Chapter 2
Dorian exited the building accommodating the mayor’s office, along with the police and the fire department, and stepped into the maw of a December morning.
Christmas decorations clung to lampposts and shop windows.
The sky was heavy; clouds loaded with an impending storm swallowed the weak, pale winter sunlight.
Naked trees and smug evergreens alike shuddered under the charge of a biting wind.
It howled and mowed through the pretty houses, sneaking its way into the dark depth of the forest, the faint strain of Christmas carols from some unknown shop battling against the gale.
What a glorious day.
Hands in his pockets, he strolled the streets of Mystic Hollow, only skimming the minds of the people—magiks and humans—crossing his path.
Amelia Heart’s subconscious was locked in, and it would manifest in her thinking in a different way.
He paid more attention to gray moods and flows of uncreative, worried, and self-critical thoughts.
Not sadness, or not exactly. Her mind would simply be uncolored and dwell on the past.
He crossed paths with a woman with a massive, heavy Christmas bag, her mind a whirlpool where desperation mixed with the unyielding search for a way out.
Not his target. This woman was acutely aware of her state, her emotions present on the surface, and she was ready to grab that solution. She was ready for the change.
Amelia’s emotions would be buried deep, her feelings hidden. She wouldn’t look for solutions because she was likely denying the problems.
He caught the sluggish motion of another woman’s mind, but... no. She was simply tired. So tired.
Dorian kept on walking, unhurried, eavesdropping on other people’s inner lives like another would swap through TV shows.
He bought a hot apple cider from a tiny coffee shop because if he didn’t need to eat or drink, he surely enjoyed doing it.
The first sip made him sigh in pleasure.
It tasted just like winter, he mused, as his powers probed and probed without even actually touching the minds.
Dealing with a mad Lachlan was a hassle he didn’t need in his existence right now.
Could he have asked Fraser the whereabouts of Miss Heart?
Yes.
Could he turn into something that would allow him to trace her by scent instead of using this body that, while fun, was not exactly useful? Even scout the entire town within minutes in his fog-like natural form?
Also yes.
But was this chase, this hunt, more entertaining?
Undoubtedly.
It had been so long since he’d done something as engaging, and even if it was only a shadow of what he used to do, it still felt good.
To find her, he had to think about her, like her.
She’d just been sent here from the city, which meant she possibly needed food and things to fill her house. That was not for tiny, local shops; that was for bigger stores.
He stopped to look at a glass-encased town map mounted on an iron pole and found the store to be a few miles out of town. That was too long and boring to walk to, so he walked to a small, empty alley and turned into black fog.
~*~
There was no online shopping of any kind in Mystic Hollow.
Amelia marched toward the housecleaning products aisle, where she’d find the dishwasher tablets.
She’d crossed off every food and drink on the meticulously drawn list, had reached the cleaning part of it, and would finish with the extra blanket she thought she needed.
Reaching the household essentials would bring her closer to the cashiers, where she could scan and pay for her purchases, then leave.
She entered the smaller aisle and didn’t slow her stride when she saw a man standing in the middle of it, giving her his back.
He didn’t move as she inched closer, and there wasn’t enough room for her to walk past him on either side to reach the tablets.
He was tall, the frame of his shoulders large within his black overcoat, and he needed to move one way or the other. She cleared her throat. “Excuse me?”
The man turned around, a polite smile on his face. Then... he frowned, looking her up and down, but not in a creepy way. No, it was more like he was trying to figure out what she was.
And yes, he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen–gray eyes like icy smoke, an angel face. Generous, unsmiling lips. Hair as black as a moonless sky.
It was like looking at Richard’s opposite. He’d been all boyish charm, big brown eyes, and dishevely styled blond hair. If they were both graced with unquestionably exceptional looks, this man was to Richard what the deepest hour of the night was to a shiny day.
Amelia took a step back. He was definitely worth a glance or a hundred, but she was on a schedule and needed her dishwasher pods so she could leave.
“If you could move a little?” she asked.
He seemed to come by it, smiled—what a smile—and inclined his head. “I apologise. My mind must have been wondering.”
Never a voice had been more suited for a man. Deep and quiet, the British accent making him at the same time regal and exotic. It skimmed her skin, seeming to seep in and make its way into her. Deeper, deeper inside, where recognition made her falter right before her brain took the reins.
Absurd, she thought. Absurd.
“Not a problem,” she replied, her voice sure.
He stepped back, and she crossed over, got a box, set it into her cart, then grabbed the handle and left.
“Take care,” he said as she walked past.
It gave her goosebumps, and for one flashing, reckless second, she felt his voice on her skin, brushing her neck, his lips nibbling the sensitive, uncovered spot under her tight bun.
She squared her shoulders and left.
Or she tried to leave.
“Excuse me again,” he said, and when she turned, he was close. Close enough that she smelled him.
Amelia swallowed and cleared her throat.
“I do apologise again,” he started, a bit flustered. “Would you mind pointing me in the direction of the sheets, please?"
Amelia wouldn’t have pegged someone dressed like him—neither his suit nor the coat over it came from a store—with that way of carrying himself—the regal bearing and the aura of command—as someone who shopped for sheets in a supermarket.
