Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
“Well,” Ginny said, with more than a little admiration in her expression. “This is an interesting development.”
“Hmm,” I said, my gaze traveling down his muscular length, following the happy trail of dark hair until it disappeared under his belt. “I suppose we should get him a blanket.”
“Oh, must we?”
I nudged her, and she laughed. “Okay, if you insist.”
She released me and headed into the nearest bedroom. I let my gaze roam again, then said to Atticus, “Why isn’t he waking? We’re not exactly being quiet.”
As you said, travel spells are deep and dangerous things, and their dismantling probably takes more caution and energy than their creation. He paused, eyes narrowing a little. His energy is mid-state, suggesting he is a few hours off waking yet.
You can see his energy? I certainly couldn’t, and that was supposedly my skill set.
I can’t see it as such. It is more... a fading vibration in the silence that generally surrounds him. I suspect the closer he gets to consciousness, the more that vibration will fall silent.
Interesting that he can still hold his shields while unconscious. Few witches can.
He has been very well trained, and not by any regular university, I suspect.
Meaning there are “irregular” universities?
Of a sort.
Meaning?
In darker times, blood witches schooled a selection of candidates with the intent of body swapping when they became age appropriate.
Meaning that practice hasn’t been eradicated entirely?
No, but it has become more dangerous to perform these days, thanks to the presence of the Society and the HCI. Fewer mages risk it.
Ginny returned with a blanket and carefully placed it over him. “You should see the fucking bedrooms—they’re almost as big as my entire place.”
“Well, if you’re paying millions for a penthouse apartment, I’m thinking you’d want value for money.”
“One doesn’t always equate to the other. Look at Sydney—insane prices for shoeboxes.” She tapped my shoulder. “You had better sit and rest up. I’ll go grab the rest of our gear.”
I nodded. Once she’d left, I hopped over to the kitchen to find the kettle, and instead found a top-of-the-line coffee machine that did absolutely everything.
Next to it, in sealed containers, was a generous selection of coffee beans.
After several minutes of aroma testing, I chose a blend that had nougat and caramel tones and, while the machine did its thing, went into the massive pantry to see if there was anything to eat.
It was nigh on a supermarket in there, but I ended up selecting a packet of Tim Tams—caramel to go with the coffee—and, once my drink was done, sat on one of the nearby stools to consume both.
“Which bedroom?” Ginny said as she came back with our suitcases.
I shrugged. “Don’t care.”
She harrumphed. “Then I shall give you the biggest, given it is likely to be his. Maybe he’ll stumble into bed with you later and good times will ensue.”
“Good times won’t,” I said dryly. “We are working.”
“You’re not on the clock twenty-four seven, Hanna. There is time to play.”
“Distraction is never a good thing.”
“Like you’re not distracted in his presence now,” she retorted. “Maybe a horizontal tango or two will ease said distraction.”
“Not going to happen, so drop it.”
“Fine, fine. But you’re an idiot.” She stopped. “Is that coffee I can smell?”
“Yes. You want one?”
She nodded. “I’ll just run downstairs and get the grocery stuff.”
“We shouldn’t have bothered—he has enough food in the pantry to last a good few months.”
“Hey, I paid good money for that food, and I’m going to damn well eat it.”
She headed out again. I pushed up and made her coffee, choosing an earthier-tasting one for her. Once she’d returned and dealt with our food, she sat opposite me on the rounded end of the kitchen island. I pushed the Tim Tams across to her.
“Thanks.” She plucked one free, then added, “What’s the next step?”
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. The painkillers were wearing off, and my leg, mostly healed or not, still ached. As did various other bits of me that had hit the floor way too hard. My thirty-eight-year-old body did not bounce as well as it used to.
“Well, we could question Monica when she wakes, but I’m thinking they might have messed with her memories just to be safe.”
“They’d be stupid not to.” Ginny took a sip of her coffee and sighed in pleasure. “What about we tackle the problem from an unexpected angle?”
I frowned. “Meaning?”
“Psychometry.”
“Possible, but I’m guessing the items Lanie left at their apartment wouldn’t hold much in the way of resonance.”
“No, but they did find several strands of long scarlet hair in that hotel room Mark was trussed up in.”
“Could be Lanie’s.”
“It might also be Monica’s. Just because Mark’s memories didn’t ‘see’ her doesn’t mean she wasn’t there.”
