Raven Chapter 6 Sex, Sage, and Spectral Problems 60 #2
Em stills completely. "You're proposing we use our most sensitive data as bait.
For an entity whose integrity is, at best, unproven, and at worst, actively compromised.
" He doesn't say I told you so, but the weight of his prior suspicions hangs in the air between them.
"We would be introducing a controlled variable into a system we cannot fully model.
The potential for catastrophic feedback is significant. "
Anik's eyes glint with cold calculation. "It's a risk. But a contained one is better than waiting for them to strike in the open."
I blink. Okay, Anik is serious. That was practically a soliloquy for him.
Dre shifts uncomfortably. "I can't put my finger on it, but something feels… off about them."
"Yeah—they're obviously evil," I tell the guys, looking at them like they're idiots.
Lovable, insanely attractive idiots, but idiots nonetheless.
"If they're not entirely corrupt, I'll eat my left tit.
" I shudder just thinking about them. "They're creepy, old, and as all-powerful as you can get.
How y'all don't see they're definitely the villains is beyond me. "
I really hate the HMC. Every time I'm near them, it's like my existence goes staticky—not a feeling, exactly, but close as this ghost gets.
They're supposed to be this super powerful, benevolent council representing all the magical species in the realm—which is hilarious, because it's really just a bunch of uppity old witches and warlocks.
A few other breeds have tried to join over the years, but according to my guys, they always get turned away for "lack of magical ability.
" Total bullshit. They just don't want to give up any power—or so the guys say, and I definitely agree.
Because of that, most other breeds have formed their own councils to handle conflicts within their ranks.
The High Magic Council only gets called in when there's a dispute between species that the individual councils can't settle.
In a way, they're like figureheads—magical British royalty, or something.
I never mind going with the guys to shifter, vampire, fae, or demon councils.
But those holier-than-thou nutsacks on the High Magic Council? I can't stand them.
They're the only reason "world domination" is even an honorable mention on my to-do list. I don't actually want to rule anything—that sounds exhausting—but I'll be damned if I let them do it.
Apparently, the team has to meet with them sometime after lunch, so I leave them to sort out the logistics as they slowly head back to the penthouse.
Floating up through the ceiling, I call out, "Last five to the penthouse have to supply me with endless orgasms!"
I hear music drifting from the kitchen and follow the sound, smiling when I see Miriam jamming out to Kieran's playlist while making breakfast. She'll be leaving tomorrow—just stopping by on her way home from abroad—so I want to soak up every moment with her while I can.
I float above her for a while, simply watching her move and exist in this joyful, morning ritual. Not long after, the front door opens around the corner. The guys filter into the living space, heading down the hall to shower and get ready for the day.
Curious, I drift a little closer to see what exactly Miriam is doing to that poor garlic—and she stiffens, looking up.
Her eyes land directly where I'm floating.
I'm so shocked, I drop straight through the kitchen island.
By the time I pull myself back up, she's already returned to calmly crushing garlic cloves with the broad side of her knife. If I had a heart, it would be pounding as I slip into the corner and wait a few minutes before slowly, carefully moving toward her again.
When I'm within touching distance, I reach out and lay a single, weightless finger on her arm.
Once again, her head turns—right in my direction.
The ungodly screech I let out is definitely not ladylike—but I can't help it. Trying not to jump to conclusions, I run my experiment a few more times. If he could see me, Emerson would be so proud as I circle her from every direction. Each time, her head turns toward me. Every. Single. Time.
I drift back toward the counter where she's set her ingredients and take a moment to quietly freak the fuck out. This is thrilling. And terrifying.
She knows I'm here. Think, Raven. How can I communicate?
My eyes land on an open bag of flour.
"Time to pull up my big girl panties," I mumble, gathering every bit of chaotic energy I can muster to try to tip it over.
I'm a few minutes into my attempts when Miriam suddenly disappears down the hall. She returns with a bundle of something in her hands—Anik following close behind.
Shirtless and still damp from his shower.
He's rubbing a towel through his hair, his black tactical pants slung low on his hips.
She must have dragged him out mid-dress, because they're not zipped or buttoned, just hanging there like the world's most delicious tease.
They slip a little lower. So do his briefs.
