Playing Against Type: Soulgirls, Book 4 (5 page)

A dozen views filled his laptop screen. Dispassionately, he studied the footage and stripped out of his clothes. He dropped them into a burn bag, one garment at a time and destroyed them. The potions he’d purchased came at a high price, but they were more effective than anything the Bureau had to offer. When the bag collapsed, the capsules broke and eliminated the contents. Nothing he wore against his skin would be left to chance in the room.

Magic didn’t affect him directly, but with skin, sweat, or hair samples a witch could do a lot of damage—while it was impossible not to leave any trace of himself behind without wearing a hazmat suit, he did what he could to minimize his footprint in the Arcana. Everything hanging in the closet or tucked into a drawer was new and off the rack. He’d never worn it and would only wear it once while here. He left the laptop cycling through its footage and showered.
I wonder if the hotel will charge me for the missing towels…

Fifteen minutes later, he finished shaving with the electric razor and deposited the remains along with his towel, soap and everything else. The bag superheated until only ash remained inside. Sprawling atop the bed, Finn stared at the ceiling. Their first play was to send a very human Pepper after him. Distraction? Seduction? She seemed a poor candidate for either. Flirtatious smile and honey butter voice aside, Pepper wore naiveté like some women wore fur.

She didn’t like lying to him and avoided it adroitly, but every time he pressed she grew uncomfortable. Closing his eyes, he sorted through the information he’d absorbed. The casino worked overtime to hide their paranormals. That suggested they bought into his cover story. He saw very little evidence of vampires, shifters, succubi, or witches for that matter.

Good. As long as they are trying to hide those things, they won’t pay attention to what else they need to hide.

A knock on the door roused him from a light doze. He glanced at the clock. Four a.m.

Right on time.

Wearing only in a pair of briefs, he unlocked the door and opened it. Dressed in black, including an opaque veil across her face that left only her eyes visible, was the woman he’d been waiting for.

“Come in.”

She bowed her head and entered, pacing into the center of the room. Nothing else stirred in the silent hallway, so Finn closed the door and walked over to the desk. “Were you followed?”

Fairuk shook her head. Even disguised in such heavy garb, he’d know the dancer who so captivated his mother. Deep shadows decorated her eyes and no cosmetics could erase the burden of grief in their black depths. Security cameras could easily have tracked her—but only if they’d known what they were looking for. It was a risk he’d deal with if he had to.
 

“Can I get you anything?”

Again, she only shook her head.

“If you took a vow of silence, this will be harder.” He nudged out a chair and sat. If his state of undress bothered her, she didn’t give any indication.

“I haven’t.” Smokey, deep and low were the only descriptions he could apply to her voice. A lead dancer at the Arcana Royale’s theatre for years, Fairuk earned his mother’s affection and eventually a place in her bed. Even when she received her freedom, she remained at the Casino—serving at his mother’s whim. “We are unobserved here?”

Finn tapped an innocuous wooden box on his desk, careful not to disrupt the spell it contained. “They will only see me sleeping on the bed if they attempt scrying. We have a few minutes, but let’s not push it.”

The stiffness locking Fairuk’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. She walked over to the desk and ran her fingers over the box. “She made this…”

He nodded once. Even the dancer’s nails were painted black. “You sent me a message and said I needed to come, that mother had been murdered. I’m here. Tell me what you know.”

“It’s not much. She went to a meeting with the others and never returned. Three hours later, they cleared out her suite. Packed everything and sent it away. Even her slaves.” Tears thickened in Fairuk’s voice.

He never understood their relationship and didn’t pretend to try. His mother had little time for him as a child, less as he’d grown. But this woman—he’d seen real affection in his mother’s eyes when she looked at Fairuk. Affection and adoration the dancer returned.

“So that’s why you think she was murdered?” Flimsy, circumstantial evidence aside—his mother could just as easily have decided to relocate. She’d abandoned Finn often enough over the years, leaving a lover wouldn’t be beyond her.

