Enchantment (23 page)

Charlene was just as bad as Adrian—letting
Gray go without a fight. At least Charlene provided a getaway
car.

Gray’s lips twisted in thought. “I don’t have
an address.”

“There is no need,” the driver replied. “I
know Paris like the inside of my pocket.”

“Then do you know where the Magic Club
is?”

The driver tipped his head forward.
“
Oui
.
Dans le troisième arrondissement
.
It’s not far. I will drive you.”

“
Merci
,” Gray said, slipping into the
back seat after the driver opened the door for her.

She smoothed the skirt of her sundress over
her knees. Maybe she should have nabbed some of Madame Girard’s
clothes after all. No more shopping spree with Charlene. Did Paris
have thrift stores? Undergarments were her immediate concern . . .
and a place to stay.

This time the car pushed its way to an exit
in the great wide speedway circling Paris and rushed to the heart
of the city.

The driver pointed in the distance.
“
La tour Eiffel
.”

Gray sat up in her seat and stared out the
front window.

“
L’Arc de
Triomphe
,” the chauffeur announced when they entered a
crazy roundabout, five lanes wide.

Gray craned her head from side to side not
wanting to miss a thing.

The streets were lined with pedestrians and
dogs prancing behind leashes. Lining the boulevard were buildings
as stunning as the people walking along them.

“It’s a beautiful city,” Gray admitted.

She saw the driver’s eyes light up in the
rearview mirror.

Further down he pointed out the Seine River.
“La Seine. You should take the
bateaux mouches
at night.
It’s very romantic.”

Gray looked out the window. Beautiful stone
bridges crossed the river. Street merchants were set up in stalls
the way they had been in Barcelona. The water glittered along the
boulevard.

France looked much more magical in the
sunlight, or maybe being in love gave it that extra shine.

The driver took Gray down a narrow road and
pulled up to the curb. The surrounding buildings had blocked out
the sun, which had begun a rapid descent very suddenly.

The driver turned his head until his eyes met
Gray’s. “
Mademoiselle, Le Club Magique.
” He grinned.

Gray stared at the club just beyond her
window. “What is your name?” she asked the driver suddenly.

“Gerard.”

“Gerard, do you mind waiting here while I get
an address?”

“
Pas de problème, mademoiselle
.”

“
Merci
,” Gray said, grinning. She had
planned to get Adrian’s address from the club’s owner or one of its
staff then hoof it to whatever hole Adrian was hiding in, but why
not hold onto her personal chauffeur a little longer? Charlene owed
her that much. Besides, she’d worn out her feet all morning and
afternoon in Barcelona. Daylight had begun to fade.

Gray stepped out of the car. The sign on the
Magic Club flashed, beckoning her inside.

Paris. City of Light. City of Romance. It was
as good a place as any to find her amulet and end things with
Adrian, Gray told herself, knowing full well that she had no
intention of ending anything.

Once airborne, Adrian pressed his call button and
ordered a Bloody Mary before the crew had a chance to come through
the cabin. Adrian’s nearest neighbors shot him dirty looks. He
sipped his cocktail the moment it found his hands and ignored
everyone on board. They’d all have to get over waiting an extra
fifteen minutes at the jetway before Adrian strolled through the
cabin late.

Naturally he ended up with a middle seat all
the way in back. It was the only seat available at the last minute.
Even then they would have made him wait for a later flight, but
Adrian had insisted they check their computer for his reservation
again.

“Voila je l’ai
trouvée,”
the clerk at Air France had said, flushing
slightly after insisting a moment earlier that they had no record
of him on that flight.

Adrian rattled the ice in his glass and
polished off the last of the drink. When the cart came around he
ordered another. He smiled at the stewardess as she prepared the
drink from the aisle. She wore her hair down. He liked that.
Adrian’s eyes traveled up her lean nylon-clad legs, from her black
pumps to the edge of the itchy-looking navy skirt. She looked like
the sort of chick who’d wear a garter underneath.

The stewardess was all woman, not a mere
girl. Much better suited to Adrian . . . at least for one
night.

