The Lost Enchantress (15 page)

He would slide his fingertips over her face and throat to discover if her skin could possibly feel as smooth and flawless as it looked.

He would press his palm gently to her cheek and feel the warmth that rose there when she grew flush, the way she was right now.

He would slip his hands beneath the gold and copper silk of her hair and lift it so he could kiss the back of her neck and the enticing curve of her shoulder, slowly, until he found the spot that would make her shiver and sigh with pleasure.

He was thinking of other hidden places he would kiss her when he suddenly became aware that something about her expression had changed. She still looked intense and watchful, like some magnificent warrior princess from a fairy tale, but one who was less accusing, more uncertain. How long, he wondered, had he been standing there staring at her, lost in his own foolish thoughts? Long enough for her to surmise what he was thinking? He thought not. She seemed too consumed with thoughts of her own to care about his.

He took a few seconds to try to think of the right thing to say, gave up and tried to think of
anything
to say. It didn’t help that at the same time he was trying to
not
look at her sweater, and finding it no easier now than it had been that morning in her office. The sweater was soft and snug and he had no idea what sort of lacy feminine thing she might be wearing under it, but in his rusty—not to be confused with amateurish or unskilled—opinion, it looked as if the only thing under there was her, and the mere possibility he was right made it nearly impossible for him to think about anything else.

There was a name for the color of her sweater, but he hadn’t been able to remember it. The colors all had names, a different one for every shade and hue. It had been so long since he’d spoken or even thought those words that they didn’t come to him readily. He hadn’t needed them. Part of him didn’t want to need them or think them now.

It had been a conscious choice to banish color from his world, and he’d made it for a reason. Color had become a double-edged sword, bringing him as much pain as beauty. Something as simple as a rainbow hanging in a summer sky or the amber promise of a pint of freshly drawn ale brought with it the memory of a day or a night or even a single moment in the life that was once his, the life lost to him forever, and as quick as the slash of a razor he would want it all back . . . want it so badly it hurt. To see things drained of color made the memories duller, the wanting less . . . disruptive. It made it easier to live without.

Apparently he was to have no such say about the return of color to his world. It was happening whether he liked it or not. Although everything else was still gray, he was able to see Eve Lockhart in full, glorious color and he liked it. And he hated it. And he wouldn’t change it now even if he had the choice.

He suddenly remembered the name for the color of her sweater: lavender. Lavender, like the fields near the village where he grew up and the fragrant sprigs his mother used to slip between fresh linens in the linen press.

Eve cleared her throat, and Hazard’s gaze shot up to meet hers.

“And I’m also here because I’m desperate and I didn’t know where else to go. I only know I have to find her.”

She said it fast, as if to get the words out before she changed her mind. It was as awkward and roundabout a plea as he’d ever heard; but then, being a mighty witch and accomplished news-woman, she probably didn’t get much practice asking for help.

When she finished, her bottom lip trembled just a little and she drew a deep breath, deep enough to lift her chest. But he was no longer looking at her sweater; he was staring into her eyes instead. And seeing a woman with her guard down, a woman who was worried she was in over her head and afraid someone she loved would suffer because of it. The resentment he’d felt at being falsely accused faded away, along with his anger over the lost pendant.

The unexpected glimpse of vulnerability didn’t fit with his first impression of her, but it did tug hard enough on what was left of his heart to make him forget he’d sworn off damsels in distress. He suddenly felt like moving a mountain or slaying a dragon or doing whatever it would take to make her world right again.

That’s why he abruptly turned and strode to the bar to grab a bottle of whiskey. God knows he didn’t need a drink, but he did need time to pull himself together and stop himself from thinking the kind of crazy thoughts that could ruin a man’s life if he wasn’t careful. He needed time to clear Eve Lockhart from his head.

He filled the glass and then left it sitting on the bar when he heard movement behind him. She was almost out of the room.

“Stop,” he ordered, and was surprised when she did. “I know where you’re off to and I’ll save you the trouble. Your niece isn’t here. Neither is the pendant. Not that I wouldn’t steal it. You were right to suspect me. I assure you I’m capable of that and worse. I want it that badly. I fully intend to have it, and when all is said and done I really don’t care how I get it. To be honest, I wish now I had just stolen the damn thing from you. But even if I had, I would never have touched your niece or taken her or harmed her in any way.” He met her gaze unflinchingly and saw the dark suspicions still lurking there. “That’s beneath even me. I give you my word on it. You can trust that I’m telling you the truth, or you can waste more time searching the rest of the house. It’s your choice.”

He waited and watched as she studied his face and considered his claims. It wasn’t until she finally nodded that Hazard realized he’d been holding his breath to see what she would do . . . if she would choose to believe him.

“If you don’t have her,” she said, “the warlocks must. Either them or whoever it is they work for. Can you tell me how to find them?”

“I could. But you don’t want to go chasing after them.”

“Because they’re dangerous?”

“No. They are dangerous, but that’s not the reason. I think we both know you could hold your own with them.”

She looked surprised. “We do?”

“After last night? Absolutely. Which is why tracking them down would only waste more time. They don’t have your niece.”

“You sound very sure of that,” she said, her tone making it clear she wasn’t.

“I am. In order to get to her, or the pendant, they would have to break into your house, and they would never do that.”

“Why not? Because you paid off their boss? Don’t take this the wrong way, Hazard, but maybe he wasn’t as easily bought as you thought. Maybe he duped you. Or maybe he doesn’t even know about it . . . maybe they did this on their own time so they wouldn’t have to split the proceeds.”

“None of that changes the fact that they wouldn’t go anywhere near your house. They’re too afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of you.”

“Me?” She laughed. Then frowned. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? At least one of them is a reader. You saw how he moved his hand over you very slowly. What else could he have been doing but reading you?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is that an aura thing?”

