Beguiled (24 page)

He scowled at her. “I’m your mate.”

“Not the same thing.”

“It is to the Fae.”

“Not to me. I’m not married unless there’s a priest and some cake and champagne. Besides, I’m only part-Fae and you’re getting me off the subject here,” Nora complained. She sent a quick look around the cozy spare bedroom. “I grew up here, Quinn. And when my marriage failed, I came back. Here is where I rebuilt my life, my confidence, my belief in myself. This is my home, Quinn. Nobody’s chasing me off. Not even that crazed ex-Queen of yours.”

Disgusted, he blew out a breath and frowned. “You are much like your sister.”

In spite of his furious expression, Nora smiled. “The Donovan women are made of stern stuff, Quinn. It took me a while to remember that once. I won’t forget it again.”

“But Mab—”

“I’ll be careful,” she promised, reaching up to cup his cheek with her palm. “I’m independent, not stupid. And you’ll be here to watch over Eileen and me, right?”

“With my life,” he vowed, holding her hand to his face, turning his lips into the palm to place a gentle kiss there.

“Then we’ll be good.” She moved into his arms, laid her head on his chest and stared at the closed door that led to the hallway and the room where her daughter was sleeping. “Yes, I’m scared, Quinn. But I have to teach Eileen that a strong woman makes her own choices.”

“Your courage terrifies me,” he murmured.

She smiled. “Yeah well, I hope I’m doing the right thing. But you know,” she whispered, “Madame Star says that my moons are aligned perfectly. What could go wrong?”

He didn’t want to consider all that could possibly go wrong.

A couple of long moments passed before she said, “You’re quiet again. Are you worried?” She squirmed closer to Quinn, crawling onto his lap, nestling her head just beneath his chin. She fought to be brave, but he had heard the tremor in her voice as she tried to disguise her fear.

“I am
concerned
for Eileen,” he told her. Quinn looked down into her dark blue eyes and willed her to see his absolute confidence in his ability to protect her. “Mab knows her. Has seen her. Spoken to her. Eileen set her free of her prison—”

“It was an accident.”

“Of course it was, though that changes nothing. There’s a connection now between our girl and Mab. The treacherous bitch will use it as well. She’ll do whatever it is she thinks she must to win back her throne and kill Maggie.” He cupped Nora’s face between his big palms, saw fear flash in her eyes and regretted the fact that he must give her more worry. But he couldn’t see how to avoid it. “She will use Eileen. She could steal her from us. Hide her where we’d never find her. Take her to Casia—”

“Oh God. The prison island?” Nora blinked at him, shook her head and said, “No. I won’t let Mab have my daughter.”

“The danger is there, but no, lass, we won’t let Mab get
our
daughter.” Quinn tightened his arms around her. “I should take Eileen to the Conclave. There are places in the warrior fortress that Mab could never find.”

“I can’t let her go without me,” Nora said.

“She won’t.”

Nora tipped her head back to look up at him. “So we can’t go yet. I won’t leave Maggie here alone. She’s my sister, Quinn.”

“She’s not alone. She has Claire and Bezel, and gods know Mac is always near the witch. And most importantly, Maggie has Culhane.”

“That’s all true,” she said, and snuggled against him. “It’s also true that she’s my family and I’m not leaving without her. Besides, with all of us here, in the main house, we’re easier to protect.”

“Or destroy.”

“You won’t let that happen,” she said, and the surety in her voice filled him with pride that battled the qualms of disquiet in his blood. She gave him her confidence, trusted him with the safety of her child. And he would do whatever he must to prove worthy of that trust.

“You had sex.”

“Huh?”

Bright and early the next morning, Claire and Maggie were wandering through a Christmas tree lot. It was so early, in fact, that there was a layer of fog drifting in off the ocean that the morning sun hadn’t yet dissipated. The air was cold and damp and wisps of steam lifted off the surfaces of the lattes they’d stopped for on the way to the lot.