“Are you French or Spanish?” Adrian asked,
watching her movement from hooded lids.

“I am French,” the stewardess replied
curtly.

Adrian put his weight on the armrest, leaning
across the passenger in the aisle seat. He ignored the glower he
received for intruding on his neighbor’s space.

“Really? I live in Paris,” Adrian said in his
most charming voice.

The man Adrian encroached on snorted in
amused annoyance.

Adrian leaned over him further to take his
drink from the waitress’s manicured hands. He made sure to touch
the tips of her fingers as he took the glass and said, “In the
seventh
arrondissement
.”

The stewardess paused, eyes locked on
Adrian’s.

“You should come by sometime, see the view of
the Eiffel Tower. At night it’s especially . . . magical.” Adrian
winked.

“I’m sure it is,” the waitress said in
perfect English. “Please enjoy the rest of your flight,
monsieur.”

Adrian stared after her as she moved onto the
last four rows. Then his eyes met his neighbor’s. The guy shot him
a satisfied grin and pointed at his ring finger.
“Connard!”

Idiot.

Adrian shrugged and leaned back into his seat
with a lazy smile. He kept his left arm on the armrest while
nursing his second drink. All too soon he’d emptied the glass.

Adrian folded his arms over his chest. No
leggy distractions. Nothing to drink. Just time to think.

Adrian didn’t want to think. Thinking meant
reliving the moment Gray broke up with him. Adrian snorted to
himself. At least she handled it well. He expected more from the
fiery Graylee Perez. An ambush. Retaliation. Angry words at the
very least.

But no, how did she end things? By meeting
him in a public place and having “the talk.” How terribly mundane,
not to mention disappointing.

After everything they’d been through, they
deserved to go down in smoke and flame, not that bullshit “You’re
not to blame, let’s just get on with our lives” crap.

“
I’m cured,”
she’d said.

So loving Adrian was a disease, was it?

Only three women had ever truly loved Adrian.
Two were dead. Their love had killed them. If Adrian hadn’t leapt
from that building, they wouldn’t have rushed home early. And if he
hadn’t loved Emily, he never would have jumped.

Leap of faith. More like a descent to
hell.

Adrian’s narrowed gaze threatened to burn
holes through the seat in front of him. He moved his eyes to the
lowered drink tray before the fibers on the chair had a chance to
singe under his glare.

Bloody damn drink, messing with Adrian’s
mind.

Adrian reached under the seat and pulled last
month’s issue of
Magicseen
from his carry-on. He scanned the
cover, lip curving at one of the cover stories. “The Wedding
Magician.”

Now there’s something Adrian would never
stoop to.

He moved onto an interview with Dan Baines
titled “Death Becomes Him.”

Luckily, there were some extremely talented
normals out there whose skill for illusion exceeded the so-called
magical community’s lack of creativity.

Magical abilities were wasted on men like
Holloway and Marc Phillips. They put all their energy into
lecturing coven members NOT to use their powers.

What fools. It was like preaching abstinence
to a roomful of horny teenagers then taking them down to the
basement to get it out of their system in an hour-long privately
supervised session.
Genius.

And if that wasn’t enough to hold a warlock
off they castrated him or, in Adrian’s case, took away his
powers.

Like his childhood, that was not a time of
Adrian’s life he cared to remember. Even his nan could do nothing
to get his powers back. They’d been up against three warlocks.
Holloway was particularly difficult to get to . . . until Graylee
Perez came along.

Adrian still had a hard time believing Gray
willingly gave up her powers for the summer. Or tried to, anyway.
At least it had been her choice. One she could break at any moment;
like she did when she snapped those halter tops off those women at
the club.

An involuntary smile formed on Adrian’s face.
He pushed it down.

Then it all ended.

He’d never kissed a woman he cared about
until Gray. Now those kisses would torment him until he found a way
to forget. Even worse than the kisses was the way she’d looked at
him and nestled against him as though they were the real deal.

Gray had been right. Love was a curse. A
bloody damn curse.

