Deceit Can Be Deadly

  “Not sex, if that’s what you think I meant. While I wouldn’t be averse to the experience, I’m not buying your body with jewels.”

  “Then what?”

  “The elusive glass of cognac?”

  “I doubt the Rémy Martin costs as much as the necklace.”

  “The enjoyment of your company will compensate for the difference.”

  She gave him a disbelieving look. “Do those lines really work on women?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve not tried them before.”

  “Right.” She led the way downstairs, passing through the main storage area to the locked door of the cellar. Using her body as a shield, she punched a code into the keypad, then pushed the door open. The hinges functioned silently despite their aged appearance.

  Once inside, she pulled a bottle from a shelf and set it on the wooden table with a distinctive thump.

  “Nice wine tasting set up.” Dante had his hands clasped behind his back as he looked down at the cracked cement floor and then up at the bare lightbulb hanging overhead.

  “It suits me.” She moved to the sideboard to get some snifters.

  He ran his hands over the scarred surface of the table. “I’m sure this piece could tell a few tales.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I picked it up at a yard sale.”

  “You’re not sentimental, are you?”

  “Things mean very little to me.” She poured a finger of liquor and handed it to him. “I don’t need fancy anymore.”

  Rather than taking the glass, he put this hand over hers so they were both holding the vessel. “But maybe you deserve fancy.” He stared into her eyes, holding her gaze until she finally looked away and shook her head.

  “Been there, done that. This,” she freed her hand and swept it outward to encompass the cellar, “is much easier.”

  He leaned against the table, slowly swirling his drink. “I picture you in silk, seated in a brocade Queen Anne wingback chair, diamond earrings, a crystal glass in your hand.” He raised the glass and narrowed his eyes, noting how the light played through the amber liquid before testing the aroma. “Designer perfume and fine cognac with an opal at your throat.”

  Gwyneth gave a cynical laugh and the corner of his mouth quirked.

  “You laugh, but you know quality. This, for example,” he took a sip of his drink, “is excellent.”

  “Knowing a good drink doesn’t mean anything.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But there’s more to you than meets the eye. You’re not just the owner of a bar.”

  “I’m a witch. Of course, there’s more to me than outward appearances reveal.” She looked at him over the rim of her glass.

  “Hmm.” He made a non-committal sound.

  “And what about you? You’re more than a regular Lycan.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not part of a pack or at least not a normal pack. And you’re not really a member of Lycan Link, are you?”

  “How do you know?

  “You’re too…”

  “Too what?”

  “I’m not sure what the word is. Cultured?”

  “I prefer to think of myself as a Renaissance man.”

  “A Renaissance rogue?” She purposely switched the last word noting how the corner of his mouth twitched in response. “I suppose it’s as good a term as any.”

  He inclined his head in mock bow. “Thank you for bestowing me with such a noble name.”

  “Yeah. Right.” She set down her now empty glass. “Are you done?”

  He savoured the last sip. “I am now.”

  They’d reached the top of the stairs when there was a rattling sound at the club door. Hope flared in her and she quickened her step, heading towards the main room. “Matt?” Her momentary elation quickly disappeared as Rudy entered the room.

  “Gwyneth.” The bouncer acknowledged her as his eyes scanned the room. “Matt isn’t here?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “You’ve still not heard from him?”

  Rudy shook his head. “I’ve been by his place, his current job site. Tried his phone and left messages. It’s like he’s disappeared.”

  Dante interrupted. “This is the other bouncer?”

  She nodded. “He left here three nights ago, and no one has seen him since.”

  “I’ve even checked the local hospitals in case there was an accident.” Rudy began to pace the room. “This is not like him, not at all. Maybe I should call Sam. Her wolves might be able to track him.”

  “Good idea.” Dante rocked on his heels, frowning. “It’s a small pack, but they have some good trackers.”

  Gwyn looked at him. “How do you know? You never even registered with them when you came to Chicago.”

