Shade for love, p.8
Shade for Love, page 8
Perfect frustrated candidates for the Guardians. Trouble he hadn’t anticipated.
“William, m’boy, is that you?” The too-chipper voice called.
Speaking of trouble… William’s neck and shoulders stiffened. Hell no. He should have known Not-Dog and the dragon weren’t enough for the Fates to throw at him. Something no one told you about having to deal with gods who’d granted you immortality on a whim was that when they decided to take an interest, they were harder to shake than flies on shit.
He debated walking on, but history proved the bastard would just follow him. He crunched down on his mint before turning on a slim figure in a well-fit blue suit, the god’s white hair and beard coiffed into ringlets, and yep, that predictable, clueless smile. “Hermes.” Sooner he confronted him, sooner this was over. “What are you doing in Beckwell?”
Hermes was all about the angle. His visits were obnoxious, but thankfully irregular. First time he’d showed up had been as William struggled to rebuild a life after the war, latching onto the Guardians as the purpose that would define him. Not that Hermes had cared. Still didn’t care when he reappeared a decade or so later in the sixties, after the attack that destroyed the office and killed Berta. He’d known his widowed, bossy, sweet secretary better than he’d known his fiancée, Marjorie. The last time had been five years ago, when William was licking his wounds after an old nemesis, Irene Doherty, had got the jump on him and nearly taken his head. He wouldn’t die easily, but he’d hurt plenty bad. Most things died when you chopped off their heads, presumably including him. Hermes’s presence was more salt than soothing balm.
Hermes had given immortality out randomly, as cheaply as candy at a parade. Not because William or his mother was somehow deserving, not because there weren’t too many other people and, worse, children fighting for life all the time. But because Hermes had been drunk and did it for the hell of it. Leaving William with the question of why him…and forced to try and create a reason for it, justification for his being. Judging by the whole “Abomination” thing, he’d done a shit job, too.
“No, hello? How’ve you been? Darn it, Hermes, you look great?” Nothing in Hermes’s tone suggested he expected anything but welcome in William’s life. He ironically considered himself a father-figure, despite that granting Mother’s prayers with an immortal child who looked nothing like her husband had soured that marriage quick. The god leaned forward and sniffed. “Still into cheap sweets I see.”
William gestured at the line-up. “Why the line-up? I thought you preferred cavorting with nymphs or whoever’s handy.” Although… Hermes connections could come in handy to find some nymphs for Cara. William scowled. An avenue he’d revisit if all his other leads flopped. Damned if he’d owe Hermes a favor.
“New opportunities, turning over a new leaf and all that,” the god said, his smile immune to William’s coldness. “One of the local church groups fired their old god and decided to advertise for a new one—something about not enough pizzazz for the modern era, I think. Or maybe it was because the god stopped answering emails?” He shrugged. “I thought I’d interview for the position. New worshippers are always good news in my line of work, all the faith energy and the like. Plus, it’d be nice to get away from Olympus, strike out on my own.”
“Yeah, I can see how spending thousands of years with your loving family might get tiresome.” William didn’t hide the bitterness in his tone, letting memories of his parents’ angry marriage, the deaths of every member of his family, too many friends, each loss as painful as the last, wash over him. Immortality wasn’t all strolling through the years and watching the decades flash by. It was loss and regret for gifts only mortals enjoyed. It was wondering why you’d lucked out when too many others had lives cut short.
It was why he’d made a name for himself protecting those with mortal blood and lives. They deserved to enjoy the privileges he never would.
Hermes’s smile faltered, and he glanced toward the opening door behind him. “You’d be surprised. Wish me luck, huh?”
Luck that might mean running into the negligent god around every corner? Not a chance. “Yeah. Sure. See you.”
William didn’t wait for the god’s reply but hardened his jaw and strode quickly toward the dining hall and Cara, his hands fisted at his sides. Just what he needed. Flipping Hermes hanging around. One more distraction.
Stepping into the windowed, sunny dining hall, his mood was like a cloak of doom as he gave the room the once over. Clutches of seniors sat at some of the tables still eating their breakfasts. At another table a group of women played poker, betting with various arcane objects tossed in the center of the table instead of money. So much for the magical object ban.
If not for Hermes, this might’ve been his life. He’d probably have married Marjorie, his sweetheart before the First World War…before he’d known what he was. Maybe they’d have had kids, had all of this. Normalcy, stability, the ending that made what’d come before all the sweeter.
Most of the time, he didn’t spare Hermes a thought. But running into him was like remembering a glass shard beneath a fingernail.
He rolled his shoulders, chest tight as the laughter and Cara’s voice drew his eyes toward the far corner of the room near the bank of windows. Her slim figure stood out among the ten or fifteen residents seated in front of easels and canvas, their subject another resident perched on a stool in the midst of them—one of the female residents he’d spotted yesterday flapping around the atrium with those gray leathery wings. Her wings now were folded gracefully behind her, her body clothed in a simple white robe.
