As they crossed the atrium, Sven ducked beneath a fern and fell into step beside them.
"Good morning, Nordgard," Tristan said.
"Morning, sir." The bodyguard's doleful expression implied it was not a good morning at all.
"So how did the audition go?" Tristan asked, ignoring Copperfield's startled glance. He wasn't exactly known for taking an interest in his employees' personal lives or even allowing them to have one.
"I didn't get the part," Sven confessed in his grave baritone. "They said I was too masculine." Tristan eyed the Norwegian's bulging neck muscles, wondering which role he could possibly have coveted in a play about two aging homosexuals. As they approached the elevators, Sven drew a flip phone from his jacket. "Shall I alert security team three, sir? Will you and Mr. Copperfield be leaving the building?"
"That won't be necessary," Tristan replied.
"Mr. Lennox has a surprise for me," Cop inserted coyly, earning himself an elbow to the ribs.
"Oh, goodie. I love surprises!" Sven exclaimed, visibly brightening.
Tristan paused. "I'm terribly sorry, Sven, but you're not invited." He thrust the paper sack he was carrying into the crestfallen giant's hands. "I have more vital security matters for you to attend to. I want these installed throughout the Tower before noon today."
Sven drew a piece of plastic from the mouth of the bag, looking more befuddled than usual. "What are they, sir? Bomb detectors? Some sort of newfangled wiretap?"
Tristan plucked the two-pronged device from Sven's hand and popped it into the nearest electric outlet. "I might be mistaken, but I believe they're called child protector caps."
Ash of brimstone and winter's thunder, Tear the veil of heav'n asunder.
Leper's nose and lizard lips, Make fire fly from my fingertips!
Arian's voice rose to a majestic crescendo on the last note of the spell. Her outstretched arm quivered with anticipation.
Nothing. Her fingers did not emit so much as a feeble spark.
Her shoulders slumped with disappointment as she examined the fresh tub of Haagen-Dazs she'd placed on the marble hearth. She poked at its ribboned surface to find it nearly as solid as when she'd removed it from the miniature freezer over the bar.
"What pathetic sort of witch can't even melt frozen cream?" she muttered, sucking her finger clean. Even the rich taste of the chocolate melting on her tongue failed to console her.
What more could she do? she wondered despairingly. She'd been up since dawn crafting a plausible spell. She'd drawn the salon's drapes and dimmed the track lighting to create a suitably spectral ambience. She'd even donned a midnight blue robe she'd found in the closet and brushed her hair until it crackled like a cloud around her face. A brief glance into the mirror above the mantel assured her she was the very portrait of a respectable enchantress.
All she lacked was talent.
Her frustration escaped in a gusty sigh. The amulet lay where she had forced herself to abandon it, glinting against the watered silk of an overstuffed ottoman.
Gathering up the skirts of Tristan's bathrobe so they wouldn't trip her, she marched over and glared down at the amulet. She was beginning to feel as if it weren't a charm, but a curse. The hateful thing seemed to be winking at her, taunting her for her incompetence. She was torn between snatching it to her bosom and flushing it down the chamber pot. It might enable her to claim the million dollars, but it also prevented her from satisfying her desperate, inexplicable need to prove herself worthy of Tristan's faith.
She'd slept little after he'd escorted her back to the suite last night, although he'd left her at the elevator with nothing more than a chaste peck on the brow. 'Twas almost as if their tender tryst during the blackout had never occurred. Arian eyed the plush carpet beneath the window where they had lain, stabbed by a fresh pang of longing.
Almost.
Driven by a compulsion born of both curiosity and dread, she reached for the amulet with trembling fingers. Closing her fist tight about it, she extended her other hand, squinted at the container of frozen cream and whispered, "Burn."
A jet of flame ten feet long shot from her fingertips with a deafening whoosh. The frozen cream began to melt, then to bubble, finally boiling over until there was nothing left of cream or container but a lump of steaming cardboard.
Arian popped her smoking fingers into her mouth, extinguishing them with a sizzle. "Sacre bleu!"