  “Checking up on me, were you?” He gave her a quick grin then checked where Rudy was. The man already had his phone out and was moving to the far side of the room for privacy. “Thank you for the cognac. I’m sorry the birthday celebration has to be cut short. Perhaps another time.”

  She nodded, her hand moving to the necklace. “Thank you for this. It was…er…very thoughtful of you.”

  “Thanking me seems to stick in your throat. I take it I’ve not yet changed your opinion on Lycans.”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll have to keep trying.” His gaze locked with hers before he leaned in and brushed a soft kiss over her lips. The contact was fleeting yet enough to send tingles down her spine and make her want to call him back as he took his leave. She rubbed her hand over the scar on her chest as it gave a dull ache.

  As the door shut behind Dante and Rudy approached putting his phone away, she sighed. How did her life suddenly get so complicated?

  Dante stood outside the club frowning at the news that Bendov was missing and had been for several days. While he had no particular liking for the man, he was still concerned.

  A werebear does not just disappear, his wolf said. They are dependable creatures.

  “True.”

  And incredibly strong. They are hard to defeat in battle. It would take a formidable foe to best them.

  “Magic could,” he murmured.

  Gwyneth would not harm him.

  “I agree. Unless…” He paused, thinking.

  You are wondering again if she is somehow associated with the malefic witch?

  “It’s important to keep an open mind and not dismiss possibilities simply because I’ve developed an interest in the woman.”

  I sense no malice in her.

  “Nor do I. Wary, contrary, caustic-tongued but not malicious. At least not purposeful. But who knows what forms of deception a witch is capable of?”

  He closed his eyes, envisioning the night he’d seen Bendov leaving Gwyneth’s apartment. There had been no one about, the street deserted except for a few parked cars. He’d watched Gwyneth in the cellar, then a man had stumbled down the alley. No, there was nothing in his memory that was helpful in explaining Bendov’s disappearance. All he knew was that Gwyneth had sent the werebear on his way and that appeared to be the last time anyone had heard from or seen the man.

  She wouldn’t willingly bring harm to the bear, his wolf re-iterated. Her concern for his absence is genuine.

  Dante nodded. “It appears that way but the possibility has to be considered.”

  He tucked his hands in his pockets and began to walk towards his hotel. Gwyneth might not be involved but his gut was telling him magic was. Hopefully the surveillance device he’d attached to the table in the wine cellar proved useful. Gwyneth kept her grimoire there. Perhaps she met with other witches in the cellar, sharing or planning meetings.

  We could approach her. Tell her what we know of the malefic witch and ask for her help. His wolf presented a simple, direct approach.

  “Do you trust her that much?”

  The animal considered the question silently.

  “She might help or she might automatically side with her own people. We’ve come this far. Tipping our hand too
soon could set us back months, even years.”

  Chapter 21

  There was some time before the club opened. Gwyn wandered about aimlessly tucking in chairs, unable to settle. As the other employees reported in, concern for Matt’s continued absence was expressed; everyone missing the friendly werebear. It ate away at her that their last exchange had basically been her sending him away. Somehow, she felt his disappearance was her fault.

  Hoping some solitude would help her regain her equilibrium, she headed to her office only to have her gaze fall on the calendar Dante had been staring at. Damn, thinking about him didn’t help matters. She touched the opal at her throat puzzling over the attraction she felt for him and his interest in her. Even if Camille did have a memo from the Affiliation Office stating Dante was legit, there was something more to his presence here.

  Looking around for a distraction for her tumultuous thoughts, she picked up one of the unread newspapers that had accumulated on her desk. Even her morning routine had been disrupted since Dante’s appearance. She sat back in her chair and skimmed the headlines only to tense as one grabbed her attention.

  Suspected cult killing. She leaned forward, a sick feeling settling in her stomach.

