“Good.”
He moved to the next shelf and began emptying the contents of all the bottles and jars onto the floor, and in a relatively quick time we had a good pile. I shoved Amaya into the middle of them. Her flames crawled
over everything and quickly turned them to ash. I swept my foot through the small pile, scattering the remnants, and wished I had some holy water. Spreading it around would have made this place a little bit more inhospitable if she ever
did
come back to it.
“What next?” Azriel asked.
I glanced at the time and swore softly. “Next we go back to the office. I need to get ready for my meeting with Mike.”
“I’m glad you stopped calling it a date,” he said, as he gathered me close. “That word has the power to annoy me greatly.”
I tsked. “Too long in human form for sure.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But it does have its benefits. Some of which I intend to explore when and if I get the chance.”
“It would seem certain parts of your body are more eager for exploration than others.”
“That,” he said severely, but with humor dancing in his eyes, “is a function of this body that I have no control over. And, I might add, it is extremely uncomfortable.”
I laughed and kissed him. “I do love you, you know.”
“I know. I have always known how you felt, even when you yourself were unsure. You cannot lie to your Caomh.”
“You can’t?” I said, in mock horror. “Damn, there go my plans of hiding future spending sprees in the closet and telling you later I’ve had them for ages.”
He gave me a blank sort of look. “I do not even pretend to understand
that
particular comment.”
“Oh, you will, trust me.”
His expression remained unsure. I grinned, kissed him again, and said, “Home, James.”
A second later we were standing in the middle of the office once again. I pulled away from his embrace somewhat regretfully and started getting ready to meet Mike.
* * *
Winter’s was a long, skinny restaurant squeezed in between two larger establishments. The walls were rough brick, the ceilings high and part glass, and there were lots of old iron tools and sculptures adorning the walls. Though it had a warm, friendly vibe, I felt anything but warm as the waitress led me through the main part of the restaurant and into a more private dining area. This area, like the main section, was heavy on the brick and metal decorations, but at the rear of the room was a bank of sliding glass doors that—while currently closed—opened out to a small but pretty courtyard. Thankfully, Mike wasn’t the only one in the room—there was another couple sitting in the corner near the doors, though I doubted they’d be of much help if things started to go downhill. They didn’t seem to be aware of anything but each other.
“Risa,” Mike said, rising from the table. “Right on time, as usual. And looking rather nice, might I add.”
He was wearing black, close-fitting pants that rather looked like breeches, a beautiful emerald green vest, a white linen shirt, and a black cravat. A double-breasted waistcoat hung from the back of his chair.
He looked like he’d just stepped out of the Victorian era—as had, I thought with a chill, the men’s clothing I’d seen hanging in Lauren’s wardrobe. It
might
have been nothing more than coincidence. I mean, Lauren knew we’d been to her place and had seen those clothes, so if Mike was involved with her—or, worst-case scenario, actually
was
her—then surely he wouldn’t risk wearing similar clothes.
“Thanks. And I’m on time because I’m starved.” I clasped his offered hand, suddenly thankful that our relationship was strictly professional despite his apparent relationship with my mom. I slid my finger to his wrist and pressed the tracker onto his skin. His grip, I noted with some distaste, was unusually warm and slightly
moist, but he didn’t seem to notice the tracker’s transfer and that was good. I just had to hope now that it
had
transferred. I couldn’t feel it on my finger, but that wasn’t proof, as I hadn’t felt it when it was.
He released my hand, then moved around the table, gallantly pulling out my chair and seating me. His closeness had no particular vibes going off, and yet it still unnerved me. I had no idea why.
“I hope the newlyweds in the corner don’t bother you,” he said, sitting back down opposite. “I did ask Beatrice to book a private room so we could discuss your friend’s problem without being overheard, but it appears she ignored me.”
“That’s okay.” I smiled at the waitress as she handed me the menu. “I don’t think the newlyweds are worried about anything but each other right now.”
