55 Birdie
BIRDIE
“Is it weird that I’m nervous?”
The wraith smiles down at me. “You are human. It is only natural to be afraid of that which you do not understand.”
We’re standing in the kitchen, waiting for Jasper to come back down so we can leave.
Hortie left about twenty minutes ago. This is a small island, and people talk, so we’re keeping up the ruse of a ladies’ night.
She’s on her way to Mercy’s for a night of dominoes and Darjeeling.
If anyone asks, it will be spread far and wide that I was most definitely in attendance.
“Is there anything I should know about mages? Or this mage in particular?”
Dáinn is quiet as he considers. “Baz likes oddities. He likes to collect them. He may try to collect you.”
“Collect me? What, like, keep me?”
Dáinn nods. “To that end, you are not to agree to anything he says. And do not shake his hand on any account. His words are like honey dripping from a comb. But you never know when or how he might use them to trap and snare. A handshake with a mage is like the sealing of a deal. Too often, creatures don’t even know the terms they’ve agreed to before they’re lured in.
So, stay by me. If not me, stay by Jasper. ”
“And this isn’t a trap?” I press, my brain still rapidly churning out every bad scenario. “He’ll let us go?”
“I give you my word, Birdie Rhodes, you will leave with me. Even if Baz has a mind to trap us, it will never work. No wards may block my path. I will protect you.”
I nod, trying to stuff my nerves into a box.
I wasn’t sure what one should wear to meet a mage, so I opted for the comfort of a pair of navy yoga pants and a matching tank top.
My hair I left in one long braid down my back.
I know I’m in a magical world now where creatures can appear at will, but I just feel better wearing my running shoes. It gives me the illusion of options.
Jasper strides into the room, fresh from a shower. He’s wearing his classic uniform of jeans, an old, faded T-shirt, and his tan work boots. “Ready?”
I nod. “As I’ll ever be.”
He walks past us, headed for the door. “The next ferry is at eight o’clock—”
“We’re not taking the ferry,” Dáinn calls.
Jasper turns. “You said this was off island.” Then he’s bristling with annoyance. “You know your little mage friend can’t come here—”
“It is,” Dáinn says. “And he can’t. But that doesn’t mean we’ll be taking a ferry to get to him. I don’t even know where he is. He could be in another state, for all we know. Another hemisphere.”
I glance between them. “Well, then so how . . .” I sigh as Dáinn holds out his hand.
“I shall take us,” he chimes, holding his other hand out to the witch.
Jasper bats it down. “No fucking way. I’m not letting you drag me into the void. Are you crazy?”
“Very well. Stay here and knit something.” Dáinn turns to me. “Birdie, my sweet, shall we go?”
I reach for him and that has Jasper lunging for the wraith. “Over my dead fucking body.” He grabs his shoulder, holding tight.
Grinning wide, Dáinn squeezes my hand. “Don’t let go.”
I shriek, the sound muffling as he walks us forward into the swirling dark abyss. It feels like plunging into a pool of icy water, only the water leaves you feeling weightless and breathless. It’s more like the cold, limitless bounds of space. No sense of time. No sense of self.
But then I’m tumbling through a cyclone, shadows swirling, brain spinning, stumbling out of the void onto a plush Turkish rug.
I pant for breath, trying to catch myself before I drop to the floor.
Dáinn is there, offering me both his hands to keep me standing.
He offers no such support to our poor witch.
Jasper drops to his knees on the carpet, looking green about the gills.
“Dáinn,” a new voice calls in welcome. “What a pleasure to see you again.”
The warm air is thick with incense—patchouli, sage, sweet rosewood. The smoke swarms my nostrils, making me choke and cough. Did he drag us to a sauna?
“Well, well,” calls the same voice. “I see you brought me a present.”
My gaze focuses on the man sitting in the middle of the room.
He’s dazzling in his beauty. His hair is silver, flowing over his shoulders, but his face is young, timeless even.
His proportions are elongated, like a fashion model.
He’s perched on the edge of a large platform bed wearing nothing but a silky pink robe.
It’s the kind of thing Hortense would bedazzle with rhinestones and feathered cuffs.
“Your timing is atrocious, Dáinn,” he calls. “You’ve already missed all the fun.”
Behind him on the bed, a pile of oily people lounge, blissed out on what looks like a post-coital high of drugs, sex, and booze. A huge blonde man stands naked at his side wearing a ball gag. Blood drips down his chest from multiple bite marks. His hard cock is trapped inside a spiked metal cage.
“Where the heck are we?” I murmur, inching closer to Dáinn.
This place is like something out of a fantasy brothel—the incense burners, the gauzy curtains, the richly woven rugs layered on the floor.