  She focused on the details; a circle of fire, heart removed, the body had been there for over a month. The article ended by stating the police were investigating a possible connection to a similar killing which had occurred in the southern states approximately two weeks ago. Both cases were still unsolved. A quick calculation had her cursing. Both killings had occurred on full moons; the perfect time for black magic.

  A soft knocking at the office door forced her to look away from the paper.

  “Gwyn?” Rudy stood there looking worried.

  “Yes?”

  “Sam called and said she’s sending someone around to the Club. She wants something that would have Matt’s scent. Do you have a shirt of his upstairs or should I go to his place?”

  She nodded, setting down the paper. “He has a few spare things here. I’ll go upstairs and see what I can find.”

  Rudy nodded his thanks and she hurried to her apartment.

  Sherman was scratching at the door and when she opened it, he flew out racing downstairs.

  “We don’t open for half an hour, you crazy cat. You haven’t missed any food.”

  Shaking her head, she took a few steps in to the apartment only to pause when she saw Cyrus sitting in the kitchen eating.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.” He beamed at her. There was a box of cookies on the table beside him and a half-glass of milk. “You really should bake your own cookies, you know. These store-bought ones aren’t very tasty.”

  She stalked across the apartment and swiped the box off the table. “Cyrus, I’m getting tired of you popping into my space whenever the mood strikes you.”

  “I sense you’re feeling tense.”

  “Of course I’m feeling tense! Matt is missing, you’re spouting conspiracy theories. And there was a supposed cult killing reported in the newspaper.” She threw the box of cookies in the kitchen cupboard and slammed the door shut. “I don’t have the patience for you right now, Cyrus. I’m sorry but I just don’t.”

  Cyrus stood, his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Gwyneth. I was trying to lighten the mood. I know these are trying times.” His hand shook as he brushed a wispy white strand of hair from his forehead. “Matthias is missing, you say?”

  “Yes.” She nodded taking a deep breath to get her emotions back under control. “We’ve no idea what happened to him. I broke things off with him to keep him safe from Camille, but—”

  “I wonder if she took him?”

  “Took him?”

  “A werebear would be a powerful source of energy for her to use.”

  “Oh no!” She felt her knees grow weak at the very idea.

  “I’m not saying that’s what happened, only that it is a possibility.”

  “I felt an energy fluctuation the night he disappeared. You don’t think…?”

  “No. I’m sure he’s fine. It wasn’t a full moon.” He patted her arm.

  She gave a quick nod. “I hope you’re right.”

  “We need to find him though, before the next one.”

  “That gives us two weeks but…” She frowned, considering a point.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a black moon tomorrow night; the second new moon in a calendar month.”

  Cyrus stroked his chin thoughtfully. “True. A black moon magnifies the energy but Camille is a traditionalist, as you well know. She’ll wait for the full moon, I’m sure.”

  “Are you sure it’s her?” Gwyn rubbed her temples, the beginning of a headache making it difficult to think.

  “Who else? It’s the only thing that makes sense.” Cyrus pressed his point. “She loves being the Magissa yet even with time slowed, she’s showing signs of aging.”

  “But—”

  He continued, ignoring her interruption. “She’s using black magic, siphoning energy from her victims to slow time even more. Soon she’ll find a spell that will allow her to freeze time completely and once she’s immortal there will be no stopping her.”

  “The energy needed to do that—”

  “Will be substantial.”

  “So much blood shed. So many lives lost.” The words came out as a whisper, the horror of it filled her.

  “Exactly. We need to rally the Coven and confront her at the quarterly meeting before the full moon.”

  “I’ll start to contact the members, tell them to come prepared.”

  “No need.” He placed a hand on her arm. “You’ve enough to worry about right now with trying to find Matthias. I’ll take care of everything.”

  “Matt. Right.” She looked around the apartment. “I’m supposed to be getting a piece of his clothing for the wolf pack.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Rudy asked them to try and track down Matt’s scent.”

  “An excellent idea.” Cyrus nodded. “Excellent indeed.” He looked about the room and then picked up his cape, an affected bit of clothing made of velvet and satin. “I must be on my way. I’ll start to contact the others. You focus on finding Matthias.” He patted her shoulder as he exited the room.

