut said no. On a whim, she set the dirty glasses on the bar and headed to her office to place a call.
The switchboard at the hotel rang his room but all she got was his voicemail. Either he wasn’t in his room or he was ignoring her. She really needed to get his cell phone number.
She drummed her fingers on her desk and then nodded. It wouldn’t take long to go to his hotel and see if he was there. After all, he’d been injured yesterday and she really should check his wounds were healing. Cyrus had been using an athame and there could have been some latent magi
c on it that might fester in Dante’s wounds. After telling Rudy she’d be gone for a while, she grabbed a jar of salve and some medicinal tea and headed towards Dante’s hotel.
The cab ride was uneventful and soon she was knocking on his door. She could hear movement inside and eventually the door swung open.
She stepped back as the smell of alcohol wafted out of the room.
“Were you having a drunken orgy in here?”
Dante shook his head. “Just me.” With a wave of his arm he invited her in and then made his way back to the bed where he flopped down, arm over his eyes.
She entered the room eyeing his appearance. He was uncharacteristically dishevelled; his hair ruffled, stubble shadowing his jaw. His shirt was unbuttoned, his feet bare.
“Is there a reason you’re pie-eyed drunk?” She walked over to the bedside table and picked up the bottle to read the label. Scotch. Lycan strength. Judging from the amount missing, it was amazing he could walk.
“Not pie-eyed yet, just on my way.” He uncovered his eyes and stretched out his arm for the bottle but she held it out of his reach. She’d run a bar for too many years to give alcohol to someone who was obviously over the limit.
“Well you’re not getting another drop.”
“You’re a hard woman, Gwyneth.”
“So I’ve been told.” She capped the bottle and set it on the dresser on the other side of the room. “What’s the occasion?”
“It’s the anniversary of Carlotta’s death. My beautiful Carlotta.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed and his lashes suspiciously damp.
Right. She recalled him mentioning it last night. And what else had he said? Something about love never forgetting? She frowned thinking how hard it must be for him, always reliving that day every year. And yet, she considered another point, wasn’t it a lovely tribute to Carlotta that she had inspired such affection.
She walked back to the bed and eased down on the edge. “What happened, exactly?”
He gave her a brief recount and she squeezed his hand. “That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s my fault she’s dead.”
“From what you said, you did your best to save her.”
“I should never have fallen in love with her. If I’d stayed away—”
“You can’t know that. Most likely Cyrus would have still found her pack and used them.”
“No. I’m cursed.”
“You’re drunk.” She reached out to brush his hair from his forehead. Her hand then trailed down to his cheek, the stubble on his jaw rough against her palm.
He leaned into her touch, his eyes drifting shut. “Why are you here?”
“I wanted to check your injuries from last night to ensure they weren’t infected.”
“I’m fine. Lycans heal.”
“I’d like to see for myself.”
“You just want your hands on my body.” He mumbled.
“Of course.”
“I’m going to sleep now. Have your way with me.”
“I don’t ravish drunk men.”
“Pity.” He took a deep breath and fell asleep.
She shook her head and laughed softly then checked his wounds. They were almost healed but she applied a bit of salve anyway and then pulled the covers over him. For a moment she stood by the bed watching him sleep.
His face was relaxed, the faint lines smoothed out. She thought of what he’d told her. When he’d initially told her his name, he’d said he’d been through hell; he’d been telling the truth. Poor man. He’d basically sacrificed his whole life for Carlotta. What must it be like to inspire such devotion?
“Good night, Dante.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead and then left the room, rubbing the vague ache in her chest where her scar was.
Chapter 32
“These are for you.” Dante held out a large bouquet of flowers watching Gwyneth’s face to gauge her reaction.
“They’re beautiful. Thank you. But why?” She looked at him quizzically, the morning sunlight streaming in through her apartment window and highlighting the various shades of red in her hair.
“I have a vague recollection of suggesting you have your way with me last night.” He watched as the corners of her mouth twitched. “I might have been slightly under the influence of alcohol.”
“Slightly?” Her eyes widened. “It was more like your brain was marinating. However,” she took the bouquet of flowers and sniffed them. “I’ve run a bar for years and have seen my fair share of inebriated men, so you’re forgiven.”
“Thank you.”
“Come in while I put these in water.” She led the way to the kitchen. “You did have just cause for drinking though. I remember drowning my sorrows for quite some time after Sven passed away.”
“Sven?”
“Ancient history.” She gestured towards her arm. “My tat is a memorial to him. And is also called Sven.”
