The Phoenix Charm (2 page)

He held out his arms and shimmied sideways between the tables, heading in her direction. The disreputable faded jeans he wore were the ones she’d just watched him unbutton. Cordelia swallowed. She wanted to look away; she really did. But his fairy glamour entranced her so much, she couldn’t fight the compulsion to stare.

Since St. Patrick’s Day, he’d insisted on wearing a green
trilby with shamrocks embroidered on the band. He turned to face her, tilted the hat at a rakish angle on his mop of dark wavy hair, and captured her with his sinful blue gaze.

“You be wanting me, darlin’?”

Cordelia opened her mouth to answer, but there didn’t seem to be any air in her lungs. She sucked in an embarrassing gasp that made Michael’s lips twitch. “I need to speak to you on troop business.”

Michael reached out and rubbed a finger underneath Tamsy’s chin. The cat tipped back her head and purred, vibrating against Cordelia’s chest.

“Here’s me hoping you might be wanting me for something a tad more interesting.” As his finger lazily caressed Tamsy’s fur, he glanced up at Cordelia from beneath his lashes. A hot spurt of desire shot through her body, making her legs tremble.

This is ridiculous.

Fantasizing about him in private was one thing, being seduced by his glamour like a gullible human was another. After the effort her grandmother and father had put into hiding her uncontrollable sensual allure, she couldn’t let them down and shame herself—again. The price she’d paid the one time she defied them still haunted her night and day. Cordelia tightened her arms around Tamsy, shielding herself. The poor creature squeaked and Cordelia hastily loosened her grip.

“This is no time for joking. It’s a matter of urgency.” Someone chose that moment to reduce the volume of the music. Her final word came out rather louder than she intended. A few anxious glances shot her way.

She smiled reassuringly. The last thing she wanted was panic.

With a nod toward the exit she said, “Come upstairs where we can talk in private.” She ignored the wicked sparkle in Michael’s eyes.

“ Your wish is my command, darlin’.”

In the two years since she’d met Michael, Cordelia could count on one hand the times they’d exchanged more than a polite greeting. Yet the way he called her darling with that deep Irish lilt to his voice was exactly the way he spoke to the women she watched him take to bed. She reached the door and ascended the first few steps, then paused and looked back at him. “I’d rather you didn’t call me…darling. I don’t feel the name’s appropriate.” And if he kept speaking to her in that tone of voice, she was likely to muddle fantasy with reality.

He grinned up at her, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

With a sigh of exasperation, mostly at her own ludicrous reaction to him, she hurried up the stairs, promising herself she was strong enough to ignore his glamour.

He grinned as he stopped in the doorway at the top and rested his shoulder against the frame. “Maybe I should call you sugarplum? You have the sweet ripe fullness of fruit ready to be—”

“Michael!”

In the silence that followed her explosive retort, all she could think was
ready to be what?
A small part of her wished she hadn’t interrupted him.

And she hated that she fell for his suggestive banter.

Anger bubbled up, giving her words a harsh edge. “Just call me
Cordelia
in a normal tone of voice like everyone else.”

He flicked up his eyebrows, unabashed.

“Enough nonsense.” Cordelia smoothed her skirt, reluctant to admit she needed his help. “While I was foretelling in the library, darkness invaded my divination mirror. I also heard someone whisper the given name of the Welsh King of the Underworld.”

The mischievous half smile that always hovered on Michael’s lips dropped away. He pushed off the door frame and straightened, his expression serious.

“When did this happen, lass?”

“About fifteen minutes ago.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, turned, and glanced up the stairs. “Ruddy Badba,” he cursed. “I hope the babies are safe.”

Before she could reassure him that she’d just visited the nursery and the boys were fine, he took off, running up the stairs two at a time. She stared up at the landing while he put his head in the nursery door.

Thirty seconds later, he closed the door quietly and descended more slowly, a look of relief on his face.

“The babies are still there. When we tried to put them to bed, I half expected them to disappear and reappear somewhere else.” At Cordelia’s raised eyebrows he continued. “The rascals have just discovered they can walk unseen like me father.”

Cordelia shook her head in disbelief. Rose had told her the children took after their air elemental grandfather. But it had never occurred to her the children would exhibit the rare air elemental gift of walking unseen: disappearing and reappearing in another place.