“True.” He studied the wine list for a moment, then said, “What would you like to drink?”
“Just water, thanks.” Even if my wolf constitution did allow me to drink a little alcohol without the risk of harming my child, my damn stomach was churning so badly I probably would have brought it right back up.
“Make that two, thank you.” He closed the wine list, handed it to the waitress, then once again turned his full attention to me. There was something unnerving in the way he watched me—there was an intensity, a stillness, that reminded me of a predator about to pounce. “How was your day, my dear?”
Was there just a little too much interest behind that casual question?
I studied him for a minute, seeing lines in his face and shadows under his eyes that I couldn’t remember seeing before. Maggie’s comment about the drain the Ania attack would have caused ran through the back of my mind and I couldn’t help connecting two and two. But was I seeing things—sensing things—simply because I
wanted to see them? Because there was some minor part of me that
wanted
them to be there?
If Kiandra’s warning was correct—and I had no doubt that it was—then in all honesty I would much rather the person who wasn’t what they seemed to be, be Mike than anyone else in my life.
Because everyone else in my life was someone I loved.
“Fine,” I said eventually, “but the café is so busy we’re thinking about employing several more waitstaff. We’re run off our feet during peak hours.”
“You have to be careful if you do,” he said. “Prime costs are sitting at about sixty-three percent of the total volume of sales. You don’t want to run it too much higher, especially if you ever want to sell it in the future.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What gave you the idea that I might want to sell it?”
“It happens. Partnerships break up, or it just gets too much.” He shrugged. “What happens if you—or indeed, Ilianna—get pregnant? What will you do with the café in that sort of event?”
“The days of a woman giving up her job or her business when she becomes pregnant are long gone.”
“Oh, I’m well aware of that.” He half shrugged. “It was just a theoretical question.”
There was nothing but casual interest in either his voice or his expression, and yet that odd watchfulness was still very much present.
The waitress reappeared, filling our glasses with water, then taking our orders.
“I can’t see there’d be any difference to the current situation if either of us did get pregnant,” I said, once she’d left. “We’d just hire in someone to take our place. Why?”
“As I said, I was just curious as to whether you’d given it any thought.” He produced a small manila folder and
handed it to me, then lightly began to tap the table. I wondered whether it was impatience or something else.
“That’s all the information I could find on those properties you asked me about,” he said. “I believe the bulk of the information has already been shredded.”
I looked through the folder. The information wasn’t even as detailed as what Stane had told me, though what information it did contain was the same.
I handed the folder back and said, “Would it be possible to talk to either Sands or Macintyre and ask them if they remember anything about the properties in question?”
“Macintyre?” He frowned. “That’s the first time I believe you’ve mentioned someone by that name.”
I silently cursed the slip, even as I wondered whether it
was
a slip. “Sorry, I meant Greenfield. He apparently owned one of the properties my friend is interested in.”
“Absentmindedness seems to be catching lately.” His brief smile appeared warmer than it actually was. “Even I’ve been struck with the malady. Most inconvenient—though not unexpected, given my age.”
“I’d hardly call you old,” I said.
“Very gallant of you to say so, even though you must know I’m in my sixties.”
He didn’t look it—or at least, he hadn’t up until tonight. And while his somewhat gaunt and tired expression did add more than a few years on him, it was more his eyes that told of his age. They were a clear gray and not only filled with a vast sense of power but oddly magnetic . . . I felt myself leaning forward and jerked back with a frown. What the fuck was going on? I had no sense of magic, either coming from Mike or in the near vicinity, and surely I would have if some sort of spell was in operation.
I cleared my throat and said, “As I said, if you have contact details for either Sands or Greenfield, I’d really appreciate it.”
“If I had such details, you could have them. But they have not been clients of mine for some years now, and I only have these records on the off chance the tax department queries me about them.”
“That’s unlikely after all this time, isn’t it?”
He raised an eyebrow. “As unlikely as either of those two remembering anything about properties they owned so long ago.”
