Sorceress, Interrupted Page 3

  The elevator doors opened and he stepped out carrying my bags.

  “Keeping this secret won’t make us even,” I warned, scooping up Emily and following.

  “Don’t I know it,” he said. “You like keeping me on an invisible leash too much to ever let me free.”

  Wesley must have a sixth sense that lets him know his daughter is in the building. Not me. “You’re back!” he said, hurrying over.

  “Daddy!” Emily squealed, reaching out chubby arms to him. How soon I am replaced.

  “Did you have fun with Fantazia?” Lainey asked, kissing her daughter still protectively encircled by Wesley’s arms. I tried not to feel the slightest twinge of jealousy. It would be mean-spirited to remind myself that one day he would forget her existence, too.

  Emily’s blonde head bobbed up and down. “Ice cream!”

  “Great. You’re on a sugar high then,” Lainey said.

  I smiled.

  “What’s all of this?” Wesley asked, motioning to the bags Cyrus set down.

  “Ask Fantazia.”

  I prayed silently that Emily wouldn’t say anything.

  “Burfday presents!”

  As if I needed another reminder that God and I aren’t on good terms.

  Wesley frowned. “It’s not your birthday, Emily.”

  “Not my burfday, Daddy,” she agreed.

  “They’re just presents,” I said.

  “Did you buy the whole toy store?” Lainey asked.

  “There’s some clothes in there, too,” I said, gesturing to the bags. “Emily had to get that EHJ T-shirt. Couldn’t pass that piece of commercialism up.” I laughed.

  I noticed Wesley looking at me strangely. I hoped he wasn’t making a connection. I couldn’t take that apologetic look he gave every time he realized he’d forgotten something from one of his many, varied pasts. Especially when it came to me.

  “So, where’s Mindy?” Cyrus interrupted. “We were going to work on some updates to your computer network.”

  “You’re letting him near your system?” I asked Wesley, grateful for the distraction. “Hello, fox. Meet henhouse.”

  Cyrus frowned. “I’ll have you know I’m a trusted member of the EHJ family now, Fantazia.”

  “Because I’ll ship you off to the DarkLands if you revert back to your old ways,” Wesley said.

  Cyrus jerked his thumb in Wesley’s direction. “See? We have an understanding.” He shrugged and asked, “So, where is the beautiful and talented Mrs. Christian?”

  “Down in her lab. I’ll call her,” Lainey offered.

  Cyrus waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just run down and grab her myself. It’ll piss off that stuffed shirt she has for a husband.”

  “He’s probably down there with her.”

  “Even better.” Cyrus grinned. He turned back toward the elevator. “Good seeing everybody.”

  “Wait, I’ll ride down with you,” I said. “Bye, Em. We had fun, right?”

  She nodded her blonde head. “Bye, Fay!”

  “Thanks again,” Lainey called.

  “No problem. Anytime.” I gave Wesley a slight nod. He was still looking at me like he suspected something. “Bye, everyone.”

  I turned and fled to the elevator with Cyrus. As soon as the doors closed I said, “Thanks for the distraction.”

  “I didn’t do it for you, sweetheart,” he said. “I did it for me. How am I supposed to collect on keeping a secret if it gets out?”

  The elevator slowed as it approached the laboratory floor. I frowned. “I don’t know what you think I’m going to owe you.” For a moment I was distracted by thoughts of the ways in which I could repay him, and all of them involved his big male hands all over my body. But where had that come from? My drunken night of debauchery had obviously messed up my head more than I thought if I was thinking that way of Cyrus, someone who’d probably rather go celibate the rest of his life than get in bed with me, judging from his reaction earlier.

  “I don’t know either, but I’ll be sure to let you know.” The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. “This is my floor. I’ll be seeing you, Fantazia.”

  “Not if I see you first,” I said.