There’s even a half-naked man in the corner strumming a harp, his face covered by a feathered bird mask.
Seriously, is this still earth? Or did we cross over into some fae dimension?
On Dáinn’s other side, Jasper finally gets to his feet.
The beautiful model rises too. He strides across the room on long legs.
As he gets closer, the strangeness of his eyes becomes clear.
The irises are lilac. This must be the mage.
I can’t even think of a word to describe him.
Undeniable, maybe? He’s like a creature of raw magic.
He extends a hand. “You must be the human I’ve heard so much about. I’m Basil Barnes. Enchanté.”
Remembering Dáinn’s warning, I lean away from his hand. “Hello. You, umm . . . you have a lovely home.”
Slowly, the mage drops his hand, glaring at the wraith. “What did you tell her?”
“I told her you’re a friend,” he replies diplomatically.
I’m locked in place by his arm across my back as Baz leans in. Lowering his face, he makes a show of dramatically breathing me in. “Oh gods,” he groans. “What a sweet little thing you are. Is that bergamot I smell?” He casts a teasing glance to Dáinn. “Your boring taste in tea makes more sense.”
Clearing my throat, I launch into the speech I prepared in the shower. “Mr. Barnes, we came here today to ask for a favor—”
“Hush.” He puts his hand in my face, close enough for his palm to almost brush the tip of my nose. “We’re not done with formal introductions.” Slowly, he turns to Jasper. “Well, witch? Cat got your tongue?”
Jasper bristles, eyes narrowing. “You can see me?”
I stifle a gasp as I catch his meaning . . . and remember what he’s wearing. Around the room, others perk up at the sound of his voice, looking to where he should stand. I imagine, in their eyes, they see only carpet.
Tipping back his head, the mage howls a laugh. “Oh, silly witch. You wear my magic, remember?” Reaching out, he taps the place where Jasper’s evil eye pendant lies hidden under his shirt. “Can’t hide from me, handsome.”
He dares to shrug. “It was worth a shot.”
Dáinn steps in, brushing his hand down Jasper’s arm in what feels like a very possessive display. I see the way Jasper stiffens. “Baz, I don’t believe you’ve met my witch. This is Jasper Lyons Prescott, High Priest of the Burr Island Coven.”
“Oh, I know. Even if I couldn’t see him, I could still smell him. The scent of sea salt is practically oozing from his pores. Tell me, high priest, why do you now leave your precious little island? What can we lonely mainlanders do for you?”
“I wanted to meet you,” Jasper replies.
The mage chuckles. “Of course, you did. Whenever my purpose is pleasantries, I always try to sneak in unannounced and hide in plain sight.”
Jasper crosses his arms, his stormy gaze leveled on the mage. “You’re important to Dáinn. He wanted me to meet you. He thinks we could work well together. I’m less convinced.”
“No, well, of course,” the mage replies, his voice slippery with contempt. “How could we ever work together? You don’t trust any magical creature not of your island’s ilk.”
Surprising me, Jasper places a hand on Dáinn’s shoulder. “I trust him.”
Dáinn’s handsome face blooms with a smile as he stands a little taller.
The mage blinks, his lilac eyes darkening as he traces a line down Jasper’s arm to the wraith’s shoulder. “Interesting,” he murmurs, his gaze settling on me. “You’ve worked fast, haven’t you?”
“I’m not sure what you mean—” I blink, and the mage is right before my face, his features glowing in the torchlight.
“I can smell the witch’s seed in your cunt,” he taunts, his voice almost like a song.
“Sea salt and honeyed apples . . . you reek of him. That’s why he’s here.
He didn’t come to meet me or to support Dáinn.
He came because of you.” Inching closer, he breathes deep again, his nose almost brushing my cheek.
Jasper growls low in warning.
The mage looks to Dáinn, his brow furrowed. “I don’t scent you on her at all. Oh, Dáinn, what are you waiting for? You beg me for a render and now you’re wasting it. Why this delay? Claim your human.”
I can’t hold back my indignant huff. “Okay, can we please slow down the ‘let’s all claim Birdie’ train? I literally just met him in this render today.”
The mage’s eyes flash with delight as he turns to me. “Birdie. Is that your name?”
“I—” Shit. I glance to Dáinn, and he gives me a nod. “Yes. My name is Birdie Rhodes.”
“Clarence,” the mage calls over his shoulder. “This is Birdie Rhodes.”
The massive blonde man covered in bloody bite marks waves at me. His mouth flexes around his ball gag and I catch the unmistakable flash of thick white fangs. On instinct, I inch closer to Dáinn.
“That’s my Clarence,” Baz says with an indulgent smile. “See how happy pets are when they’re properly claimed?” he adds at Dáinn.
Now I’m the one growling as Dáinn holds me back.