Chapter 8 #3
She picked up her coffee and took a drink, a devilish spark entering her eyes, one that told me an inquisition of a different kind was about to begin.
“No,” I said immediately. “It wasn’t a date, and there is nothing to tell.”
“Oh, come on. I mean, was he hot? At least give me that.”
I pursed my lips. “On a scale of one to ten..., he’s a fifteen.”
Her laugh was filled with delight. “Excellent. Does he have a name?”
“He does.”
She gave me the look. The one that said, No games, woman, this is important.
Because in Ginny’s opinion, there was nothing more serious than men, sex, and relationships. I took another drink just to prolong answering. “His name is René Jones.”
She just about choked on her coffee. “The playboy?”
“I have no idea. He said he was a philanthropist and owns some company called Diablerie.”
She put her drink down, grabbed her laptop, and did a search. Then she turned the screen around to reveal a good dozen pics of René, his arm around a different woman in each one. “Is this your René?”
“That’s René, but I’d hardly call him mine.” I grinned. “If those photos are anything to go by, no one can call him ‘theirs.’”
“That is definitely true, because he’s stated in hundreds of interviews he is not the marrying kind. Of course, his father wasn’t either, so maybe it’s a family trait.”
“What do we know about the father?”
She shrugged. “Unlike René, Howard tended to keep out of the limelight. He died when René was thirty, from memory.”
“From memory?” I raised my eyebrows. “You’ve been cyber stalking the man?”
She grinned. “You know I love a juicy bit of society goss, and René’s been a staple of trash mags for ages now.”
“What else do you know about him, then? Has he siblings? Is his mom still alive?”
“No and no, as far as anyone knows. He’s very closemouthed when it comes to that sort of stuff.” She picked up her drink. “When do I get to meet him?”
“Tonight was not a date,” I repeated for the umpteenth time.
“You and I both know that is a falsehood.”
Thankfully, I was saved the effort of replying by Atticus stalking into the room. What shadows do you hide in the bathroom? Its magic feels foul.
“You hid the shard in the bathroom?” Ginny said, meaning Atticus was projecting wide. “No wonder they tore your room apart looking for it.”
And here I was thinking it was normal when it comes to you wenches and your bedrooms.
Ginny picked up the magazine next to her computer and tossed it at him, saving me the effort. He sniffed haughtily and neatly sidestepped it. You throw like a girl.
“You can be an ass sometimes, Atticus.”
It is one of my more endearing points. He glanced at me, silver eyes gleaming. You have not answered.
“You are not my boss; you’re not even my familiar. I don’t have to answer to you.”
Likewise, I don’t have to avoid clawing that comfy leather chair you seem so fond of.
“Was that a threat?” Ginny asked. “It sounded like a threat.”
I don’t make threats. I simply do.
I rolled my eyes and gave in to the inevitable. “It’s a shard I found at a crime scene. We’re hoping to use it to track the mage who it belonged to.”
Only a dark mage can trace the magic of another dark mage.
“Yes, and we’re hoping to see one tomorrow.” It was said before I actually thought about it, and I cursed silently.
“We are?” Ginny said, surprised.
“I am,” I amended. “You’re going to be at the hospital talking to Mark.”
“Well, that’s damnably inconvenient timing on my part. I’ve never met a dark practitioner before.”
“And probably wouldn’t have this time, because Michael said it’s best I go alone. Something about dark mages getting twitchy when faced by the law in any great numbers.”
You lie came Atticus’s thought. Why?
I’m following orders, I snapped back silently. Something you seem to know nothing about.
“And what about the shard? Do we place it in evidence once we’ve gotten the practitioner’s address?”
“The minute I dismantle my shield, it will start disintegrating. The mage may not even have time to run a trace.”
That at least is the truth.
Atticus, will you shut up?
He regarded me steadily, his tail flicking slowly from side to side. He didn’t say no, but he didn’t have to.
“But you will ring me once you get the name and/or address of the shard’s owner,” Ginny said.
I hesitated, then nodded. Whether I actually did was another matter entirely.
You should not attend a dark mage’s lair alone. It is not safe.
I’m not alone.
His tail flicked. Aware.
Meaning René, not just our unknown shard owner. He’s not a dark mage.
I see him in your thoughts. You cannot feel his magic or essence, so you do not know what he is.
True, but Sophie trusts him.
And I trust no one. I come.
Seriously? No.
He gave me a feline smile. One that said, “Try to stop me.”