  “Promises, promises.” He started to exit and then turned back. “Oh, and . . . happy birthday.” He shot me an evil wink and was gone, the elevator doors shutting behind him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I was restless. After my birthday trip with Emily, I tried to throw myself back into my everyday routine of bar owner and purveyor of magical knowledge, but it just wasn’t the same. It used to be fun to sit in my dark room in the back of the bar and wait for someone to ask a favor, like a dark queen awaiting her subjects and supplicants, doling out judgments and boons. Now it was just boring. And lonely.

  Murmured conversation sounded outside, the tinkling of glass and the occasional yelp or cheer as someone either won or lost a game of chance. Some of my patrons were always playing. There were occasionally a few grumbles or ill words, but the losers knew not to start throwing punches, no matter how drunk they were. Heroes and villains alike are welcome here, but the forces of good and evil both know combatants in my place will be cast out, never to be allowed back. I’m not above busting a few heads when someone steps out of line, and I also have my djinns. Creatures from another dimension are great bouncers when I don’t feel like messing up my manicure.

  I also use them as bodyguards. Not that I’m afraid of anyone out there. Or anywhere, really. When you’ve lived as long as I have, death isn’t something to scare you. It’s almost amusing when someone tries to set the reaper on my trail; it’s a way to pass the time and remove the mind-numbing boredom. But after getting the reputation I have, of being the biggest and baddest magic-user in all of creation, it helps to have a few flyswatters around for those stupid enough to challenge me—or those who don’t want to pay up for magical services rendered.

  One of my bodyguards stood as I moved to part the heavy curtain that separated my room from the bar.

  “Are you going outside, ma’am?” he asked.

  “It’s not much fun sitting in here with you two, is it?” I shot back. The djinn are all the same: pale androgynous creatures with elongated features that look alien and a bit unsettling. They’re not much for conversation either.

  The djinn and his twin fell into step behind me as I glided across the room under the pretense of making myself a drink, shooing away one of the otherworldly servants I employ as bartender and listening to the conversations of those around me. So far, no one knew that I was intimately connected with the EHJ, and I intended to keep it that way. No one would spill their guts to someone who could potentially tattle on them to the authorities.

  Two men magic-users, who I had heard vague rumblings about starting a magic-user biker gang, were having a few beers and discussing me.

  “What’s she doing out here?”

  “Dunno. She never comes out.”

  “Still smoking hot.”

  “Acts like she’s so much better than everyone else, though.”

  “Maybe she is.”

  I smiled and took a sip of my drink. I was queen of this world. But lately that gig was starting to stale.

  Forcing the predatory smile to remain on my face, I glided around the tables saying hello to the patrons who were worth knowing. I draped my arms around the neck of a man with curly light brown hair and an air of danger—just the way I like my men. It had been a glimmer of similarity that had attracted me to his brother that catastrophic other night. He was playing and/or cheating at cards with a few other faces I recognized. Glancing at his hand, I smiled and lowered my red lips to the Brother of Power’s ear, at the same time giving the rest of the table an eyeful of décolletage. “Playing to win, I see, Joseph.”

  “Always, darlin’,” he replied with an affected Irish brogue that was every bit as fake as his brother’s British one, and with a playful smile. That grin had charmed its way into many a girl’s bed. Josep
h was a flirt, just like me, but he would also sleep with anything he could get his hands on. We would flirt, and I also sometimes got information out of him, but I wasn’t stupid enough to go any further than that. And right now I was more interested in finding out if there were any jobs on the horizon. I couldn’t take this monotony.

  Recognition suddenly tore through me. Donald. Donald was the name of the man I’d ended up sleeping with on my birthday.

  “Crawled out of your cave, I see, Fantazia.” A woman with bobbed dark hair shot me a glare over her cards. She was wearing Gothic clothes from Victorian England.

  “Just to show you up, London,” I said.

  An old man who looked like he should be ordering the blue plate special at some early bird diner shook his head at me. “Trying to use your goodies as a distraction? Some things never change, Fantazia.”