He couldn’t tell if she was serious. Though it hardly seemed she would be joking at a time like this. “Something like that.”

“And here I thought he was just trying to slice me in half.”

“He was. This was later. After they ran into the protective shield and got knocked flat on their . . .”

“Asses?” she suggested when he politely stopped short of saying it.

“Exactly. And none too gently. I’m guessing that was enough to make them want to know just what they were up against. So they read you, and whatever they found out was obviously more than they were prepared to deal with. And also more than Vasil wanted to deal with,” he added. “That had to be the reason he was so amenable to taking my money in exchange for bowing out. He knew if they couldn’t take the pendant from you by ambushing you in a public place, they weren’t likely to do better on your home ground.”

She looked doubtful. “Why not? They can shoot lasers from their palms, for heaven’s sake. I don’t think a dead bolt or a can of pepper spray would stop them.”

“It wouldn’t,” he agreed, again not sure how to take her comment. Those were hardly the only weapons at her disposal. He knew it and she knew he knew it. Why pretend otherwise? “That’s why the mystical world doesn’t deal in dead bolts and pepper spray. It deals in power. Who’s got it, who’s got more of it, who’s got the most. Mystically speaking, someone’s home has an innate power of its own that weakens outside energies and puts intruders at a disadvantage. And that’s even before you consider wards meant to keep others out and nasty spell traps that see to it anyone who does make it inside is sorry he did.”

“That does sound a whole lot more intimidating than a dead bolt,” she said, looking as if this was the first time she’d ever thought about it. And looking dejected. Neither of which made any sense at all to Hazard. “You’re right, they wouldn’t break in if they thought all that would be waiting for them. And Rory would never invite those creeps in the way she would—” She stopped abruptly, dropped her gaze and shrugged one shoulder. “The way she might someone more . . . else. Someone else. Someone less creepy.”

“Or maybe she didn’t let anyone in because there was no one. Have you considered the possibility that your niece took the pendant?”

She was already shaking her head. “No way. She doesn’t even know it exists.”

Interesting, thought Hazard. “So it’s a family heirloom
and
a family secret.”

That merited another uneasy, one-shouldered shrug. “Not exactly. She was asleep when I got home from the auction, and there was really no time to get into it this morning. And even if she did know, she wouldn’t know where to look for it. It wasn’t hidden someplace where she could have discovered it accidentally. Which is irrelevant anyway because Rory would never take something that didn’t belong to her. Well, she borrows my clothes sometimes, but she wouldn’t take something like the pendant, not without asking.”

Hazard said nothing. His personal experience with children was limited to five months, two weeks and three days, many years ago, and he had none at all with teenagers. But even he knew that the best of them were capable of doing all sorts of things others believed they wouldn’t, and shouldn’t.

“I have to think,” she said, lacing her fingers together and bringing them up so her chin rested on them. “You and the warlocks were my only likely suspects. Make that my only suspects, period. I have no other leads, no other contacts. I can’t call the police. Can’t put up flyers. I don’t even know how much time I have before . . .”

She didn’t complete the thought; she didn’t have to. Seeing the color drain from her face told him all he needed to know. He wanted to reassure her. At one time he was good at that sort of thing, at putting a woman at ease. Now he grappled for the right words and before he found them, she spoke again.

“I know that in a normal, ordinary,
mortal
kidnapping, the first twenty-four hours are critical. But this isn’t ordinary,” she declared with an unmistakable edge of bitterness. “Who knows what the time frame might be?” She blew out a small, disgruntled breath and dragged her fingers through her hair. “I know I have to act fast. I should be
doing
something, but I have no idea what to do next.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” So obvious he couldn’t, and didn’t, believe she hadn’t already thought of it.

She looked at him from beneath raised brows. “To you maybe. Care to share with the slower members of the class?”

That was definitely an attempt at humor. Maybe.

“A locater spell would work best,” he told her, “but that takes time. It would be much faster to scry for her.”

“Scry?”

“You must have considered that already.”

“Not in so many words.”

He regarded her curiously. “But you do know what the word means?”

“Vaguely.” She shrugged, looking sheepish. “I sort of recall that it involves a crystal ball . . . and a mirror. Or maybe a bowl of water. Black water, that’s it. Either that or a black mirror. It’s been a while.”

“I’m sure it will come back to you once you get started.”

She seemed to flinch. “Me? I don’t . . . I never . . . couldn’t you do it?”

“I can’t.”

She slid her tongue over her bottom lip, her eyes suddenly brighter and greener with what looked like panic. “Look, I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t desperate. If you want me to promise you the pendant . . . assuming I get it back, that is . . .”

Hazard shook his head, startled and uncomfortable because she seemed about to say the words he most wanted to hear. “I didn’t say I won’t do it. I said I can’t.”

“Because I will. Promise you. If you help me find Rory, the pendant is—”

“You misunderstand. I can’t scry for her because I don’t have that kind of power.”

She hesitated, somber as she absorbed that. “How much power does it take?”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant that when it comes to magic, I don’t have any power at all.”

She made a scoffing sound. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“A lot of this doesn’t make any sense,” he agreed, his tone dry. “But now isn’t the time to try to suss it out. Do you want to find your niece or not?”

“Of course I want to find her.”

“Then you’ll have to be the one to scry for her.”

She caught the edge of her bottom lip between her teeth, looking as stricken as if he’d ordered her to walk the plank. With sharks circling below. “You don’t understand. I don’t . . . I can’t . . . I don’t even know how.”

“That I can help you with. If you want me to.” He waited. “Well?”

“I guess . . . what choice do I have?” There was an appeal in her soft voice, as if she were hoping he’d offer one.

“I’ll take that as a yes. We’ll need a map of the city, and something associated with your niece.”