Touché, I thought. I took a sip of water, then said, “Do you remember anything about either of them?”
“Nothing much. My dealings with them were strictly business, and I basically only advised them on a couple of transactions before they moved away.”
“Any idea where?”
He hesitated. “I believe Sands went to Sydney and Greenfield to the Gold Coast.”
Again, he seemed to be watching me just a little too intently. But why would he mention either location if he had something to hide? I took another sip of water and wished I’d never come here. I wasn’t any good at this sort of cat-and-mouse game—if that was what was actually happening.
“No wonder you lost contact with them.” I shrugged. “I might see if Stane can track them down for me. They might not remember anything, but at least I can say I tried.”
“Indeed.” He was still tapping his fingers, and the sound was almost as mesmerizing as his eyes had been moments before. “I saw on the news that a converted warehouse in Richmond had been blown apart, and it looked an awful lot like yours—was it?”
I nodded, my unease increasing even though I still had no real idea why. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“What on earth happened?”
It was a combination of my demon sword and the backlash of a witch’s spell, and it blew the hell out of both my father
and
the house.
The words were right on the tip of my tongue, ready to blurt out, but I somehow restrained them. Maybe I was more tired than I thought. Or maybe, I thought, my gaze flicking briefly to his fingers, something else
was
going on.
But if it
was
magic, it was so subtle that I couldn’t feel it.
“I believe they’re still investigating,” I said, a little more abruptly than I should have, “but they suspect a faulty gas pipe.”
“Then it was fortunate no one was caught in the blast.” He paused. In the brief silence, his rhythmic tapping seemed to echo, a sound that had my nerves crawling. “Though I would have thought a blast strong enough to create such a crater would have at least damaged the houses on either side.”
“Obviously, the fates decided it wasn’t anyone else’s turn to die right then.”
“Anyone else’s?” He raised an eyebrow. “That’s an odd way of putting it. It almost sounds as if someone
did
die.”
That’s because someone did.
Again I had to bite down on the comment. Which was weird. I might think those sorts of things, but I rarely came so close to blurting them out that it was an effort to restrain them.
Except, maybe, when that restraint involved Hunter. Though I could and
did
hold back comments from her, and more easily than I was here. It was almost as if I’d been slipped some sort of truth drug . . . but if I had, when had it happened? The waitress had brought our water in a jug, and I doubted it had been tainted with anything, as she’d used the same jug to fill the newlyweds’ glasses.
I frowned, my gaze again going to his fingers. The uneasy sensation that something was happening got stronger. Maybe the tapping had nothing to do with my sudden urge to answer more honestly than I should, but could I take the risk?
“No, no one died, because there was no one in the house at the time.” I hesitated, then added, somewhat testily, “I hate to say this, but your finger tapping is getting
damn
annoying.”
He glanced down at his hand, his expression surprised. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was doing it.”
I stared at him, torn between wanting to believe him and suspecting a lie. His surprise
seemed
genuine, but part of me just wasn’t buying it. But that same part was also looking—almost hoping—for evil to be found here rather than somewhere closer to home.
“Sorry, it’s just been a shit day. I didn’t mean to sound so snappy.”
He waved the comment away. “And I didn’t mean to be overly inquisitive. I just—” He hesitated and waved his hand again, this time the movement overly dramatic. “I promised your mother to keep an eye on you if anything ever happened to her. I know our relationship is a merely professional one, but I’d still feel remiss if I didn’t at least try to keep my word.”
I suspected it was said to make me feel bad, and in that, he succeeded. And yet, I still couldn’t escape the notion that something was very off—with this situation, and with him.
Azriel? Is there anyone else in this restaurant who seems to be acting oddly? Or anyone who appears overly interested in what might be going on in this room?
There was no reply. Where the warm buzz of Azriel’s thoughts usually was, there was only radio silence. I had no sense that anything was wrong—and I surely would have, given that we were now linked body and soul—so that could only mean he was somehow being blocked.