My eyes snap to the deepening V leading straight to the promised land. I should look away. I don't. His crotch is a snake charmer, and I'm apparently a king cobra. Queen cobra? Does it matter? All I know is it’s the best distraction a girl could have asked for.
Then he drops the towel, hauls his waistband into proper position, and secures everything with a few efficient tugs. The vision may be gone, but the memory is eternal.
"I'm telling you—there's a spirit here," she says to him.
Anik immediately starts setting the table for the breakfast she's laid out on the island—all while my entire world is quietly imploding at her words.
Without a word, he walks to the thermostat and turns up the heat a notch, then meets her eyes. "Better?"
She narrows her eyes just as the rest of the guys walk into the living area.
Okay, it's official. I've died and gone to heaven. And the main course is a visual feast of tousled, damp, glorious definition. I'm camping here. Indefinitely.
Miriam's voice rockets me back to reality and away from well-defined pant sausages.
"No. Something… watches. Like a ne'?ngue."
Kieran cocks his head. "A ning-noogie?"
Anik's voice is a low rumble. "A restless spirit."
Kieran's eyes light up. "Wait, we're haunted? Brilliant! Does it throw things? Can we get it to mess with Em's research?"
Forrest's gaze sharpens, cutting through the excitement. His tone drops into what I call his threat-detected register. "If that were the case, wouldn't you have sensed it during your last visit?"
She waves him off. "No, child. This is new." Then she tilts her head, voice softening. "But also… old."
I freeze mid-float.
"Oh. My. Goddess. She knows. It's confirmed. What should I do?"
Then my hand flies to my chest as the last part of her statement fully registers. "Um, excuse me—I am not old."
She holds up her dried bundle of sticks and starts to light them on fire. If I didn't know I was actually here, I'd be signing her up for family therapy right along with the guys.
"This will cleanse the air," she proclaims. "Spirits don't belong in kitchens."
Anik tries to snatch it from her. "You'll set off the smoke alarms."
If I had legs, what I do next could only be called a sprint. I'm inside the pantry so fast I give myself ghost-whiplash. When I stick my face back through the wall to see what's happening, I watch her snatch her hand away from him just as quickly—and point directly at the pantry.
"There. It hides," she says, before beginning her march straight toward me.
I phase back through the wall in a panic. "I'm not hiding! I live here! …Sort of!"
When Miriam reaches the pantry, she calls softly, "Come out, ne'?ngue. I won't hurt you."
Anik just raises an eyebrow and leans against the counter. "It's empty, Syju."
Kieran pokes his head inside. "Can confirm." He quickly abandons the investigation when Dre, Em, and Forrest start serving themselves breakfast, leaving Anik and his mom to figure it out on their own.
I squeak again, and my hand flails out—knocking over a little jar of red powder. I groan and curse the gods. I'm sure they're finding this absolutely hysterical.
She points triumphantly. "See? It answers."
Before Anik can respond, Kieran whoops from the island, "Aye, mami—are these breakfast empanadas?"
She smiles over at him, swinging her arm in wide arcs, the smoldering twigs trailing smoke behind her.
"Yes, and I have made more flavors this morning and put them in the fridge.
" She grabs a few and arranges them on a small plate, then sets it on the corner of the kitchen island, motioning to Anik.
"These are for the spirit. Maybe it just needs an offering to be able to move on. "
"Aww, you are so sweet, mami," I tell her, even though she can't hear me.
Or can she?
I shake the thought away. Obviously, she can't. That would almost make my life too easy.
"Gods forbid," I mumble sourly.
I watch them all eat in companionable silence before they pitch in to clean the kitchen.
Dre puts the kettle on the stove and reaches into Emerson's well-stocked tea supply, selecting a few tins.
Once the water's heating, he arranges a little platter of cookies and carries it toward the living room.
"Shall we move where it's more comfortable?
" he suggests, and the others follow—all except Em, who seizes a cup of tea and slips away.
I think he likes Miriam, but with the mission looming and that dreaded Council meeting hanging over them, I'm pretty sure his brain has officially left the realm of small talk.
Kieran takes Miriam's hand and leads her to the couch, settling in beside her while the rest of the guys follow at a slower pace. Leandre brings up the rear, teapot in hand.