“She is one of the five who rule the Arcana Royale.” Fairuk met his eyes, rage warring with despair across the deep blackness where pupil and iris seemed one. “Five—only five. Yet now there are simply four. They strain at the edges, but her magic is gone. Her magic that told me always where she was, let her voice whisper through me—gone. Cut. And there were rumors…”

“What rumors?” Nothing she had said so far echoed suspiciously

“That the Prince of New York was offered a place as Overseer.”

But that does…
He’d met Richard Casere twice. The man was a force to be reckoned with, having amassed great wealth and power over the centuries. But Overseers were bound for life. They could replace themselves, trick another into taking up the burden, or the other four could do it if an Overseer died, but they couldn’t walk away from their duties.

“The Prince didn’t take the position.” It wasn’t a question, but he watched Fairuk for confirmation. She nodded once. “How long ago?”

“Over a month.” Fairuk dropped to the floor, her black robes billowing around her. “Please, Master Finn. They killed her. They extinguished her light and her power—they took it all away—they must pay for their transgressions against her and you are the only one who can stand up to them. Who can get her justice…”

“You don’t want justice, Fairuk.” He didn’t need to see her face or read her expressions. He didn’t doubt her choice in mourning garb. She wanted to manipulate his emotions and hide her own motives. “You want vengeance.”

“So what if I do? I gave everything to her—to them—and they just take her away? Destroy her? Eradicate her as if she never was? They don’t have that
right.
” Fury bled into her dark voice. “You have the right to claim what was hers…”

Including Fairuk.
No thank you.
He rose and caught her arm, helping her to her feet. “What else can you tell me?”

“You will do it, then?” She pressed a bare hand to his chest and the ink on his skin shifted restlessly. Ice coalesced around his heart, he could taste the faint hint of spice in the air. Unfortunately, her abilities didn’t work on him. Wrapping his hand around her wrist, he squeezed until she released him.

“What else can you tell me?” He repeated the question.

“The Prince of New York came here to claim his bride. She was held in the Midnight Mystery Lounge.” The dancer retreated from him and rubbed her wrist.

He’d heard of it—all the way in Washington D.C. he’d heard of the burlesque theatre with its exotic dancers. “And that’s it?” If he walked into this temple of power for no reason other than Fairuk’s broken heart, he’d be furious with himself.

The dancer went silent.

“Answer me.” He stared at her hard. Years of servitude had worn away at her will and she dropped her gaze to the floor.

“Your mother weaved the magic that trapped the bride. The Prince challenged the council. He left with his bride. Marguerite disappeared. Is that not enough?”

Yeah, that’s enough and it changes everything.

Chapter Four

The theatre quieted. Breath-by-breath the dancers went into their dreamless states. The curse that tied them to the theatre also transformed them during daylight hours. They became frozen dolls, though some might dispute the description. Silent and still, they wouldn’t regain their “living state” until the sun went down.
 

Heidi filled a teapot with steaming water, a knot of tension between her shoulder blades. This was her quiet time—when the theatre emptied, the dancers slept and even Minion snoozed in her room, exhausted from a night of playful antics. She treasured this alone time. Stan, her silent sentinel, stood by the wall of her office. The guardian’s silver hair looked shaggy around the edges. “You can go, Stan.”

“You shouldn’t be alone.” The appearance of a businessman in an Italian suit allowed Stan to blend in with the theatre audience. Beneath the glamour, he wore heavy chain armor with a sword strapped to his back.

“I’ll be fine. Go. Rest. Cerveau may wish to go out into the casino tonight and you’ll have your hands full.” The Amazon had changed in the months since her shield-sister mated the were-tiger. She roused, albeit slowly, from her malaise. It could be related to the queen’s visit, but Heidi suspected other interference—a problem for another day. “Go, Stan.”

He straightened, caution etched into his features. “He’s coming. You shouldn’t be alone with him.”

