Breakfast Of Champions
Starla is scowling before we even leave the room to go downstairs for breakfast. The witch’s rooms in the manor are spacious, and each of us slept in a canopy bed with an intricate wood frame, large area rugs underneath all the furniture.
“Who turns a full English into a double date?” Starla demands as she runs her fingers through her sleep-tousled hair.
We returned to Councilman Taylor’s home as promised, but I don’t think either of us are feeling rested.
I longed to at least call Jackal and wish him goodnight, but Starla is probably right in assuming her father is keeping tabs on us in every room of the house.
All our communication with the guys will be sparse or via text for the remainder of the weekend.
“Remind me again why Fer—”
I give her a wide-eyed look before she can reference the gripe she had last night. Wanting Feral up here even sooner as a distraction.
I text her.
Because there are no official public activities here until later this afternoon. He wants to make his entrance when the grounds are at their busiest, and while your father will be distracted with ensuring his fancy dinner is going off without a hitch. Less chance to grow suspicious or refuse.
She rolls her eyes when she opens and reads the message, before sending me back a heart.
“May as well get on with the festivities,” she laments. “Come along, Carolina. Let us prepare.”
On the second statement, her accent slides from all-out Southern to the more formal one she’s donned around her father’s guests. My own voice has never had the same strong lilt as Starla’s, and I can only imagine it makes it easier for him to at least semi-approve of me.
Our outfits have already been chosen, pressed, and set out by maids within the manor. As my best friend is getting changed, there’s a knock on the door. Another witch enters and hides Starla’s tattoos and the blue in her hair for the day.
“Thank you,” Starla mutters, even though she sounds like she’s chewing glass to force the niceties out. She dons a blush-pink dress that hits her at her knees, with a portrait collar.
She looks like a doll. And not at all like herself.
My own dress is a muted green, pleated and with a blazer neckline.
The material is high-end but much more restrictive than the flowing sundresses people might wear in Carolina Beach, and infinitely less comfortable than the shorts and t-shirts the two of us normally wear.
Starla pulls at the neckline of her dress, even though it leaves plenty of room.
“I wish we had Shanell here. She could handle my tattoos and hair, then swap them back the moment I was back in my own rooms. And she’d do a better job. Look at my skin tone.”
She holds out an arm, and I can see where the witch who worked on her has left the complexion on her arms mottled.
“We could always call her, but I think she’s where she needs to be,” I say.
Starla huffs.
“You’re right. Instincts. I’d much rather have her monitoring Carolina Beach than chasing around after me just to vanish tattoos periodically. A waste of her talents.”
“Who’s your date for breakfast?” I ask Starla.
“Piers. A good dozen years my senior and very traditional. But he does own yachts. Multiple.”
“And mine?”
She shrugs.
“No idea.”
I recall Arloc discussing lunch with the councilman yesterday, but breakfast is a mystery. I’m simultaneously hoping and dreading that it will be Claude so I can attempt to dig more into the crest he wears.
We make our way to the entrance of the manor, where Councilman Taylor’s butler tells us that we will be dining in the gardens.
We’re taken to a gazebo surrounded by vibrant flowers. The table is laden with china plates and I can see a small side table with carafes of juice, coffee, milk, water, and a teapot at the ready. There are two staff members, and our dates. But no Councilman Taylor.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll be demanding a recap from me later,” Starla whispers before turning a beatific smile on her date.
Piers pulls out a chair for her. He’s got a thin moustache above his top lip, a few shades darker than his hair. It reminds me of a caterpillar.
“Lovely to see you again, Starla.” He turns to me. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Piers Lonsworth the third,” he says.
Starla bats her eyelashes, looking positively besotted.
“He’s the head defense lawyer of a firm representing supernatural clients—and a warlock with a key for memories,” she divulges, as if she’s thoroughly impressed.
He grins.
“I don’t alter them, at least not if the opposing counsel is asking. I merely obscure the memories, make the ones not useful to us more fuzzy.”
Positively horrifying.
“Pleased to meet you,” I say.
The vampire steps up, bowing at the waist.
“It’s lovely to see you again, Carolina. Starla.” Arloc acknowledges my best friend, who nods her head in response.
“I thought I wouldn’t have the pleasure of your company until lunch,” I tell him.
It has the desired impact, and he smiles, showing his long teeth. His eyes are a vibrant red this morning.
“I couldn’t wait that long. You are an enticing woman.”
My stomach sinks, confirming for me that I did in fact want to see Claude. But I can’t count anyone else out, so it’s not necessarily a waste of time.
The gazebo sets us in the shade, but I’m guessing Arloc must be utilizing some spell or potion to be out in this much sun with no apparent discomfort. Even after Councilman Taylor offered a darker location. Perhaps it’s a show of wealth, power, or both.
The staff serve us a salmon benedict with hollandaise and capers on top. Starla and Piers opt for tea as an accompaniment, while I take a coffee.
Arloc is provided a cup with deep crimson liquid, alongside something clear that smells far too strong to be water.
“Vodka,” he says, holding it up and drinking it dry before sipping on the blood.
“Arloc, you mentioned yesterday that you are the master of a vampire coven and run a jewelry business? That sounds fascinating.”
He’s only too happy to launch into a spiel about the gems, their values, and the systems he uses to find, purchase, transport, inventory, and sell them.
I catch snippets of Starla’s conversation with Piers, which is somehow even more mind-numbing as the lawyer waxes poetic on traditional gender roles in supernatural relationships.
Ginny is a better lawyer in every way imaginable, I find myself thinking.
