Chapter 20 Silver
SILVER
Iwas not going to tell Cas he was right about switching our booking. I refused, even while moaning around a mouthful of heavenly food.
At breakfast, the fresh croissant almost made me slip, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction.
I knew we were here for work, and we’d have to spend the day discreetly scoping out the auction site, but it didn’t hurt to sleep in Oscar Wilde’s old room and wake up to freshly pressed orange juice.
“You know where the auction’s taking place?” Cas asked across the table on the balcony, eating his third croissant.
I bobbed my head. “A popular club with a fairly steady supernatural clientele—mostly shifters, some witches. And enthusiastic regular humans. Rich people, hence the area.”
I vaguely waved towards the Rue des Beaux Arts in the 6th arrondissement.
“So it’s nearby.” He frowned. “We could be followed.”
“It’s our job to make sure we aren’t. Hence why we’re not supposed to bring attention to ourselves.”
Cas snorted. “Better not scream in the street again then.”
I levelled him with a glare. Dick.
“Is that why you didn’t dye your hair?” he wondered.
I wrinkled my nose. “I forgot to pack dye.”
“Why do you use washable dye rather than something more permanent if you do it daily?”
“It is permanent dye,” I said with a sigh. “It fades in a day at most. Washable wouldn’t last an hour.”
My hair defied reason, just like the rest of me. I’d learned to stop questioning it over the years.
“I meant that you could change it magically rather than using human methods,” Cas said, making me feel a bit foolish.
I’d never tried. There were magical hairdressers in town, but they were expensive. Kleos had offered to pay for it, but I always said no, disliking the idea of being a charity case.
Another problem that could be solved by throwing money at it. “I didn’t know I had piles of gold until last weekend,” I reminded him. “I didn’t have the spare cash to do that sort of things.”
I expected Cas to fail to understand the concept of not having enough cash for a hairstyle, but he nodded and dropped it.
“Well, I’d better shower. Down to reception in fifteen?”
Cas, of course, was staying in L’Apartment, the most expensive room in the tiny boutique hotel. Given how gorgeous and unique my suite was, I was half tempted to ask him to see it, but I’d chickened out each time I tried. Maybe I’d find an excuse to snoop before we left tomorrow morning.
We made our way to the building opposite the location, and observed the comings and goings.
The club was closed during the day, and we saw several deliveries being let in in the afternoon through a side entrance.
Drinks, mostly. At seven, a group brought in what looked like musical instruments in boxes.
Cas tapped my shoulder, pointing to one of the boxes, too small to contain anything of note. The shape was wrong for most instruments I could think of. “Iron,” he pointed. “I can sense lead too, to dull the magical signature.”
I groaned, watching the group close the side door behind them. “If you’d spotted it earlier we could have just grabbed it.”
“At least we know what to look for.”
“And who brought it,” I added.
The club opened at nine, so we headed back to the hotel to get changed.
“Might as well have dinner,” I said. “No point arriving too early—no one goes dancing early in the evening, and stays until past midnight. Do you have—erm—date clothing?”
I should have bought him a shirt as well as a jacket.
The corner of his mouth curved up. “Date, huh?”
I shifted uncomfortably. “That’s what we’re pretending to do. Two idiots on a date, wanting to try exciting magical stuff.”
“How would you say I should dress for the privilege of a date with you, pretty doll?”
I wanted to kick his shin for mocking me, so I did.
But he genuinely didn’t seem to be certain, so I explained. “A fitted shirt—long sleeves in December. A good fabric, whatever color you want.”
I grabbed my phone, searching for examples. Spotting a nice one, I brought the screen up to his eye level. Cas nodded, staring down at the cotton T-shirt I got him. I watched the fabric stretch and switch to imitate the example.
I gasped. “You can do that?”
He shrugged. “Magic is limited by two things: the extent of your power and imagination. I have both in spades.”
“Show-off.”
We’d reached my door, but before I could disappear inside, he said, “I could try to do your hair, if you’d like. I’ve never done it, but it can’t be that hard.”
I blinked. “You won’t make it all fall out, will you? I already had to cut off a chunk that was burned by a bloody dragon last month.”
“That’s one story I absolutely need,” he stated. “But no. I won’t make it fall out.”
“Fine. Give it a go, then. Perhaps not pink tonight? That’s rather distinctive.”
I hadn’t been to Paris on enough missions to be recognized on sight, but it made sense not to wear my signature look if it could be helped.
He reached for my hair, putting a loose strand behind my ear.
A shiver ran down my spine at the contact, hyperaware of his skin on mine.
“Downstairs in half an hour for dinner?” he asked.
I made myself nod.
Damn him and his hands and his bulk and his fucking scent. Leather, musk, deep spices and steel. No one should smell this delicious. No one.
In the bathroom, I realized I didn’t ask for a specific color. I quite liked the shade of lilac he chose for me. It wasn’t too far from my usual pink, a little darker perhaps. My hair had never look shinier either.
Rather than having dinner at the hotel, we chose a restaurant a stone’s throw away from the club, and my window seat came with a decent view of its entrance. It started to get busier around ten, just as we polished off our sinful Paris-Brests.
“There’s a bit of a queue,” I told him, mindful of staying ambiguous in public. “So we’ll get in in thirty or so. We shouldn’t drink too much tonight.”
Cas snorted. “It takes a hell of a lot to get me drunk. How about you?”
“Tons,” I admitted. “Or a single cocktail from Pan.”
“You’ve drank Pan’s brew?”
I bobbed my head, blushing as I remembered feeling high, pissed, and seriously horny that night. “He has a club back home on Life Avenue, in the underside.”
“You’ll have to take me for our second date.”
I blushed like a schoolgirl. The asshole knew just what he was doing, embarrassing and flustering me. “We’ll see if you can behave for the rest of this one, first,” I shot back.
“I didn’t realize I was being tested.” He reclined on his seat. “I’ve been remiss in not telling you how gorgeous you look, then.”
I flipped him the bird, and the unhinged weirdo bent down and put my middle finger in his mouth, sucking it.
I felt it down to my clit.
I could only stare speechlessly while he grinned, knowing he’d won this interaction by being an absolute heathen.