Her awe eclipsed by crushing defeat, she hurled the amulet at the far wall, savoring a petty thrill of satisfaction when it ricocheted off and vanished amongst the plump cushions of the settee.
"Temper, temper, my dear," chided a mocking male voice.
Arian whirled around to discover the elevator had arrived just in time for Tristan to witness her tantrum. The second in two days, she reminded herself with a cringe of embarrassment.
"I – um – I couldn't get the clasp fastened," she offered lamely as Copperfield followed Tristan off the elevator.
If Cop was surprised to find her still in residence after last night's debacle, he hid it behind a sympathetic smile as the elevator departed.
Tristan's excitement was palpable, giving his step a buoyancy she'd never seen before. It both pained and wanned her to think she might be responsible for his transformation.
He clasped both of her hands in his. "I brought Copperfield here so he could experience a taste of what I experienced last night."
Arian's befuddled brain dismissed their encounter in the lab, remembering instead the lazy flick of Tristan's tongue over her lips. "I c-can't possibly…"
"Now don't be modest," he admonished. "I simply want you to demonstrate your powers for Cop."
It was Copperfield's turn to arch a skeptical eyebrow. "C'mon, Tristan. She's a charming girl, but even I never believed she possessed any sort of supernatural power. I'm a lawyer, not an idiot"
Tristan's coaxing smile threatened to melt Arian's bones more effectively than any fireball. He gently caressed the fine bones of her hands with his thumbs. "Don't be shy, Arian. Something simple will be fine. Just make yourself invisible or levitate an ashtray."
Drawing her hands from his, Arian backed toward the settee, scrambling for the words of a spell, any spell. Her mama had resided briefly with an English marquess who had quoted frequently from his favorite bard. "Uh, double, double, toil and trouble," she blurted out, "fire burn and cauldron bubble…"
"Cute," Cop said dryly, "but not highly original."
Arian stumbled over the hem of Tristan's robe. The back of her knees crashed into the settee. She sat abruptly, using the opportunity to reach behind her and dig beneath the pillows for any trace of the amulet.
Tristan shot Copperfield a warning scowl. "She's just suffering from stage fright. Give her a moment to compose herself."
Cop's own composure was slipping. "Oh, why don't you stop taunting the poor girl? It's like kicking a helpless kitten. You should be ashamed of yourself!"
Fearful they might actually come to blows over her, Arian wailed, "Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf!"
Both men stopped glaring at each other to gape at her, transfixed by her performance. She rooted frantically between the cushions, wincing as one of her fingernails tore to the quick. If she could just keep them distracted until she could locate the amulet…
"Eye of newt and toe of frog." She deliberately lowered her voice, weaving a husky enchantment that had little to do with the gibberish she was muttering. "Wool of bat and tongue of dog!" Inspired by the sparkle of approval in Tristan's eyes, she tossed back her head, sending a cascade of curls tumbling down her back, and waved her free arm gracefully in the air. The arch of her spine enticed the expensive silk to cling to her generous curves.
"Bewitching," Tristan murmured.
Copperfield rolled his eyes.
Arian suppressed a grunt of mingled triumph and frustration as the amulet's chain rippled like quicksilver through her fingers. The bard's overwrought stanzas were beginning to elude her as
well. "Lizard's leg and owlet's wing; baboon's blood and – and piglet's… thing."
She made one last lunge beneath the cushions, her voice rising along with her desperation. She couldn't bear to watch Tristan's expectant smile fade to the same cynical sneer he had given his mother. "Snout of shoat and gall of" – her fingers brushed the smooth surface of the emerald. She seized it with a gleeful shout – "goat!"
The elevator doors slid open. One moment Sven stood there, his expression pleasantly vacant. The next, a fluffy, blond goat stood there, chewing his own beard.
16
Arian's intake of breath froze in a feeble squeak. Cop's cry of astonishment was drowned out by Tristan's triumphant whoop.
Tristan clapped his friend on the shoulder, nearly knocking him off his feet. "What are you staring at? Haven't you ever seen a goat wearing sunglasses before?"