  With Cyrus gone, she concentrated on finding one of Matt’s shirts and then hurried downstairs and gave it to Rudy. The club was busy as usual but instead of thriving on the activity, the noise overpowered her, increasing the throbbing in her head. Eventually, she retreated to the relative quiet of her office.

  Closing the door to block the noise, she looked about the space and grimaced.

  “Sven, I hate to say it but Dante was right. This place really is a mess.” Maybe she’d do some cleaning up; it was better than sitting and worrying. She began to collect old newspapers, tearing out the article about the cult killing and setting it under the pen holder then stuffing the rest in the already overflowing recycle bin.

  “These can go to the kitchen.” She stacked a collection of dirty mugs on a tray, giving Sven a running commentary of her actions in the hopes of keeping her mind from drifting to Matt or Cyrus’ conspiracy theory or… No! No thinking, more talking.

  “Pens and pencils go in the pen holder, paperclips in the desk drawer. This crumpled napkin gets dropped in the garbage and—”

  Pausing, her gaze fixed on the napkin she held in her hand. Slowly, carefully, she unfolded it. Faint dark smudges stained the pristine white, giving off an aura that caused her to shiver. She quickly dropped it and took a step back, rubbing her hands up and down on her pants as if to remove the evil taint. Someone had been in the dark pages of a grimoire, either bare-handed or for a prolonged enough period that the charmed gloves had begun to fail. But who?

  “Okay, Sven, who’s been in the office?” Her mind raced. Only two names came up. Cyrus and Dante. “It couldn’t have been either of them, could it? But who else? It was unlikely Camille would sneak i
n and then leave a napkin behind. Did the Magissa have a confederate?”

  Closing her eyes, she replayed the past few days. Cyrus had sat in the chair eating fries, warning her of the danger Camille presented, encouraging her to keep Matt safe. He’d cleaned his hands before leaving. As for Dante, he’d wiped his hands on a napkin after swiping the smudge of chocolate from her mouth. But that hadn’t been in the office, had it? Unless, he’d carried the napkin balled up in his hand, only setting it down in here.

  She switched her thoughts back to Cyrus again. He had said he was going to research the dark pages to help in a fight against Camille. She’d reminded him about the charmed gloves and he’d been grateful as he’d claimed to have forgotten about them. But if his hands were already stained, that meant he’d already been checking into forbidden spells.

  As for Dante, how would he get his hands on a grimoire? And even supposing he did find one, how did he manage to unseal the dark pages? And why?

  She picked up the napkin again, wishing there was a way to determine its owner. The marks were too smudged to be used for fingerprints and a paper napkin was a transitory possession, the chances of an imprint from a brief encounter were doubtful.

  “What do you think, Sven? Should we check it out?”

  A glance at her tattoo left her with the impression he was nodding, or maybe it was her muscles twitching; she was bundle of nervous energy. Grabbing an envelope from her desk drawer, she deposited the napkin inside to prevent contamination and headed to the basement.

  The sounds of the club faded into a distant base throb as she descended the stairs. She entered the security code for the wine cellar, stepped inside and quickly went to the sideboard, taking out the family grimoire.

  A spell to find out who owned an object... She’d used a location spell to find a specific object, like her missing car keys but had never tried to work it in reverse. As she flipped the pages she decided it was too bad a person couldn’t do an internet search on spells and not come up with a bunch of nonsense. Maybe the Lycans were on to something with their push to digitalize records. She paused. Had she just praised a Lycan? She must be losing her mind!

  A location spell for individuals appeared, and hope surged momentarily thinking maybe she could use it to find Matt. Her eyes raced over the text interpreting the subtle nuances of the words. Spells weren’t always easy to understand, the language tending towards the archaic, the phrasing poetical and often using metaphors or containing ironic twists to trip up those who had no rightful business using them.