I couldn’t, of course.
“Then while I wait for your call,” Ginny was saying, “I’ll run a trace on the number we got from our would-be thieves, and see if we can ping its location.”
“If you find it, do not go after him alone. Remember what happened to Mark.”
“A little scouting in hawk form won’t hurt. If luck is with us, I can uncover where either Lanie or Monica is, and we can run a full raid to take them into custody.”
“I doubt it’s going to be that easy.”
“Oh, I agree, but it can’t hurt to hope, can it?”
“Just be careful.” I drained my hot chocolate, then rose and walked over to the dishwasher, popping the mug into a rack. “Seeing as you’re going to be flying tomorrow, I’ll take the car. Oh, and Michael wants us to move. He’ll send me a new location tomorrow.”
Ginny frowned. “Why do we need another apartment?”
I shrugged, once again feeling a little guilty about having to lie. “Michael ordered it. He wouldn’t say why.”
She sniffed. “He’s probably worried that his little sister will get hurt worse next time there’s a break-in.”
“I wasn’t hurt this time. Well, aside from a few bruises.” I paused. “He also said not to give Lowell or his people our new location.”
“Well, that’s not going to work, is it? We wear earwigs for the very reason that they can trace our location at a moment’s notice.”
“Which is why he wants us to use the signal blocking boxes that will arrive tomorrow.”
“Wow, he’s really not trusting anyone up here, is he?”
“I think it’s more a case of just being careful. Every Society operative is properly vetted before they enter training, so there’s unlikely to be a problem.”
Of course, no system was perfect, and my past was the perfect example.
“I still think he’s just being protective.”
“Maybe,” I said, with a smile. “That is what older brothers are supposed to do for little sisters, isn’t it?”
“Wouldn’t know,” she said gloomily. “I only have sisters. Lots and lots of annoying as hell sisters.”
“You have five,” I said. “I’ve met them all, and they are lovely.”
She sniffed. “You saw them at their best. They are demon children when not out in public.”
“Then leave the nest, woman.”
“I can’t—renovations, remember? I’m not sure how I’ll survive the two more months the builders reckon it’ll take.”
“Then rent somewhere. You’re not broke.”
“I will be after the renovations are done.”
I laughed, bid her good night, and walked into my bedroom... to discover it was no longer a scene of utter chaos. Clothes weren’t put away, but they had been folded and neatly stacked, and the bed had been made.
“Atticus, did you—?”
He sniffed. I cannot sleep in disorder.
Well, thank you.
Welcome.
He stalked over to the bed, jumped on, and curled up near the left pillow. Which was where I usually slept. He knew that, which was exactly why he did it.
And that, I thought, amused, was pretty bloody typical of a cat.
Am not a cat.
No, you’re even more fucking annoying.
Thank you. I do try.
I rolled my eyes and headed into the bathroom to clean off my makeup and do my teeth.
Then I stripped off, hung the dress up, and climbed into the other side of the bed.
Sleep chased me down quickly, but so too did the dreams. Many stemmed from desire freshly awoken, but there were some that warned of shadows I couldn’t yet see coming my way.
To say I woke feeling less than refreshed the next morning was an understatement.
Atticus wasn’t on the pillow, but I could hear Ginny jabbering away to him in the kitchen.
I flung off the blanket and padded into the en suite for a quick shower, then picked through my clothes until I found a fresh pair of black jeans and a short-sleeved green crop top.
And told myself that I totally wasn’t wearing that color because René had fancied me in emerald last night.
The smell of toast had me hastily shoving on my shoes and hurrying out.
“Just dropped some toast in for you,” Ginny said. “And there’s almond butter and raspberry jam on the counter.”
“You went shopping.”
“It was either that or starvation. Oh, and those signal blocking boxes arrived.” She motioned to the two flat black boxes sitting on the corner of the counter. “They were there this morning when I walked in, so they must have been magicked in overnight.”
I frowned. “I didn’t sense any magical intrusion.”
You were too busy having sleep sex, Atticus commented.
If I’d been having sleep sex I would be feeling far more satiated.
Then you were obviously doing it wrong.
Says the cat who knows little about sex.
I was a human before I was cast into this form as a familiar, and sleep sex was something of a specialty.
According to you, you were a specialist of absolutely everything when you were human.
Of course. I was—and am—special.
I snorted and reached into my bag for my phone. Several messages had been left on it—one from Sophie, one from René.