On the other hand, what did she know? And more importantly, what did she care about his sheets and his bed?
Sure, it had been a while since a man touched her, but she had ways other than men to take the edge off. “I’m afraid I’m new here. Usually, that kind of thing is on the other side, though,” she said, pointing in the direction of household items, where she guessed they might be.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
She started off, and he stayed at her side. They reached the end of the aisle, and she turned right.
He turned right, too.
He was supposed to go the opposite way; her pointing had been very clear.
She stopped and looked at him. “I think you need to go the other way.” Her words appeared to confuse him way more than they should have.
For all his presence and hotness, maybe he was a little slow in the head and needed an extra push.
“That way,” she said, pointing again. “Not the way I’m going. The other.”
He looked, more like stared, at her again, straight into her eyes as if he were trying to read her mind, then tightly bowed his head and headed off in the right direction.
Amelia considered for one moment if she should be worried, but he seemed more dazed than dangerous.
Still, she would keep an eye on her back to make sure no one was following her with some funny idea in mind.
After one last check to her list to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything, she marched to the cashiers.
~*~
Dorian cut into the first deserted aisle of the supermarket and shifted into fog, returning to the body he’d favored for the past few centuries once back in his office in the Dreamscape.
Deliberately, he sat behind his desk, set his elbows on the surface, linked his fingers, and rested his forehead on them.
He couldn’t even start forming a coherent thought when someone knocked and opened his office door.
Hunter strolled in and sat on the opposite chair. “How’d it go?”
Dorian closed his eyes.
“Bad? How could it go bad?”
He opened his eyes, lowering his linked hands on his lap. “She’s inaccessible,” he spelled out in a little more than a whisper.
“Yeah.” Hunter shrugged. “We knew that.”
“Her mind, awake and able, is not accessible.”
That caught the other demon’s attention. “You couldn’t read her?”
“Do you need me to say it yet another time?”
“Nope. It’s just very weird. I mean. It’s you.” Hunter frowned. “And she’s human. Is some kind of magic playing?”
“I didn’t sense any.”
Hunter scratched his blond head. “What are you gonna do? You gonna go there again?”
What indeed. Dorian stood and crossed the room to the window, his gaze on the demons and monsters outside. But he didn’t really see them and fixed the knot of his tie.
He had never hit such a mental wall. How could a simple human be that strong? That controlled? That hot.
Oh, please. That was nonsense.
She was beautiful, in the cold, detached way ancient statues of pagan goddesses, but the way she looked was beyond the point.
The point was that never, since he’d come into existence, had someone been unreachable like her. And the next point was how much of a plonker he’d been, failing to follow the rather simple direction to a different part of a store.
Well, then.
“It appears Miss Amelia Heart is going to require a little more work.” Dorian turned, slowly making it back to the desk. “I think a few days will do. I’ll be back here and there. You’re in charge when I’m not in.”
Hunter tilted his head back, a guttural sound escaping his throat. “Aw, come on, boss, no. Not me.”
Dorian raised one black eyebrow, his voice mild. “Excuse me?”
“You know I’m not cut for–” But at that point, Hunter must have noticed Dorian’s face because he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, all right.” He got to his feet and went for the door. “Damned woman,” he muttered as he left.
Dorian couldn’t say he disagreed.
She was something he’d never encountered, and that by itself was enough to explain his reaction. There was nothing else beneath it. The tug–jerk, actually, at something unrecognized within him was because of her mind.
There was no other explanation, and he would focus on it. Strictly.
He shifted and reformed behind Lachlan’s building, walked inside and straight to his door, opening it. “Shouldn’t you have, at least, a secretary?” he asked the Scot.
“Shouldn’t ye knock?” Lachlan answered without even looking up from the computer screen.
“I could have shifted right in here.” He sat. “I need to know where Amelia Heart lives, and I need a house close to hers.”
“And I need ye to bugger off.”
“I’m serious, Fraser.” He checked the tie, crossed his leg. “Something is going on with her. I can’t read her. When she’s awake,” he added.
Lachlan finally looked at him. “Magic?”
He shook his head, which made Lachlan frown.
“I need to understand what is wrong with her so I can help.”
“Ye’re assuming there is something wrong with her that ye can somehow barge in and fix. Aye, that’s right humble.”
“Fraser, I can read the mind of half the people in the US at once in a snap of fingers, if necessary. I was five feet from her, and I had nothing. That is far from usual. What if magic is involved, after all? What if she found a way to shield her mind completely? To shield the magic involved? The world cannot go on without nightmares; you know as much. I need to understand what is happening.”
Obviously, the Mayor wasn’t happy about any of those scenarios, which would play well for him, Dorian reckoned. Lachlan scrubbed the tip of his fingers on his forehead. “Alright,” he burred. “I’ll help. Conditions for yer being here are not changed.”
“Of course.”
“Sheriff Locke will be able to locate her house, and I’ll check if there’s property around her.” Lachlan looked at him. “This is where ye say thank you.”
“Of course.”
“I still didn’t hear it.”
Damned stubborn Scot. Dorian swallowed. “Thank you, Lachlan, for your help. It is very much appreciated.”
“Sound like ye got a frog stuck in your throat, imp. But you’re welcome.”