The heavy scent of pine wrapped itself around them and the straw beneath their feet crunched as they walked. They were alone in the man-made forest, since it was too early for most people to be shopping for trees. Which had been the plan. Maggie wanted a damn tree and since she knew it wasn’t completely safe to wander too far from their warded house, she figured it would be best if she bought her tree before most of the world was awake.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now though, her eyes were barely open and she had to gulp at her latte for the jolt of caffeine her system sorely needed.

From above, Christmas carols trilled from speakers and out on the street, headlights cut through the swath of fog as early-morning commuters hit Pacific Coast Highway.

Maggie sighed and took another sip of her latte. “We should have gotten doughnuts, too,” she whispered.

“Forget the doughnuts.” Claire fixed her with a demanding look. “You didn’t answer me before. You had sex. Didn’t you?”

“What? Am I wearing a sign?” Maggie looked at the front of her navy blue peacoat. “Is there a giant red
S
for sex stitched into my jacket?”

“Might as well be,” Claire told her with a huff. “Your eyes are shining, there’s a bloody smug, satisfied smile on your face and you’re altogether in too good a mood for this early in the morning.”

“Well, if it isn’t Sherlock MacDonald,” Maggie said, smiling. “Or would that be Claire Holmes?”

“Hah! As if it takes a detective to see the stamp of good sex on a body’s face.”

“Good sex takes place a little lower.” Maggie grinned.

“Ah, fine. Rub it in.” Claire shook her head, sipped at her latte and shrugged deeper into her bright red coat. “Some of us are up all night worrying about protection spells while others of us are out—” She broke off. “Just what exactly
were
you doing?”

Maggie sighed heavily. After that time on the throne, Culhane had taken her to the Queen’s bedroom, high in the palace, and there he’d shown her so many inventive Faery maneuvers that . . . wow. The memories of what he’d done to her, what they’d done together, made Maggie so warm, she could have tossed off her coat and danced naked down the street. A smile curved her mouth. “Mmmm . . .”

“Ah God,” Claire mused with an envious moan. “You’re killing me.”

“Not yet,” a deep voice intruded. “But that
is
the plan.”

“Crap!” Maggie spun around and instinctively went into a deep crouch, just as Bezel and Culhane had taught her. She looked up into the face of one of the Christmas tree lot workers. He was about thirty, with a scraggly beard. He wore dirty jeans with a blue and green flannel shirt and work boots that looked older than he was; then she stared directly into his eyes and saw a telltale flicker of red. Definitely demon.

“Hey, thanks for coming to me,” he said. “We tried to get into your place last night, but it’s been warded.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So you do have a witch in the mix.” He fixed his gaze on Claire. “You?”

“Leave her out of this,” Maggie warned him, not daring to let a demon get fixated on Claire. She might be a witch, but that didn’t mean she knew how to fight demons. Maggie stayed low and muttered, “Move away, Claire.”

“Yeah, Claire,” he echoed in a cooing voice. “Step away. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt before you and me have a chance to get
acquainted
. I’ll be right with ya. Soon as I get rid of this bitch.”

Maggie tossed her hot latte into his face, then swept out one leg, caught him behind his knee and he toppled over. “This bitch is so out of your league.”

He hissed as the burning liquid hit his skin, but he rolled to his feet and popped right back up again. So did Maggie. She circled him, keeping her gaze fixed on her opponent. She couldn’t afford to worry about Claire. If she split her focus, she’d only endanger her best friend.

As she had by even bringing her along. God, she was an idiot, Maggie told herself. She never should have taken Claire with her. Should have brought Quinn along. Should have called for Culhane. Hell. Even Bezel would have been welcome about now.

The demon dove at her, clipped Maggie’s jaw with a tight fist and just for an instant, she saw stars. But she shook off the feeling fast and slammed the heel of her hand into the demon’s nose. A fountain of blood sprayed from him and Maggie danced back, keeping clear of the mess.

