Summoned Chaos (10 page)

I started to speak, but she held up a hand.

“I want to talk about ‘us,’ Marcus. I really do. Just not tonight. Okay?”

There were a thousand responses running through my head and all of them screamed that no, it wasn’t okay. I was positive our connection was more than just a fling. But without definition, we’d continue to hang in the gray area between love and lust. I’d been there before, only to lose that person to my friend. The last thing I wanted was to face that pain once again.

But I was also terrified to press the issue. Our relationship, if that’s what we could call it, was more natural than what I’d had with Carrie. Quinn and I clicked in a way I’d never experienced before and I didn’t want to screw that up. As such, I hadn’t made much of a fuss when she’d decided to head off in search of some direction. And thus far, she’d been good to her word, so if she swore we’d have the “us” talk at some point, then we’d have it. I might not like it, but actions spoke louder than words. She’d come back to me because I needed her to be around.

I was no expert, but that sounded a lot like love.

“Okay,” I said.

She sighed in relief and pressed against me once more. “Thank you.” Her voice was thick with emotion.

“My invitation for the Ambassador’s gig says ‘Plus One,’ but I’m guessing you don’t want to be my date to it. Same with the Reformation Ball coming up.”

“I’ll pass, but I appreciate the invite.”

I wasn’t surprised, but I was disappointed. “I figured. There’s going to be a lot of Council members, Elders and press at both functions. But for the record, you’re the only one I want to Plus One with.”

She squeezed me. “Ditto.”

“I’ll admit, I was hoping to show you off in a slinky black cocktail dress.”

“Someday, maybe. I will, however, be with you in spirit. More important,” she said, lowering her voice, “I’m here with you now. If you don’t mind me being your Plus One for this evening.”

I sighed dramatically. “If you must.”

Quinn laughed and then we shut out the world for a few hours.

Chapter Eight

A Little Dinner, A Little Dancing

She was gone long before the sun rose the next morning. Without her near, the bed felt cold and empty. I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling, mulling over our non-conversation. How long would we postpone things? I certainly appreciated her opinions and agreed with her reasons, but it just sucked.

Sunlight streamed through the window by the time I stopped moping and forced myself to leave the comfort of the thick blankets. I peeked through the blinds, noting the dramatic increase in news vans. Deciding that the last thing I wanted to do was field questions, I trudged downstairs, fired up a pot of coffee, and poured myself a bowl of cereal.

In the middle of the kitchen table, next to the box of stale donuts, was a large stack of papers. The sticky on top simply read
See you soon
in Quinn’s small, loopy handwriting. I set the message aside, reminding myself to put it in the shoebox of mementos I kept hidden in the closet, then flipped through Simeon’s notes.

Quinn was right, there was a lot of gibberish. I recognized some of the Latin, which proved I hadn’t slept through all my classes during training, but the meaning of the phrases was lost on me.

Also lost were the names of the different spells. The Skilled learned the common language of Latin, but once we chose our specialty, our focus shifted to specifics of the branch.

A subset of Summoning, Necromancy required a level of dedication and study that was only rivaled by Healers. And, just like the medical profession, it seemed to have its own language.

I read through the notes two more times, jotting down the few items that I actually understood. Quinn’s name popped up occasionally, but it looked more like reminders to pick her up from school or get medication.

Henry Thames, the Wizard who served as liaison for Simeon’s team, was also mentioned frequently. No surprise there since he was the only Council point of contact for Simeon’s clandestine research. A couple other familiar names appeared like Devon, Rancin and Watkins. So too were other random names that could have been team members, associates, or his own middle name for all I knew.

There were also question marks around an unnamed city in Maryland, but that meant absolutely nothing.

The problem with cold cases was that they went cold for a reason. Another hour of flipping through notes and I was bored to tears.

Wondering if Devon had come through for me yet, I set the papers aside and logged into the Council’s intranet website.

My inbox was packed, crammed to the digital limits with hundreds of new messages. Most of them from peers or well-wishers who wanted my spin on the attack. I skimmed over them, wondering how best to respond, if at all.

A third of the way down the list of new messages, I spotted one from the Research Library—a generic letter congratulating me on being approved for full Wizarding credentials. It went on to state that it would take at least twenty-four hours to process everything and another day or so to finish my badge. The badge issue didn’t bother me because I could still use my credentials without it.