“I see.”
“We have wonderful conversations.” She smiled. “He never argues, keeps me company and,” she cast a look his way, “never gets drunk.”
“A truly remarkable man…er…tattoo.” He chuckled softly. “Since I’m not as perfect as Sven and did get drunk, could I beg some coffee from you?”
“I’ll mix you an herbal tea that will negate the hangover.”
“Er…” He recalled the last ‘remedy’ and shuddered. “Thanks, but coffee will do.”
“That you can fix yourself, then. Coffee’s in the cupboard.”
He made a reviving brew while she arranged the flowers. There was an air of delight about her as she worked with the delicate blooms, her fingers pausing to stroke the petals. Buying the flowers had been a gamble as he wasn’t sure how she’d feel about such a traditional gesture. It would seem that the outwardly harsh shell harboured a lover of natural beauty.
She looked his way and a faint stain of pink graced her cheeks. “I ran a plant nursery once.”
He nodded. “Having lived as long as you have, I’m sure you’ve had a variety of careers.”
“A few.” She shrugged. “It was much harder years ago. A woman wasn’t supposed to have a career.”
“And you’d have to hide the fact you were a witch.”
“And my age. I think the longest I ever stayed in one place was twenty years before the rumours of my perpetual youth began.” She stood back to examine the floral arrangement and then began to adjust the blossoms again. “Arriving alone in a new town, the easiest place to get work was a bar. They often assumed I was a whore but I soon put them straight. Once I saved enough, I started buying my own establishments to run and the girls I employed had no obligation to provide ‘extras’ unless they wished.”
“That was kind of you.”
“They were loyal and hard-working, grateful for a chance. Many had escaped abusive situations.” She walked into the living room and set the bouquet on a table. “That brightens the room.”
He moved to stand beside her. “They do look lovely, though not as lovely as you.”
“Laying it on a bit thick there, Dante.” She looked at him askance.
“Is this better?” He leaned over and brushed a chaste kiss against her lips.
“Not better but less likely to raise my suspicions that you’re buttering me up for something.”
“No buttering, I promise.” He raised his hands.
“What about some explaining then.”
“Explaining?”
“Your coffee is ready.” She headed back to the kitchen. “And yes, explaining. Such as why you approached me to begin with? Why you were basically stalking me? Oh, and we can’t forget why you bugged my office?”
“Er…”
She handed him a mug of coffee, sat down at the table and leaned back arms folded and one brow elegantly arched. “Start whenever you’re ready.”
He sat down opposite her. “Lycan Link realized a malefic witch existed—had known for years—and tried to keep it hush-hush from the general
Lycan population. But, as Cyrus increased his activity, rumours were beginning to fly. Wanting to keep the impression that everything was copacetic, the director of Lycan Link contacted me to take care of the situation.”
“Directly contacting the witching community would have made more sense.”
“Perhaps, but your people aren’t exactly viewed as warm and welcoming by the rest of us. Higgins—that’s the director’s name—didn’t want to upset the Alliance negotiations, I suppose, by creating controversy. Since Lycan Link’s wishes aligned with my own plans I agreed.”
“You work for Lycan Link?”
“It’s more like they contract out jobs to me.”
“And you were stalking me because?”
“I knew the quarterly Coven meeting was being held in Chicago and that you were a member. My hope was you’d lead me to Cyrus. The bug was in case he visited you or you had a phone call that revealed the location of that meeting. There’s one in your cellar as well. Under the edge of the table.”
“Was that why you seemed obsessed with my private stock?”
He shrugged. “It seemed logical that you’d keep items of value or hold private meetings down there.”
She eyed him for a minute. “You really are a sneaky bastard, aren’t you?”
“I am. It comes with the territory. A territory I’m now relinquishing, I might add. This was my last job for Lycan Link.”
“Did you get a better offer?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’m hopeful, though.” He studied her over the rim of his cup.
Gwyneth shifted in her chair, looked away, then abruptly stood and walked out of the kitchen. The conversation was making her uneasy.
He followed. “I’m interested in you, Gwyneth. You can deny it all you want but there is an attraction between us. Because of what has happened recently, the brick wall you’ve built around yourself has developed a few cracks. Don’t be too quick to repair it. Not all walls are meant to last for eternity.”
“Mine is.” She might privately declare her interest in the man but discussing it with him was a different matter. Sherman was perched on the back of an armchair and she paused to scratch his ears; the sound of his rough purr filled the room but did little to soothe the turmoil Dante’s words were causing inside her.
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