Chapter 14
Tristan hasn’t been coping well with his father’s death—and none of us blame him—but that means Danny’s been focused on helping him over the last few days. I’m still helping with Viv’s investigation, but it’s currently at a dead end what with Detective Byrnes throwing up roadblocks at every turn.
This all means that I have been sitting in my office with my mind going around in circles over the conversation with Mr Hadley, the contract he and his partner have offered me, the demon trap in the bookshop, and Harrison’s dreams.
The first thing. The contract? Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m going to accept. I’ve read over it very thoroughly—several times, in fact. It’s a decent deal while still allowing me the freedom to pursue other cases. It’s really a no-brainer.
Which leads me to items two and three, the demon in the bookshop and Harrison’s dreams. All signs point to the two being connected.
I’m trying to figure out why Harrison would have a connection to Cordelia or be experiencing her memories. Being able to follow her rampage through Victorian London the way he has shouldn’t be possible in the first place.
Why Harrison?
I stare down at the notebook where I’ve scrawled that question at least a dozen times.
I suppose it could be because of his magical abilities.
Maybe those made him susceptible to whatever this is, just like my gift for being able to psychically read inanimate objects leaves me susceptible to cursed ones.
But something is gnawing in my gut, and every instinct I have is telling me that’s not it.
This is specific to Harrison.
Whether he’s actually seeing Cordelia Crawshanks’ memories through her eyes or, even more alarming, the demon is somehow showing him it all seems to point to one unassailable fact.
Somehow, he has some sort of connection to the Crawshanks bloodline.
Of course, there is one very obvious explanation. He’s adopted, about the right age, and has been very vocally adamant that Vivienne’s missing son is not responsible for her death, so…
What if?
I swallow hard and shake my head.
Is it possible he’s Viv’s son? Yes. But surely he wouldn’t keep something that important from the others…from me?
There must be some other explanation. Maybe Harrison’s link to Cordelia and the demon has something to do with this sudden epidemic of supernatural abilities. It’s possible Harrison is just tapping into an ability he didn’t know he had.
Maybe they are just dreams.
Blowing out a breath, I scrub my hands over my face, then push away from my desk and stand, stretching out the kinks in my back.
I can’t keep sitting around and stewing over this for yet another day.
I still need to contact Mr Hadley and give him my answer as well as the signed papers.
I’m also, as it turns out, going to be out of London for a day or so.
A while back, Danny and Tris had asked me to track down an elderly lady who has a connection to that weird haunted hotel they stayed at just after Christmas.
Turns out she’s the sister of one of their ghosts.
Somehow I ended up volunteering to drive her up north, which I don’t mind.
I do need to see Harrison before I go, however. His shop’s been busy ever since one of the Witches’ Sabbats at the beginning of the month—Imbolc, I think he called it—and he says it’ll probably stay this way until the beginning of spring, so I’ve stayed out of his way.
Despite my suspicions about his possible biological family, I’m not going to say anything.
Not yet. I don’t really have any actual evidence, just instinct, and since he only ever talks about his dads and has never mentioned the woman who gave birth to him, I don’t want to broach what may be a sensitive subject.
I really want to talk to him about Mr Hadley and the investigation he’s contracting me for, though.
Apart from mentioning the paranormal PI cases to Danny briefly when he returned to London, Harrison is the only person who knows all the details about these cases since we discussed them when I was in Leeds.
My mind made up, I head out of my office and straight for my car. With only one brief stop to pick something up, it doesn’t take me long to get to Islington. Knowing he’s working today, I don’t go through the private entrance but instead head to the front of his shop.
The door opens with the merry little tinkle of bells, and as I step inside, he looks up from where he’s standing at the desk. The genuine smile that graces his gorgeous face makes my heartbeat kick up a notch.
“There you go, Raine.” He hands a neatly wrapped package to a young woman in a flowy dress and Doc Martens. “Everything you’ll require for the full moon ritual is in there. If you need any further advice, please don’t hesitate to reach out.”
“I will do, Mr Ames.” She beams at him. “And thank you so much.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he replies. “I hope you and your coven have fun.”
“We will.” She turns towards me, offering her thanks when I step out of her way.
Once she’s gone and we’re alone, I step closer to the desk to meet him as he rounds it.