  “Oh, come now, Howard,” I cooed. “I used to do it for you all the time.” Howard was an old friend, now literally old. He’d been very handsome when he was younger, and the sweetest guy you could ever meet for someone who didn’t consistently play on the right side of the law. I’d once considered getting involved with him, but he would have wanted something permanent, which never works out with me. He went on to meet and marry another magic-user and had a passel of children and grandchildren. I definitely couldn’t have given him the domestic life.

  He smiled. “That seems like centuries ago.”

  “Only decades.”

  The youngest man at the table shivered. He had the look of a high schooler trying too hard to seem a tough guy, baggy clothes practically falling off his emaciated frame. “Shut up and play. I don’t want to think about you doing the nasty with anyone, Howard.”

  “Let’s not offend Dylan’s delicate sensibilities,” I agreed. “He’s still practically a baby.”

  His eyes glimmered with a predatory light. “Give me a chance and I’ll show you I’m a man, Fantazia.”

  London rolled her eyes. “Gross.”

  All four of them were probably on the EHJ’s most-wanted list. They had each done magic a bit outside of the law at one time or another, things that had made headlines and caused ordinary humans to quake with fear. They also probably each had a few of those ridiculous aliases that both heroes and villains go by, but I couldn’t be bothered to remember them, or their last names. They were simply Joseph, London, Howard and Dylan to me. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t like we were going to be mailing each other Christmas cards.

  “Get lost, will you?” London said. “We’re playing a game here, and some of us at the table aren’t interested in looking down your dress, if that’s what you call that thing you’re wearing.”

  Her tone was snarky but there was respect underneath, otherwise I would have given her the boot. I did a little spin so she could get the full effect. My black lace outfit showed off a lot of skin. Also visible were my freshly painted wards, which served the same function as the bodyguards: to show that I was always on guard, and always dangerous.

  “I think she looks hot,” Dylan said.

  “I think she looks like a woman working a street corner,” London retorted.

  “No one gets off on your dead-grandma look,” Dylan snapped. “Don’t take out your lack of sex appeal on Fantazia. Jealous much?”

  “Some men don’t go for the trampy look,” London said in a quiet voice. “Some men like women who dress like a lady.”

  “I don’t see why you’re dragging this out,” I said, eyeing the stakes on the table. “Joseph’s going to win this round.”

  Everyone groaned and folded; they could sense I was telling the truth. Sometimes I like messing with the card games in my establishment. Games of chance are especially chancy around me. For some reason, people still come here to play.

  Joseph sighed. “I could have milked them, Fantazia.”

  “Who cares? It’s just money and I’m bored and want to talk to you,” I said.

  Grabbing him by the arm, I snapped my fingers. Typical club music started blaring from unseen speakers. Popular music is beyond my comprehension and tastes, but I pay someone to recommend whatever is currently in fashion. And I can dance.

  “Since when does talk equal humping my leg?” Joseph asked. He seemed to be enjoying it, though.

  “Since now,” I answered. I snapped my fingers again, and a section of tables disappeared to allow a dance floor, much to the chagrin of the patrons sitting there. “I’m terribly bored so I want to dance—and you’re one of the few guys around here who actually can.”

  “I haven’t seen you this happy in a while,” Joseph said.

  “I’m not,” I replied. “But I’m damn good at faking it.”

  He gave a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t I know it.”

  “Baby,” I said, “I never have to fake it with you.”

  “You’re too kind, and flattery will get you everywhere.” He shot me a smile, then glanced around. “I don’t think everyone’s in a making-merry mood, but I guess I should have suspected you’d be. Considering what I’ve got.”

  It wasn’t a good transition, but I was intrigued. “What are you talking about?”

  He knew he had me. His lips curled into that dangerous smile. “Darlin’, I know you. Do you think I’d honestly give you the goods for free?”

  I pressed against him and purred, “You have something big?”

  “Ah, it’s big now, is it?”

  I was already bored. “Cut the crap, Joe,” I said, my voice an intense growl. “Tell me what you’re getting at or just shut up. I’m not in the mood for games.”