“That’s gonna cost you, bitch.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and laughed. “You really think you can stand up to what’s coming? Mab’s gathering an army that’s gonna make your tame warriors look like a herd of poodles.”

Culhane? Quinn? McCulloch?

Those three?
Poodles?

She smiled. “Talk all you want, demon boy. But between me and my poodles, you guys are toast.”

Off to one side, Claire was murmuring softly, her hands waving like graceful white flags before her. She stared straight ahead as if unaware of the fight going on in front of her. Suddenly though, the air electrified and Maggie felt a charge of energy erupt just below the surface of her skin.

“You need a witch to fight me?” He sneered the insult.

“Nope,” Maggie told him, and flew at him. Actually
flew
.

She’d been getting better in that area for days, practicing in the backyard at night when no neighbor would be likely to see her. All it took was concentrating the floaty thing into actual movement and voilà.
Flying
.

His eyes went wide, his mouth dropped open and when Maggie hit him dead square in the chest and knocked him over onto his back, he just lay there like a landed trout. She straddled him, pinning his arms beneath her knees.

He bucked and writhed, trying to twist free, but Maggie wasn’t about to let him loose; then she drew on her power, gathered it into a single force inside her and blew a steady stream of sparkling, gold Faery dust right into his eyes.

He let out one hideous, earsplitting shriek of pain; then he poofed. Just exploded into dust and Maggie dropped to the straw-covered dirt.

Heart pounding, mouth dry, Maggie sat there for a long minute, simply trying to catch her breath. Fear eased off, relief crowded in and she let her head fall back so she could stare up at a gray, cloud-covered sky. When a rustle of sound caught her attention, she looked up into the face of the tree lot worker’s friend. He appeared to be younger, more clean shaven and yep, flames were flickering in those eyes, too.

Before she could make a move, though, the guy held up both hands and took a scuttling step or two backward, half hiding behind a Scotch pine just for good measure.

“Hey,” he said, “chill, Your Majesty. Hank was all crazed to be Mr. Queen Killer, not me, ’kay? I’m just doin’ my thing here, spreadin’ holiday cheer, ’kay? I told Hank to back off when you showed up. You know, it’s all live and let live, I say. I got no problems with you, ’kay? All I’m doin’ is trying to sell some trees and make a buck. You good with that?”

Maggie’s ears were still ringing and the knees of her jeans were soaking wet, not to mention probably torn, and she didn’t care
what
Hollywood was wearing; holey jeans just looked tacky and now she needed a new pair, which meant more shopping. And the demon was still staring at her, waiting for an answer.

“Huh?” she asked, shaking her head.

He talked slower. “No. Kill. Me. ’Kay?”

“Twenty bucks off any Christmas tree,” Maggie countered.

He groaned. “Dude. You’re killin’ me here.”

“No, I’m not,” she told him as she pushed up off her knees and brushed her hands together, getting rid of the clinging demon dust. “That’s the point.”

He watched that dust blow away in the wind and then nodded. “Twenty bucks off. Right there with ya. Deal. ’Kay?”

“ ’ Kay.”

He faded back into the trees then, and Claire walked up to join Maggie. “You lead an interesting life.”

“A little too interesting sometimes,” Maggie told her, and winced when she looked at her torn jeans; then she glanced at her friend. “I shouldn’t have brought you with me, Claire. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, please.” Claire waved one hand in dismissal, then handed Maggie her latte. “Not like I’ve never seen a demon before.”

That was the good side of having a friend completely at home with the world of the supernatural and weird.

“True,” Maggie said, taking a sip before handing the latte back. “And you
are
a witch.”

“See?” Claire hooked her arm through Maggie’s. “All’s well that ends with dead demons and bargain Christmas trees.”

“Good point.”

“You know, your fighting skills have really improved. Not to mention the whole flying thing.”

“Thanks.” Maggie stopped to look at a particular tree. At least six feet tall, it was wide and fresh and completely beautiful and with her demon discount, she could totally afford it. Perfect. Smiling, she said, “How about this one?”