“What sort of threat do you think Gwyn ap Nudd could be?” Michael asked.

“We’ve had no dealings with him during my life, but it’s possible he holds an ancient grudge against the piskies. You know what long memories these immortals have.”

He nodded and something dark passed behind his eyes. “Aye, I know.”

When Michael and Niall had lived in the Irish fairy court, Niall had apparently had problems dealing with the self-obsessed Irish fairy queen. Perhaps life had been just as difficult for Michael.

“I want to check through the pisky troop records for references to Gwyn, but there are at least fifty volumes in the library. I need another set of eyes to help me.”

Michael took off his trilby and ran his hand through his hair, lifting the luxuriant chestnut waves off his face, then
letting them tumble back. All thought deserted her as she watched the silky strands settle against his skin.

“’Tis not a problem, lass. I’ll gladly offer you me eyes. I read fast, so we’ll be through the books in no time.”

Cordelia blinked, pulled her attention back to the conversation. Michael O’Connor might be a master storyteller, but the possibility of his speed-reading seemed as unlikely as his sprouting wings. “Great. Thank you,” she uttered, feeling a touch guilty for doubting his word when he’d offered to help. “I’d rather not involve anyone else until we know if the danger is real.”

Michael nodded and popped his green hat squarely on his head. “We don’t want to go causing alarm, to be sure.”

He extended an arm graciously in the direction of the library and smiled, a hint of mischief creeping back into his expression. “Lead on, sugarplum.”

For a moment, Cordelia debated whether to argue over her name. With a sigh, she decided she must choose her battles, and this wasn’t important. She marched off toward the library, acutely aware of him striding behind her, probably ogling her bottom.

Michael enjoyed the view as he paced along the hall to the library. Cordelia Tink might be uptight, but she had a damn fine arse. Although she’d covered herself from head to foot in a nondescript gray dress, it hugged every curve—and she had plenty of curves to hug. Her waist nipped in neat and small, accentuating the sweet roundness of one of the sexiest rumps he’d ever seen.

Realizing she’d halted, he raised his eyes to find her peering at him over her shoulder with a frown.

Oops.

He did the same thing he always did when he was caught out—grinned, infusing the expression with glamour.

She rolled her eyes and pointed at the massive green leather-bound books that filled the bottom two shelves of
the wall facing the fireplace. “We need to start from…here,” she said, resting a hand on a book.

Michael dragged out five volumes and hefted them onto the desk where she’d cleared a space. “A bit dusty.” He wiped his hands on his jeans and then drew in a deep breath.

Her hand shot up. “Don’t you dare.”

Confused, he let the air go.

“You’ll spread dust everywhere if you blow it.” She marched to her desk, pulled a duster from the drawer, and arched an eyebrow at him.

He stepped away, leaned an elbow on a chair back, and watched while she dusted each book, shaking the cloth out the window at regular intervals. Niall was always full of praise for Cordelia’s prophetic skills and thoughtful advice. But on the one occasion Michael had approached her because he thought having his future read would be fun, she’d nearly bitten his head off. According to her, she wasn’t a carnival sideshow for his entertainment.

Her gaze flicked up to him, then darted back to her book. She was attractive in a repressed way, as though she didn’t want anyone to notice. But whatever she wore, she couldn’t hide the fact she had a damn fine body, and incredible hair. Up close, he could distinguish pale gold strands mingled with the dark, and her braid was as thick as his wrist. He imagined her naked, her loose hair draping her shoulders like a cloak. He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. She’d be all covered up, but he’d bet her nipples would poke through.

“Michael.”

He jumped guiltily.

“Are you going to help me or not?” She held out a dusted volume.

Book in hand, he settled in one of the wing chairs before the fireplace. He’d tried not to worry about Gwyn ap Nudd, but the possibility his nephews were in danger flipped his stomach with a sick lurch. He pictured the sleepy little lads
snuggled together in the cot they shared. The mantle of responsibility hung awkwardly on his shoulders, but he would do whatever was necessary to protect them. He loved the boys. Besides, Niall would string him up if he let anything happen to them.