Cop sank down on the ottoman, his bronze skin paling to a rather noxious green. Arian flinched as Sven trotted over and began to nibble on one of the potted ferns flanking the hearth. Moaning in mortification, she buried her burning face in the settee pillows, wishing she could burrow beneath them and disappear. She hadn't felt like such a dismal failure since she'd accidentally poisoned one of her mother's paramours with a love potion concocted of rotted eggs and wolfsbane. The man had survived but her mama had delivered a blistering tirade that had left her ears ringing for days.
"Arian?"
She heard Tristan's gentle query through a fog of misery. Perhaps if she didn't answer, he'd just go away and leave her to loathe herself to death. Something cold and clammy nudged her arm. She slowly lifted her head to discover it was Sven's snout. A familiar pair of mirrored lenses reproached her.
"Oh, Sven! What have I done?" She wrapped her arms around the goat and sniveled into his silky pelt.
"Quite an impressive demonstration. It'll probably take Cop a hell of a lot longer to recover than Sven." Tristan's matter-of-fact tone stifled Arian in mid-sob.
She dared a glance at his eyes. They were twinkling with wicked delight. "You're not angry with me for turning your bodyguard into a goat?" she whispered.
"You can turn him back into a big, dumb aspiring actor, can't you?"
Sven tossed his flowing blond mane with an offended snuffle. Tristan gave his rump a friendly swat and he went trotting over to butt the bedroom door.
Arian squeezed the amulet until it cut into her palm, unable to completely disguise her bitterness. "I think I can."
Tristan shrugged, the casual motion emphasizing the exquisite cut of both his jacket and his shoulders. "If not, we can always chain him to a stake in the courtyard. Just think of the money Lennox Enterprises will save on lawn care."
"Sweet Jesu, I'm so sorry," Arian wailed, burying her face in her hands.
Tristan had to nudge her chin up with his knuckle before Arian realized he had only been teasing her. His fingertips brushed the curve of her jaw with jarring tenderness. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. You're not some cruise ship magician. I shouldn't have expected you to perform on demand. But since Copperfield will be finalizing the press arrangements for tonight, I felt it imperative that he understand the magnitude of what we're dealing with."
"Tonight?" Arian echoed, her chagrin replaced by a thrill of foreboding.
"Tonight?" Cop mumbled, watching Sven ingest a corner of the drapes.
Tristan began to pace the carpet, easily resuming his role of self-appointed master of all their fates. "I've booked the ballroom at the Plaza for a modest reception to be given in Arian's honor. I considered hosting it here, but thought meeting our enemies on neutral territory would be safer. Do you agree, Cop?"
"Neutral territory," Cop murmured, his dazed nod confirming that he didn't have the faintest idea what he was agreeing with. Sven lost interest in the drapes and wandered over to nibble on the hem of Cop's chinos.
"Am I in danger?" Arian asked, her longing for acclaim balanced by a far more healthy fear of condemnation. Although she'd left them over three hundred years in the past, the ugly snarls and shouts of accusation still echoed through her memory.
"Only if the press leaks any inkling that your powers might be genuine." Tristan dropped to one knee and cupped her hands in his. "They might not burn you at the stake in Times Square, but people do have a rather narrow-minded tendency to condemn what they can't explain."
" 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,'" Arian murmured.
He squeezed her hands. "You could spend the rest of your life hiding behind locked doors, afraid to answer the phone, looking over your shoulder every time you hear a footstep behind you." From the bleakness shadowing his eyes, Arian knew he spoke from bitter experience. "If they catch even a whiff of mystery or scandal, they will hound you to the very gates of hell."
"Then why?" Arian withdrew her hands from his unable to bear another betrayal. "Why are you throwing me on their mercy?"
"I'm not. I'm only going to toss them a bone. I'm announcing the reception this afternoon at a press conference. That should start them drooling in anticipation. Tonight I'll publicly declare you the victor in our contest of wits and grudgingly toast your good fortune. Then I'll trade a few sly winks to let them in on our private joke."
"Which is…?" Arian asked, failing to see the humor in her situation.
Tristan rose to his full height, his face transformed by a snide sneer. "That you're nothing but a cunning little scam artist who's managed to con one of the wealthiest men in the world out of a million dollars."