Adrian rolled his magazine into a tube and
stuffed it into his carry-on. He ought to call Pierre, the manager
of the Magic Club, tonight and tell him he’d returned. But Adrian
wasn’t in the mood to start performing anytime soon. He did need
work, though, not just as a distraction, but for the income.

Avenging it was.

There was an email folder on his laptop
stuffed with unanswered requests. That’s what people really wanted
from Adrian. Not illusions and tricks, nor smoke and magic.

Vengeance.

The whole world wanted vengeance.

* * *

Adrian didn’t know whether he’d find Nan at their
apartment or not. When he snapped on the lights he found it just as
they’d left it before going to Barcelona—everything in place. Nan
always did keep the place tidy.

Adrian dropped his bag on the kitchen floor
before striding to Nan’s room. The light went on with another snap.
Adrian looked over the vanity table. The potions Nan had packed for
Barcelona were still missing.

He stepped in front of the antique armoire
and snapped the doors open. Adrian did a quick inventory of his
grandmother’s meager wardrobe. His attempts to convince Nan to
update her look were always doomed to fail. He’d insisted she pack
some of her lighter blouses for Barcelona. Now here they were
folded neatly back in place.

Adrian’s lips formed the briefest grin. At
least he knew she’d made it back to Paris, but where was the witch?
Probably didn’t want to face the music. Or maybe she thought he was
still in Spain enjoying his fake romance.

How did she manage the spell in the first
place? Until Adrian located his nan he wouldn’t even be sure it had
been her.

If she was responsible, Adrian still hadn’t
decided how to punish her. Revoke her powers for a month? Even if
Adrian had the power to do such a thing he wouldn’t. Not to Nan.
Not to anyone. Not even Holloway. Adrian had done some bad things
in his life, but he drew the line at magical castration. Everything
else was fair game.

Speaking of which, time to fire up the laptop
and look over the revenge requests Adrian had ignored all spring
and summer.

While his laptop booted up on the dining
table, Adrian pulled a bottle of Bourgeois from the cupboard. He
uncorked the bottle. The soft
gush
it made as he poured
himself a glass was the only sound in the apartment. Adrian checked
the fridge expecting it to be empty only to find the shelves neatly
lined with cheese, saucisson sec, apples, grapes, and a homemade
casserole.

A warm feeling flooded Adrian’s chest.

Of course he wouldn’t punish his nan. How
could he? Aside from the occasional funny business, she was the
most wonderful woman he knew.

Someone else would have to pay—even though
they had nothing to do with it.

Adrian prepared himself a platter with sliced
cheese, dry sausage, apple wedges, grapes, and crackers. He set
this, along with his wine glass, beside the laptop. Before opening
his email, Adrian looked across the living room. A sofa backed
against a large window faced the Eiffel Tower. Beside the couch, a
glass door led outside to a small terrace with no room for even a
tiny table. Adrian never went out there. The rent here wasn’t
cheap, but the location couldn’t be beat.

Adrian’s fingers wrapped around the stem of
the wine glass. He lifted it in a silent toast to the Eiffel Tower,
took a sip, then began clicking, opening the emails he’d saved
inside a vengeance folder, scanning for anything interesting.

Location interested him as much as the job
details. He wasn’t about to jet off halfway around the world when
he still didn’t know where his nan had holed up. If he couldn’t
find something in Paris, he’d stick to Europe . . . so long as it
wasn’t Spain.

Most of the emails were from the United
States. That’s where Adrian had done the majority of his vengeance
jobs, ergo the greatest number of repeat business and referrals. In
Europe he was better known as a magician.

Maybe he could take a vengeance gig on the
East Coast.

Adrian kept clicking through until his eyes
landed on a job in Belgium. He looked over the assignment, smiling
slowly as he read the request. The client was a warlock whose
witchy ex-girlfriend had dumped him to date a normal.
Ouch.

He made the usual suggestion that the happy
couple break up by any means necessary. There was usually more. In
the case of Hugo De Vos, he also wanted his ex’s three closest
friends to have their hearts broken. The women, all ungifted, had
been dead set against him from the start.