“If we’re going to go down the psychometry root, we’d be better off going back to Luke’s apartment. We’re more likely to find something traceable there, especially when hair is a rather unreliable indicator of location.”
Because hair is dead, Atticus said. It holds no resonance, even when attached to the head.
“Well,” Ginny said. “I guess that means we’re heading back to Luke’s in the morning.”
“I think we should go—”
“No, you need to rest,” she cut in. “Besides, forensics said they’d be there half the night because the place was fucking huge and there were only two of them.”
I gave her a “Really?” sort of look, and she grinned and held up a hand. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a Scout, so I’m not believing a word of it.”
“Ring Lowell if you don’t believe—” She stopped as my phone rang.
I dug it out of my handbag, saw the number, and showed her the screen.
“Speak of the devil, and he shall arise,” she added, amused. “Though technically, that phone should have been in the blocking box.”
“Says the woman who’s phone is sticking out of her pocket.” I hit the answer button and then asked, “Is there a problem?”
“Monica’s awake. You need to get over there and interview her.”
“I’ve been ordered to stay off my leg and rest for the next few hours—”
“Who fucking ordered that?” he cut in brusquely.
“The energy healer my brother sent up here.”
He grunted. It was not a happy sound. “Typical. It seems head office thinks we’re not only incapable of running the show, but then they go and take out the person who is supposedly the lead.”
“It’s only for the next few hours and—”
“I’ll go,” Ginny said. “I don’t want to be playing third wheel around these parts anyway.”
I could almost hear Lowell frowning. “What the hell did she mean by that?”
“It’s just a poor attempt at humor. Ignore her.”
Another grunt echoed down the line. “Fine. Tell her to meet Mary at the hospital in half an hour. I’ll send the address.”
“It’s not the Royal?”
“No, private. More security.”
Made sense. “You getting anywhere questioning our thugs or their agent?”
“Nothing useful at this stage, but we are trying to trace the payment back. The bank isn’t being overly helpful, so we’re waiting on a court order.”
“Let me know if you get it.”
“Sure,” he said, in a manner that made me think he wouldn’t, and then hung up.
“Such a charmer.” Ginny plucked another biscuit free and took a bite.
“I’m beginning to suspect the reason he hasn’t progressed any further up the chain has nothing to do with his lack of power but rather his lack of people skills.”
“Could be.” She glanced at her phone as it dinged. “And that is the address. I better get going.”
“Wait.” I pulled the tracker I’d taken from the woman in the club out of my handbag and turned it back on. “Tuck this into your boot.”
“What? Why?”
I hesitated. “Gut feeling.”
She groaned. “How strong a gut feeling are we talking about?”
“Mild. Very mild.”
“Mild as in no chance, or mild as in, ‘I’m lying my ass off’?”
I couldn’t help but grin. “Somewhere between the two, leaning toward no chance.”
She grunted and took the tracker. “Given we’re dealing with a soulless dark witch, I will take this as ordered. But I will not be pleased if your gut turns out to be right.”
The words “It won’t” hovered on my lips but didn’t get any further; I did not want to chance fate.
She slipped from the barstool and slung her bag over her shoulders. “You want me to bring dinner back?”
I glanced over at the amazing view, seeing hints of pink beginning to stain the undersides of the clouds.
It said a lot about my state after the healing that I hadn’t realized it was so late.
“Nah. Between what we brought in and what’s in the pantry, there’s plenty here.
I might just grab an early night while I can. ”
She nodded, lips twitching. “Is it wrong of me to hope a certain fine-looking man joins you in that bed?”
“Begone, woman, before I throw something at you.”
She laughed and headed out. I spent time alternating between watching the glorious sunset and scrolling through my social media on my phone then, when true darkness hit, made myself another coffee and a sandwich. Probably not what the doctor would have ordered but all that I had energy for.
After finding chicken in the fridge for Atticus, I headed into the bedroom. Not only was it massive, but so too was the bed. It had to be a super king, at the very least, and I couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would want—
Orgies, Atticus helpfully supplied.
And what would you know about orgies? I opened my case, grabbed a T-shirt and fresh undies, and headed into the bathroom, finding a massive spa bath and a five-jet shower big enough to party in.
You’d be surprised what we lords got up to.
Given STDs were rampant back in that era, I’m thinking you can’t have gotten up to too much.
Perhaps I was careful.
And perhaps you simply embellish the truth to appear more scandalous than you actually are.
I think that is the nicest thing you’ve said to me.
Don’t get used to it.