“Sam,” he says, and I can tell he’s pleased to see me from his smile. “I was just thinking about you.”
“What a coincidence because I was thinking about you too.” I grin and hand him a single rose.
He takes it with a chuckle. “What’s this for?”
“Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“It’s not Valentine’s Day,” he says wryly.
I shrug. “Close enough. Besides, I won’t actually be here for Valentine’s, and I’d been hoping to take you to dinner.”
“Why?”
“Why what? Why am I not going to be here or why do I want to take you to dinner?” I tease.
“Both.”
“Because I need to drive the client Danny and Tris had me track down to that hotel they stayed at in Yorkshire.”
“Surely that’s not part of your job.”
“Not really, no, but she’s really old and her mobility is practically nonexistent. She’s in a wheelchair more often than she’s out of it, so there’s no way she can travel up there on her own, and she wants to see the place where her younger brother died.”
“Her brother?” Harrison frowns in confusion.
“Apparently, he was evacuated during World War II and died while he was staying there. They couldn’t bring him back to London, so the owners allowed him to be buried in the family cemetery on their land. Esme, that’s the client, wasn’t born until after the war, so she never knew him.”
“I see.” He bites his plump lip, and I desperately want to lean in and taste him. “And the dinner?”
I smile and reach out, tugging a lock of his bright red hair playfully. “Because I like you, Prickles. I don’t want there to be any mistakes here. This isn’t some hookup or friends-with-benefits deal we’ve got going on. I want to take you on a date.”
“Oh.” He blushes and looks down at the flower as he rolls the stem between a finger and thumb. “I’d like that.”
“As soon as I get back, okay?” I promise.
He nods. “How long are you going to be gone?”
“If I set off early enough, I could make it there and back in a day, but the drive will be hard on Esme. I can’t really make her get up at five in the morning, and who knows how many times we’ll need to stop along the way for bathroom breaks.
By the time we get there, it will probably be too late to come back the same day, so I expect two days at the most.”
“But you’re not going today, are you?”
I shake my head. “Tomorrow morning.”
“Good.” His lips curve as he steps around me and locks the front door, then turns the sign to Closed. Grabbing my tie, he tows me towards the back room.
“You got plans for me, Prickles?” I grin.
“Well, I didn’t get you anything for Valentine’s Day.
I’ll be honest, it didn’t even occur to me.
It’s not something I’ve ever celebrated.
” He closes the door behind us as we step into the back room.
After placing the rose on a shelf, he turns around to face me, pulling me against him so I have him pinned against the workbench, currently littered with herbs and other items. “I’ll have to think of something else to give you. ”
I barely have time to formulate a response when his lips crash against mine and his arms wrap around my neck.
Fuck, his kisses are addictive.
I moan loudly as I pull him even closer, my tongue dipping into his mouth to taste him.
Something seems to snap in both of us, a need so strong I don’t think there are words to adequately describe the feeling.
His hands tangle in my hair, nails scratching my scalp and fingers tugging my hair as he feasts on my mouth.
I push his slutty, sensible little sweater up his body until its bunches around his chest and tug his neatly pressed shirt from the waistband of his boring trousers, searching for skin.
I’m practically mounting him as I bend him backwards over the heavy wooden workbench and lift his leg to hook it over my hip.
“Fuck, Sam,” he gasps, and lets go of my hair to brace his hands against the desk. Herbs and other ingredients as well as books and paperwork go flying in all directions, littering the floor. His head drops back and he groans as I attach my mouth to his neck and suck hard.
Bloody hell, I feel like a horny teenager again. There’s just something about him I can’t get enough of.
He shoves my jacket off my shoulders and I drop it behind me without a second thought.
Then I feel him fumble with my belt and unzip my trousers, pushing them over my hips and letting them fall, the belt buckle clattering against the floor as they pool around my ankles and leave me in my boxers and shirt.
“Fuck, Prickles,” I pant against his throat, hurriedly unfastening his trousers and sliding my hand into his boxers, my fingers wrapping around his hard cock and stroking firmly.
He moans loudly and guides my face back to his so he can take my mouth again.
“Ahem.”
We both freeze, mouths still attached, my hard dick—still thankfully in my underwear—pressed up against him and my hand in his pants.
“Ahem.”