By noon the next day, I’d be knee deep in data.

I smiled, grateful that the Council was keeping up their end of the bargain.

The doorbell rang. I glanced at the clock on the stove and frowned. It was too early and I wasn’t caffeinated enough to be social.

It rang again, then a third time.

I tried to ignore it, but whoever was mashing the button just wouldn’t give up. Furious at the violation of my morning peace, I stomped downstairs.

“Who the hell do you people think you are?” I snapped, yanking open the door.

A handsome man with neatly trimmed blond hair and an expensive suit greeted me.

“Andrew Coyne.” He handed me his card. “Your PR manager for the next couple of weeks.”

My face flushed with heat. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“No offense taken, Warlock Shifter. In my business, timing is everything. May I come in?”

I looked from the card to him, then at the reporters and protesters across the street. “What’s up with them? They were all over my doorstep last night, now they’re hanging back like I have rabies. You have something to do with it?”

The barest hint of a grin tugged at his mouth. “I may have mentioned something about certain trespassing laws in the Commonwealth of Virginia, yes.”

I beamed, stepping aside. “Forget just coming in. For that kind of miracle, you can sleep in a spare bedroom.”

“Thank you,” he said as he entered. “My husband snores like a lumberjack, so I might take you up on that offer.”

I laughed, immediately falling into platonic love with the guy.

“Can I offer you anything?” I asked, escorting him to the kitchen. “Coffee? Cereal? A moldy donut?”

“I’m fine, thank you. I still have to visit with Elsa Klein, so I’ll keep things short. For starters, here is your basic information packet.” He handed me a large, faux-leather binder with dozens of colored tabs inside. “You’ll find everything you need for the next few weeks. Schedule of events, appearances, important contact information, etc. We operate on a stoplight system for color-coding. Dates or venues that are definitive are under the green tabs. Tentative ones are yellow and unlikely events are in red. As you can see, the majority is yellow, but I have no doubt we can change that. I sent this to you electronically as well, but I assume your inbox is overwhelmed.”

“You assume correctly.” I examined the packet. “This is way more complicated than the schedule from our own PR people.”

Andrew smiled sympathetically. “Warlock Shifter—”

“Please, call me Marcus.”

“Marcus. No offense, but your PR branch is a bureaucratic entity that gets paid no matter what. My firm, however, lives and dies by providing outstanding service. The Delwinn Council hired me specifically because of what I can do for you all. That means maximizing every opportunity.”

More
dog-and-pony shows? I didn’t like the sound of that.

Andrew scanned his tablet. “The first event for you is the Ambassador’s dinner party this evening. I’ve arranged for a car. I trust you have appropriate formal attire and a date?”

“Yes to the first, no to the second. I’ll get one, though.”

Andrew tapped like a maniac. “Excellent. It’s always preferable to arrive with someone to these sorts of things. Granted, there won’t be any media, but you never know who is watching.”

“No media?”

“The Ambassador wants tonight to be an intimate affair before the formal ball later this week. You understand.”

Not really
, I thought, but nodded anyway. I didn’t want to appear
completely
clueless.

“Your next appearance is on the
Late Nite Show
with Eric Falls in three days. I tried to bump it up to tomorrow, but the producers wouldn’t budge. The travel details and lodging are all in your packet, but if you have any questions, please feel free to call me.”

“Three days? That’s cutting it close to the ball.”

“Trust me, there is no way you’ll miss that. We have already arranged for you to be back in plenty of time to be rested. It’s important for you and Ms. Klein to attend the Reformation Ball, especially since the Ambassador is giving you both an award. You’ll need to prepare a speech, of course.”

Breakfast gurgled anxiously in my belly. “Oh hell.”

“If you’re not comfortable writing one, I can have someone do it for you.”

I relaxed. “I’d definitely prefer that.”

He made a note on his tablet. “Done. Lastly, this is your temporary phone.” He handed me a cell. “It’s the same model as yours, but a different number. If you’ll loan me yours, please?”

I fished my phone out of my pocket. He worked some techno-voodoo that was lost on me, then gave me both phones.