Taking a steady breath, he focused his concentration on the key words to search for, then scanned the first page, flipped it over, scanned the next page, flipped, read, flipped, read—

“Michael! If you’re not going to take this seriously, I’ll find someone else to help.”

He blinked, adjusting his gaze. “Crikey O’Reilly, lass, I can’t go any faster.”

Confusion swept the annoyance from her face. She set down her book and swiveled in her chair to face him. “You’re reading the pages?”

“Aye.” He grinned. “I’m thinking you didn’t believe me when I said I could read fast?”

She opened her mouth—closed it again without making a sound, her gray eyes huge and soft. Beautiful eyes. Not like the normal pisky earth elemental brown or hazel. Somewhere in her lineage, she must have an ancestor who was not a Cornish pisky.

Cordelia swallowed audibly. “You’re sure you know what’s on each page?”

“Aye.” Hegave her amoment to absorb the truth.

She stared at him as though he’d suddenly grown an extra head, but in a good way, as though the extra head impressed her more than the original. The possibility that reading fast would impress females had never occurred to him. Actually, he didn’t need any help attracting women. His local fame for telling tall tales meant there were always eager human women crowding his bar on the lookout for fun. Using his fairy glamour it was oh so easy to send them home with lovely memories but no ecollection of his face or name.

Cordelia cleared her throat and turned back to her page.
Michael settled again and did the same. When he finished the book, he placed it back on the shelf, and selected another from the pile. He forbore to comment that Cordelia was only on the tenth page of her first book. Ms. Starchy Pants would not appreciate the comparison.

As he prepared to start his second book, the library door cracked open. His friend Nightshade, the vampiric fairy, poked in his head. The lamplight cast a sheen on his ebony skin, and his silver eyes glinted with predatory satisfaction. Michael suppressed a sigh. Since he’d allowed the nightstalker to bite him and forge a blood bond between them two years ago, Nightshade hardly let him out of his sight. The way the vampire watched his every move was worse than being handfasted to a jealous woman.

Nightshade sauntered in, bare-chested, his wings folded tight to his back. He tilted his head and with one hand swept his long black hair off his face “I wondered what had become of you, bard. They’re asking for you in the great hall.”

Michael smacked his forehead. “I can’t believe I’ve gone and forgot about tonight’s tale. You’ll have to tell one.”

The vampiric fairy gave Michael an incredulous look.

“Erm, you’re right. ’Tis a bad idea.” Although Nightshade’s mother had been a pisky, and his nightstalker father had left before his birth, Nightshade had confided that he’d always felt like an outsider. Thirty years ago, he’d betrayed the piskies and conspired with an evil druid to trap them in between life and death. He’d later repented and helped Niall and Rose free the troop, but the piskies had never forgiven him.

“Could Thorn tell a story? He’s listened to you often enough.” As Nightshade spoke, Thorn’s cheeky grin appeared around the door.

“I’ve been down to the hall and told them you’re busy tonight and won’t be back.” Thorn’s green eyes sparkled with mischief. “They assumed I meant busy with the babies.”

Thorn dogged Michael’s heels, but the lad was full of fun.
He’d just turned twenty and needed some mates to have a laugh with. Michael had no idea what had happened to the young man’s parents. Cordelia seemed to be his surrogate mother.

Thorn grinned. “Hello, Dee. What you doing?” Without waiting for her to answer, he hurried to Michael’s side and stared eagerly at the book on his lap. “Can I help?”

Cordelia released a resigned sigh, nodded, and placed a hand on the pile of books. “Grab one each and make yourselves comfortable. We’re looking for any reference to Gwyn ap Nudd, Welsh King of the Underworld.”

Thorn lifted a book and took the chair across from Cordelia. Nightshade remained standing, hands on hips. “Why?”

Cordelia rubbed her temples. When her eyes met Nightshade’s, the tension in the room thrummed. “Someone nearby called his name this evening. I need to know if he has any reason to threaten the piskies.”

Nightshade remained rooted to the spot. Cordelia stared at him, her soft gray eyes now hard as flint, her lips pinched. The antipathy rolled off her in waves, far stronger than the other piskies’ dislike. Michael’s curiosity pricked to know what had happened between them to cause such hostility.