  “But you’re always in the mood for games, darlin’. And as you say, I always play to win.”

  His smug grin was intolerable. Sometimes I’m in the mood for sport, sometimes not. Right now? Not. Especially not from him. A rumble sounded in the room as I built up the pressure of my magic. Glasses started to shatter. Several people bolted from the room. They must have been around the last time I did this.

  “Don’t make me rip it out of you,” I warned, narrowing my eyes.

  “Don’t be such a drama queen,” Joseph said, but the fact that he’d spoken in his real voice and not his fake Irish brogue told me he knew he’d pushed too far and was backtracking. And, was that a glimmer of fear in his eyes?

  I whispered a few words under my breath, looking directly into his eyes as I touched the surface of his mind, ready to dig through his memories to get the goods.

  “Something big’s going down,” he yelped.

  I frowned. What a letdown. “ ‘Something big’? Something big’s always going down.”

  “This time’s different.”

  “This time’s always different.” I laughed. “This time ‘someone’s really going to destroy’ the city, country, world, universe, dimension, et cetera. Each and every time, it’s a big nothing. Who am I going to sell pipe dreams? Shit, this is more boring than watching you play cards.”

  I let the tension go out of the room, and the remaining patrons gave sighs of relief. Club music continued to play until I abruptly turned it off. I spun to go back to my bedroom.

  “I mean it, Fantazia. This one’s got the attention of the whole community. A lot of the lesser powers are scared.”

  “You’re not,” I pointed out, turning. But this was beginning to sound more promising. If the lesser magic-users were worried, that might mean them coming to me for protection or favors.

  He swung back into character with a cocky smile. “No, I’m not. Me, darlin’? I’m too powerful to be worried yet. But I could get worried. If what I know gets any worse.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Come back when it does. I don’t give a damn about some idiot’s take-over-the-world scheme. Until it’s a real crisis, it’s a dream.”

  “What’ll it be worth to you?” he asked.

  “If you’re that scared? I’ll protect you.”

  “Will you?”

  I was surprised to hear fear in the voice of the new speaker. “Not you, too, H
oward.”

  The old man shrugged. “I’m not young, Fantazia. And the whispers going around have been frightening. There’s talk of magic-users being drained of their powers.”

  I tried to appear uninterested. “Drained? So what? You hear stories all the time about some bozo trying a spell he can’t handle and draining himself dry. It happens.” It was probably a magic-user’s worst fear, though, never being able to tap their power again.

  Joseph shot a nasty glare at Howard, then nodded. “Nope. Not this time. These guys didn’t do it to themselves. They were in a fight and someone did it to them.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard, too,” piped up London.

  “Me, too,” said Dylan. “That was a stake we were playing for, actually—the chance to tell you. Joseph won.”

  “And then you all blabbed it anyway,” Joseph complained.

  “You’re more powerful than the rest of us,” Dylan whined. “And you’ve got your brothers. Why do you need her protection?”

  “Maybe that wasn’t what I was going to trade the information for,” Joseph said. His eyes glowed bright blue with power. “Maybe I was going to trade it for something else.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you intended, because it’s useless,” I said, trying to calm them down before I had a mess on my hands. They were whipping themselves into a frenzy, and likely for nothing. “Has anyone actually talked to someone who had this happen?”

  “They’re in comas,” Dylan said.

  “Okay, have you actually seen them?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve got a friend who’s got a friend whose college roommate had it happen to him.”

  “And they were also murdered by a serial killer who hid under a sofa and pretended to be a dog. Or maybe were attacked by a killer with a hook hand at Makeout Point. They’re called urban legends, Dylan. Even I know that, and I’ve been hanging out in this pocket dimension for most of this century!” God save me from gullible people who believe everything they’re told or read on the Internet. “Does anyone have any solid information, or is this just a rumor?”

  Howard shrugged. “Just a rumor, I guess. But face it, Fantazia—as far as rumors go, it’s a scary one. If someone’s really found a way to drain us of magic . . .”