“I’ve cloned all your contacts, mail accounts and applications. I also set the new phone to a privacy mode. It will only forward information from your original number to this new one if it’s from your contact lists. This should help minimize the flood of well-wishers and stalkers.”

That last word caught my attention. “Stalkers?”

“It’s rare, but it does happen. One of the burdens people face with being in the limelight is becoming a lightning rod for obsessive fans or violent agitators. If either happens or if you think it may happen, take it seriously and let me know immediately.”

“Trust me, I will.”

“Excellent. I believe that’s everything.” He double-checked his tablet. “Do you have any questions for me?”

“Millions,” I said in an exasperated voice, “but none that I can put words to just yet.”

“That’s normal. My recommendation is to simply relax for the rest of the day. Enjoy the down time because your life is going to be hectic soon enough.”

“Will do.” I escorted him back down the stairs. “And thanks,” I added, offering him my hand.

“It’s my pleasure. Remember, if you have any questions or concerns, no matter how small, call me. My information is already loaded in your new phone.”

“Awesome. Will you be there this evening?”

“No. Without a media presence, I wouldn’t be much use. Besides, tonight is date night. I’ll be with you in New York, however.”

I would have felt better knowing he was in attendance. A wingman who knew the game was a powerful weapon.

“See you then,” I said, opening the door.

Andrew dipped his head. “Yes, you will.”

I closed the door, trudged upstairs, and woke my napping computer. With several hours to kill, I might as well spend my time expanding my list of suspects for Simeon’s case. Logging into the Council database once more, I began searching for background information on the Elders.

I was cross-eyed by the time I’d logged off, showered and slid into my tuxedo. I’d purchased it for a friend’s wedding a few years earlier at Dad’s insistence. He swore that a man never needed a tux until he bought one, so I spent the money. He was right. My outfit saw way more action than my formal Skilled robes which were normally buried at the back of the closet.

The sky was turning an impressive shade of dark pink when the doorbell rang. I checked my watch and smiled. I trotted down to the first floor, but paused when I gripped the door handle.

“Show time,” I whispered, then yanked the door open dramatically.

“You look like a million bucks,” I said. Across the street, cameras flashed like lightning and reporters clamored with questions. I ignored all of them.

Steve tugged at his black silk bowtie. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure your Dad’s tailor could get this done in time, but the man is a magician. This fits better than my old tux too. What the hell is going on with these yokels?” he asked, chucking a thumb at the crowd.

I waved at the cameras. “Fans. Apparently I’m all the rage.”

He scowled as one of the protesters screamed a scathing obscenity about his species. “Fans, huh?”

“Okay,
those
people suck. The rest are just my adoring public.”

“So that’s what your father was talking about.” He huffed loudly. The noise from both groups died for a few seconds before ramping back up to its previous, annoying level.

He kept his stern gaze on the cameras. “We just gonna stand out here?”

I checked my watch again, then saw the headlights pull around the corner.

“Not at all. I was just waiting for our ride. You ready?”

Steve grinned at the stretch limo. “Now we’re talking.”

Reporters hounded us as we stepped into the street.

“
Are you a couple?
”

“
What is your stance on paranormal voting rights?
”

“
Does the Delwinn Council really have the budget for this kind of extravagance?
”

We ignored the questions. By the time the driver popped the door and I slid inside, my mouth was sore from hamming it up for the cameras. I rubbed my jaw while Steve folded himself nearly in half to get through the car door. Once inside, he stretched out with a sigh.

“Nice,” he said, digging through the selection of alcohol as the limo struggled to reverse out of the neighborhood. “You do this?”

“My PR agent. Guess he thought we deserved to ride in style.”

He pulled the top off of a bottle of whiskey and took a long pull. “We do, indeed. And for the record, I’ll gladly be your wingman, especially when the hooch is free.”

The drive into McLean was long thanks to rush-hour traffic. Steve and I entertained ourselves with the large selection of libations and electronic amenities. By the time we pulled into the circular drive of the Ambassador’s home, we’d polished off a bottle of wine and watched a full episode of trashy reality TV.

A tall, thick man dressed in a sharp, tailored tux approached as we exited the vehicle. I noticed the bulge near his armpit and the curly wire that went from his earpiece into his collar. He didn’t radiate with Skill, but I could sense the barely contained fury in his gigantic, tight muscles.