She set the teapot onto the tray and faced him. “Do I look like someone who needs your protection?”

The guard blanched. “No, ma’am.”

“Good answer. Now, go.” She picked up the tray and carried it over to the settee and chairs. She could hear Stan’s unspoken grumble, but he obeyed and left her office. Sulfur curled through the air, and Connor coalesced into the chair on her right.

“Your guard worries about you. It’s almost sweet.” His voice teased her senses, provocative and alluring.

“Tea?” She ignored the overt seduction and filled both cups with steaming brew.

Connor leaned forward. “You need to stop interfering.”

She passed him a teacup and saucer. “The show was well-attended this evening, despite many of the regulars being limited to where they could go.”

He stared at the cup as if it might bite him and waited until Heidi took a sip of her drink before lifting his cautiously. “I’m not playing with you, Heidi. You have to stay out of it.”

“The Arcana in Monaco reached out. They want to initiate an exchange… Personally, I think they are more interested in Anthony and Roseâtre than the other dancers, but they’ve proposed sending their headliner here while ours go there.” The cardamom and chamomile needed more cinnamon, but she sampled it.

“Dammit, woman. Don’t test my patience. You know what I’m referring to. Stay out of it. That’s an order.” His eyes went opaque and his compulsion clung to her shields, all but battering to get at her.

She took another sip. “Connor, you really should drink your tea.” Unsurprisingly, he threw the china, tea and all, across the room. It smashed against the door and rained porcelain onto the carpet.

Rising to his feet, he stalked around the room—a caged beast testing her defenses. “This isn’t
our
game.”

“Something must truly vex you to have you behaving like this.” Despite her conversational tone, his behavior jangled her internal alarms. The FBI agent couldn’t be all that bothered him. As quickly as he began his pacing, Connor ceased and claimed a seat next to her on the sofa. His leg brushed her thigh.

“Of all the times we have clashed, and of all the times we have warred—
this
is the worst possible time for it. If I ask you nicely, will you do as I wish?” Bold gestures aside, the plea folded into the request gave her pause.

Refusing to fall into so neatly set a trap, Heidi returned the cup and saucer to the tray. “Connor, Pepper has an illness that will kill her if we don’t treat it. As long as she is human again, the cancer will resume its course. I am interfering only enough to protect her. The longer she has to spend with him, the faster the magic that stopped the disease will unravel and the quicker she will become sick.”

“Then have your teas delivered by room service and stay out of her head…”

“You must be watching them very close to know that I was anywhere near her head.” Not that she denied the accusation. “All I did was help Pepper start a conversation. She’s a dancer, not an actress.”

“Of course I am keeping an eye on them. I told you, he is dangerous…to all of us.” Connor dropped a heavy hand onto her knee. Heat rolled through her that had nothing to do with magic, offensive or defensive. The visceral physical reaction to his touch was all that remained of what they once were.

The world around her slowed. The seconds hand on the clock in the corner froze, hovering between one tick and the next. The air in the room crystallized, muting the sound from beyond the silence of her office. Connor surrounded her, bleeding black into the crystal, solidifying, shackling, encasing.

Eyes closed, she sampled the fragrant air. Night-blooming orchids, rich with the spice of vanilla and honeysuckle teased her nostrils. Underlying it all was his deeply masculine scent, potent and hypnotic. Her lips tingled, with the whisper of a kiss. All she need do was open her shields and he would be hers.

Always…

“No.” The silence shattered. Time raced to catch up and the blackness fell away. Connor leaned into her, his face just inches away, and scowled.

“You are so stubborn.”

“I know.” She smiled and caressed his cheek. “And so very not interested.” With a push, she shoved him away and rose. He disappeared with an explosion of sulfur. The harsh scent burned her nostrils and left tears in her eyes. It also ruined her tea. Her words must have hit their mark for him to make such a ruckus, his abilities were far smoother than that. Thankfully he left before her quivering limbs betrayed her.