Arian recoiled from his contempt as if it were a blast of brimstone, fearing she had stumbled into one of her own nightmares. But that was before his sneer melted into a slanted grin. "Don't you see, Arian? Instead of thinking you're a witch, they'll think I've simply been duped. That I lack the evidence to prove you're a fraud. I'd much rather let them think you made a fool of me than risk exposing your rather unique talents."
Arian knew how expensive Tristan's concession would be to a man of his pride. Yet he made it without asking anything in return – not even the truth about her past. The wistful ache in her heart multiplied. She twisted the amulet's chain into a knot, wishing she had more to offer him than halftruths and blatant falsehoods.
"Oh, they'll request a few interviews and snap some photographs," Tristan continued. "They may even hound you for a few days, but after that, some more alluring scandal will grab their attention and you'll be free." His eyes betrayed a hint of wistfulness. "Free to start a new life without any of the baggage from the old."
"I didn't bring any baggage," Arian murmured. "I didn't have time to pack."
"God, it's brilliant," Cop muttered, his eyes slowly sharpening into focus. "You're giving them everything they think they want, yet nothing at all."
"Precisely," Tristan replied.
Cop pried his pants leg out of Sven's mouth and sprang to his feet. "And you're giving it to them tonight!"
"I thought you'd appreciate the irony," Tristan said, looking almost irresistibly smug. "And to think, you once accused me of having no imagination."
"What's so special about tonight?"
Tristan's eyes glittered with wicked mischief. "Why, Arian, I'm disappointed in you! Don't you know that tonight is the night when werewolves howl at the moon and witches take to the windy skies on their brooms? It's October the thirty-first." Tristan's voice lowered to an ominous purr, sending a shiver of dark anticipation tingling down her spine. "Halloween."
Never had a witch suffered such a heinous fate on All Hallows' Eve.
The foppish Antonio minced around Arian's stool, surveying her from all angles before bending over to slap another dab of paint on her face. "Can't have you looking like Casper the Ghost at the reception, can we, dear? With that complexion, you'll positively disappear next to the other guests."
"I rather wish I would," Arian muttered, rubbing her stomach to try and soothe the flock of butterflies that had nested there.
He tweaked her nose, his thin chest heavin
g with a heartfelt sigh. "If only Mr. Lennox had given us more time. I've got a surgeon friend in Queens who could chisel that little snout of yours down to absolute perfection."
Arian cupped a protective hand over the offending feature. "No, thank you. I've never been particularly fond of it, but I'd rather not have it whittled upon."
Antonio had arrived promptly at noon with a retinue of pink-garbed assistants and a trunk full of modern torture devices. Within minutes, he'd transformed the penthouse bathroom into a private chamber of horrors. While the sloe-eyed beauty expert claimed to be from Milan, Arian noticed that in moments of extreme travail, such as when she'd protested that only harlots removed the baby-fine down from their legs, his Continental accent dissolved into a distinct drawl.
In the past four hours, Arian had had her legs waxed, her teeth whitened, her eyelashes curled, and her toenails painted a dazzling coral. Even as Antonio applied the finishing touches to her face paint, two Asian women were slathering her thighs with a gel the consistency of marmalade and wrapping them in sheets of cellophane.
"To melt the unsightly cellulite," one of the women whispered with a knowing wink. Arian had no idea what cellulite was, but she tried to look suitably ashamed.
Antonio smoothed her eyebrows with his fingertip. "I'll pluck these after I've finished with your hair. We don't want anyone mistaking you for Brooke Shields or Sam Donaldson, do we? But first comes the real challenge." Fully aware that he had the attention of everyone in the bathroom, he whipped the towel from her damp hair with a flourish.
Arian's curls tumbled around her face with their natural exuberance. Antonio circled her like a vulture, clucking dolefully beneath his breath. "Impossible. Simply impossible. Only an artist would even try…" He drew himself up to his full height and straightened his narrow shoulders. "But I, Antonio Garabaldi, am such an artist, and you, my dear, shall become my new masterpiece!"
Arian could not quite suppress a small scream as he snatched up a pair of gleaming shears and came at her with blades flashing.