My thoughts drift to spending a day at the Sea Wench. Brody and Ginny laughing at one of the high-tops. Pickles, Jackal, and me walking along the beach out back. Starla and Keegan working on the appetizer menu in the kitchen.
I glance under the table and note that Starla’s hands are clenched into fists.
“And your mother does all the domestic tasks, even though her key has nothing to do with cooking or cleaning and she is in fact a fire witch? How … refreshing,” Starla manages, taking a long sip of her tea afterward.
They’ve just given her a fresh cup, steam wafting off the top. I imagine it’s scalding, but she keeps the cup stubbornly pressed against her lips, most likely to keep her from saying anything she’d regret.
Piers misses all of this, nodding in agreement.
“She recognizes that it’s a privilege for women to raise the next generation of exceptional men.”
I give Starla a swift kick under the table when I see sparks around the handle of her teacup.
“Your mother sounds like an absolute paragon of ideal femininity,” Starla says.
“—but the enchanted jewels are by far the most interesting.”
My eyes snap up from my coffee cup as Arloc continues his speech.
“Enchanted jewelry? Have you seen many cases of that?”
He nods and smiles, appearing pleased to have captured my interest.
“We specialize in it. You may recall I mentioned yesterday that, while jewelry is our main source of income, we work with all manner of prized magical items. I once encountered a sapphire that held a miniature typhoon inside, placed there by a very talented water witch.”
“What about family jewelry? Things passed down through generations.”
He tilts his head, thinking for a few moments.
“We do see such items. People are less inclined to be selling things like that, although we do have buyers who collect them, so I always keep my eyes open. Are you a fan? I noticed you’re only wearing studs, although they are lovely.”
I reach up to brush my fingers over the solid gold earrings Starla bought when we went shopping. But those aren’t what I’m interested in.
The question is how much to tell him. I do a seconds-long mental weighing of the risks and rewards.
“My family has a piece that was passed down over several generations from a siren ancestor of mine.”
“You don’t say. Do you have the piece in your possession? I’d love the opportunity to examine it. Is there anything you’re hoping to learn about it?”
His voice has lost its dripping, syrupy sweetness, and is clear and sincere. The jewelry undoubtedly makes him money, but it’s entirely possible he also holds a genuine interest.
“Is there a good way to find out exactly what magic a particular piece of jewelry has?” I ask, instead of responding to whether or not I have the item in question.
It’s tucked in a pocket of my skirt at the moment. It would be visible in this neckline, and for whatever reason I just don’t feel comfortable with everyone seeing it.
“We absolutely can figure that out. My vampires are the best, and among them I am the most skilled. I’d be more than happy to offer my insights. Perhaps a trade? I examine the necklace, and you lend me your song?”
I hesitate for perhaps a moment too long.
“Please consider it,” he urges, before turning to compliment Piers on his suit.
Arloc is smooth. Pushing, but not so far that I shut him down completely.
I let out a breath as Arloc and Piers discuss something having to do with ships.
Across the table, I can see that Starla’s blush is all that’s keeping her complexion looking rosy. She needs to power up her magic. She really should find time before lunch. We’ll be funneled from one social engagement to the next, and I want us both on our toes.
Lack of sleep, and using her magic to muffle our voices last night, has drained her.
But maybe there’s a way to bring about an early end to this meal. Give her a chance to gain back some energy, and me an opportunity to think over Arloc’s offer in peace.
The idea is devious, and I know I never would have thought of it before associating with so many supernaturals who hunt and manipulate wicked magicals for a living.
I’m sorely tempted to sing them into excusing us from breakfast, but that would be a frivolous use of a power that could put me in the grave. This is better.
I clear my throat, and the two supernaturals turn to look at me.
“You’re both clearly held in high esteem by the councilman. Do you each work with him frequently? Or does one of you have his favor more than the other?”
An obvious, obvious bid to get them to compete.
But they oblige.
Thank the tides for arrogant men.
“Councilman Taylor moves between multiple properties, and I have been to four,” Arloc begins.
“Really? I count five for myself. Has he not had you out on his private golf course in Scotland? That’s a shame; it’s lovely.” Piers snaps his fingers for someone to come top up his tea.
The vampire’s eyes narrow at the warlock.
“While that does sound like fun, vampires do not make a habit of golfing out in the sun. Even if we did, I hardly have the time. My schedule revolves primarily around business. If I am spending minutes on something, those minutes are making money or benefitting me in some other way. Like basking in the company of a beautiful woman, for instance.” His eyes slide to me, and I put my hand to my cheek as though he’s made me blush.
Thankfully, Piers turns the conversation back before Arloc can dive into any flirtation.
“It’s the same for me!” the warlock insists. “I have a great mind for finances.”
Starla turns to me as the two argue, grinning. She tilts her head to the two men, and I nod.
Yes. I did it on purpose.
Arloc raises an arched eyebrow at the warlock.
“Oh? Then I’m certain you’ve spent plenty of time in the office here at the councilman’s main estate?
After all, that is where he keeps the contracts for his most important deals.
Or, have you perhaps been relegated to the scotch and cigar room?
Good for those who are entertaining, but not for entertaining serious clients. ”
Piers puffs up, jutting his chest out.
“I’m sure I’ve been inside that office more than you! Enough to have seen more than my fair share of records—not only of Councilman Taylor but also the covens he keeps track of and everyone else he’s involved with. He trusts me implicitly.”
Starla raises her eyebrows at me.
The office. Records of his associates and, I would bet, a lot of snooping he’s done on them.
Another potential area to look.
We just have to find an opening.
Not a waste of a breakfast after all.