Bewitching The Dragon. Jane Kindred
“I suppose it was inevitable. And this is not your fault, Rafe. I just wish they’d sent an actual licensed investigator so we could find out how Carter’s doing this. If he’s communicating with someone on the outside, I don’t think we have a legal right to know.” She paused. “There must be some private investigators you work with through the Public Defender’s Office, Phoebe. Maybe there’s someone you can recommend?”
“Um, yeah, about that...”
“You might as well tell her, babe.”
Ione’s entire body went tense, like it used to when Phoebe’s high school would call to tell her legal guardian about her latest trip to the principal’s office. “Tell me what?”
“I don’t work for the PD’s office anymore. I quit my job to apprentice as a private investigator.”
Ione’s blood pressure shot through the roof. “You quit your job? You spent three years getting that law degree, Phoebe. Not to mention all the time you’ve spent putting in your dues. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking practicing law while having shades jump in and out of me at random is never going to stop being a conflict of interest. Not to mention awkward in the courtroom.”
“Can’t you just forbid the shades to bother you?”
“That’s not exactly how it works. And I happen to like helping them. We’ve been over this a hundred times. I’m not giving it up. Even if I could keep them out, I won’t.”
“I didn’t mean you shouldn’t help at all. It’s just...you’re a really good lawyer, Phoebe.”
Phoebe was silent for a moment, as if Ione had shocked her. “You’ve never said that before.”
“You already know you’re good at it. Why do I have to tell you?”
Phoebe sighed. “Anyway, I can always return to practicing law if this doesn’t work out. But right now I’d say it’s damn lucky I have my investigator’s license, because I have access to the prison visitor and communication logs at the Florence State Prison.”
“Oh.” Ione smiled reluctantly. “I guess that is lucky, then.”
“I’ll take a drive down there and see what I can find out.”
“I’ve strengthened the protection spell around Phoebe and around the house,” Rafe reassured Ione before she could object. “I can come over and ward the perimeter at your place, too, if you like. My wards have a little extra kick these days with the quetzal magic.”
“Why not?” A little extra protection couldn’t hurt.
* * *
Dev was starting to think certain members of the Council had given him this assignment on purpose to smoke him out. Rumors had surrounded his mentor Simon’s death and Dev’s part in it. There was no question that something unnatural had attacked them both, but no one had quite been willing to say “demon.” At least not aloud. And now some anonymous person was making accusations about demon blood and cleansing the Covent—and Dev was right in the middle of it.
He tried to shake off the disturbing events of the day as he headed back to his hotel. Documenting the impressions he’d gathered from the day’s interviews—and the peculiar turn of events that had cut them short, he’d ended up staying at the temple much later than he’d planned.
The temple itself was a curious combination of enchanting and repelling. The temporal and spatial glamour around it to keep the general public from prying was exceptional. He hadn’t even noticed the property as he’d approached this morning—though he’d been mesmerized by the landscape, which he supposed was part of the magic the glamour merely needed to draw from—until the white neo-Gothic spires had risen from among the damp rocks looking utterly out of place.
Despite the incongruous beauty of it, he’d felt the unpleasant residue of necromancy hanging in the air about the temple as he’d followed the twisting road to the small courtyard at the center of the labyrinth. No amount of stark, unearthly white stone had been able to mask what seemed like an almost visible muddy-gray pall. He’d thought then it was the negative influence of the necromancer and his high-priestess girlfriend, but now that he’d met Ione, Dev wasn’t so sure. Perhaps the person who’d left the note and the dead cat had been hiding somewhere on the property at the time. That might have accounted for it.
But he was done thinking about those gruesome images for today. There was ordinary enchantment all around him. He’d thought the view spectacular this morning, but he’d been preoccupied with the case. Or maybe it was simply more stunning this direction. Light rain fell like an afterthought on the pillars and domes of rock lining the highway. Their fantastic orangey-red hues struck a breathtaking contrast with the cerulean sky melting into a blend of indigo and violet—like the juice of a pomegranate running into the horizon. It was as if he’d driven off the highway into the land of the Fae, otherworldly and impossibly beautiful in a way he couldn’t even articulate.
Much like his impression of Ione Carlisle.
Dev groaned. Best to nip that kind of thinking in the bud. She was the subject of his investigation and nothing more.
He tried to steer his thoughts toward a safer target—the image of Kylie driving away on her motorbike last night, leather pants supple against the shapely arse on the seat—the arse he’d let slip away because he hadn’t been adequately prepared. He’d had no business starting something with her in the first place when it came to that. He’d gone to the pub to experience the local color, playing tourist before he had to face the drudgery of his assignment. But, despite the fact that she hadn’t been his type, he couldn’t get over the odd intensity of his response to her.
He felt like he’d taken the tiniest bite of enchanted Turkish delight before losing sight of the sleigh on which the White Witch of Narnia had ridden away, only to realize he’d die without another taste of that unearthly sweet.
Dev laughed. That sugary metaphor was Kur’s influence for certain. “All right, you miserable sod. Let’s go look for the White Witch.” At least it would get his mind off Ione Carlisle.
Ione had hit pay dirt. She rarely put on the glamour two nights in a row, as the magic could be both exhausting and addicting, but with Carter’s campaign against her escalating from petty harassment to disturbing threats, she was more determined than ever to find out who was helping him. Rafe had finished giving the wards around her place a final infusion of quetzal magic just before dusk, giving her just enough time to perform the glamour before heading to Bitters once more.
As soon as she’d arrived she’d struck up a conversation at the bar with an off-duty cop who bragged of connections with “certain important people in the community.” He’d promised to put Kylie in touch with “an interesting crowd” looking for fun girls like herself for the parties they hosted. The braggadocio, combined with his aggressively sexual behavior, seemed promising in terms of the sort of dirtball she was looking for. She’d even dropped a few names herself, mentioning how sad she’d been when her friends Barbie Fisher and Monique Hernandez—two of Carter’s unfortunate victims—had died this past summer.
As she flirted with him, however, a familiar deep vibration—like the hum of machinery buried miles underground, the beating heart of Fritz Lang’s Metropolis—struck Ione to the core. Without glancing up, she knew Dev Gideon had entered the club. Dammit. What was he doing here again? The answer, of course, was looking for Kylie. She had to admit, she’d probably made a hell of an impression.
“Fancy meeting you here.” The cultured British accent behind her sent a delicious shiver up her spine. Which was so not cool.
She turned, prepared to make some sort of smart remark about his natty, out-of-place suit, but the sight of the white T-shirt stretched