Cara tugged him closer, like a lodestone leading him home. Didn’t matter how many times he tried to turn his thoughts to the mission, all he saw were her curves in the soft coral blouse, her ass delineated by the navy trousers. A queen moving among her subjects, she moved from student to student, sharing soft laughter, nodding her head as she listened, touching them gently as she’d offer some suggestion.
As though sensing him, Cara glanced up as he neared. She offered a tentative smile, her dark gaze sizing him up the way he had the dragon. She reached for her pendant, and his pulse quickened. She’d said it was a family heirloom, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t also a weapon. Or dangerous. Like that friend of hers, Dom, who’s name she’d called last night during the attack. Albert sure the hell had left out a lot of details. And seeing as he was avoiding Jenklow and the boys, it made uncovering details tricky.
Cara gestured toward a lone chair near the wall before returning to her students.
Some of her students, most of them women, blatantly stared. They whispered loudly, a few pointed.
He settled into the chair and crossed his arms, tuning out the whispers and the stares. No surprise there. These ones had obviously heard the stories, too, and unlike the police chief, actually expected fangs and other evidence of his depravity.
His focus was Cara. The happiness in her eyes, kindness in the curve of her lips, attention and care in the angle of her neck as she listened to her students. Really listened, in a way few people did. Jenklow and Einar had that gift, too, of making the person they spoke to feel privileged for the attention. Cara, though, offered love and acceptance with her gaze. He ought to know, having been the subject of it yesterday, during the wedding.
And later, when he’d made a damn fool mistake and almost tasted her.
If she could make you feel special with a look, a kiss would be unforgettable. Anything more, life changing.
Cara finished with the last student in the circle, a gray-haired man in a burgundy sweater vest. She hesitated a moment, smoothed her hands down her thighs, then strode quickly toward William.
Damn if his heart didn’t quicken, but he held out hope he’d developed an arrhythmia.
“Did you take Not-Dog to Gramps and the boys?”
He narrowly avoided wincing. “Not exactly,” he said slowly. “Not-Dog vanished.” Seeing as William didn’t need the next question to be about the Shades—and his avoidance of them—best to change the subject. “How have things been so far? No attacks or unexplained headaches?”
She crossed her arms. “Nothing unusual, other than you losing Not-Dog. I told you, I’m fine.” Another stroke of that pendant.
Much more of that and he’d end up jealous.
“I also had a chat with Doctor Quilan,” she continued. “He’s swamped and asked if I might stop by the refugee camp later. I thought…” She faltered, squeezed the necklace instead. “Maybe you wanted to go with me? Someone else offered to look into the nymphs, but I thought it might be good if we visited the refugee camp together, check for trouble.”
His insides tightened. He should have asked Hermes about nymphs. “Cara, I said I’d help—”
“You’re looking for nymphs?” one of the silver-haired women said, leaning around her canvas.
“Her grandmother’s people, if possible,” another woman said, a regal woman with dark skin and a brightly colored turban.
“Mrs. Cole,” Cara said to the woman with the turban, her face coloring. “I’m sure we don’t need to discuss—”
“Oh, well, she should meet the twins. Hotties, the two of them,” the first silver-haired woman said, ignoring Cara’s attempts to stop her, and beaming over her revelation. “They’re some connection to Ginny Lack’s husband—you know, that other Famine boy. They’re not Famine clan of course. They’re nymphs. No one’s supposed to know it, of course, but Sister Marguerite overheard Ginny talking to Piper—she’s Pestilence,” she explained, in case William didn’t know. “Well, Ginny was saying how one of the twins is a male nymph. It’s exceedingly rare, she said. Completely hush-hush.”
“That’s right!” Mrs. Cole said, throwing her hands up. She turned to Cara apologetically. “I knew he and his sister were nymphs, but they’re so frequently out of town on paranormal peacekeeping missions on the other side of the world. They stop through here to visit the Derths.” She, too, turned to William to explain, “That’s the Famine horsewoman and her husband, dear.” Then turned back to Cara. “Nahla and Caspian Sarasvati. That’s who you need. Not hard to spot since they are usually the most attractive people in the room.”
Poor sap. So much for a secret. Everyone in town knew Caspian was the ultra-rare male nymph…and gods help him if the Guardians found him. Didn’t have to know much about nymphs to know males were highly sought-after for stud. William re-considered Cara’s students. With their connections, these were potential informants.
Cara’s attention, however, her expression pinched, was on the table of loudly cheering poker players across the room. “Dang.” She gestured at him. “Did you see what the women over there were gambling with?”
“Not money.”
Cara strode toward the poker game. “That’s what I was afraid of.” Distractedly she turned back to Mrs. Cole and the rest of her students. “Everyone, please continue with your sketches. Yes, this is my husband. Yes, he’s new in town. He doesn’t have any idea what shenanigans you all get up to, so let’s all pretend to be nice for a few days, okay? We’ll ease him into the truth gradually. Be right back.” Then, below her breath, “After I prevent another firefight in the lobby with those illegal magic objects.”
She hurried away amid the chuckles of the group. When she reached the table, action started with angry gesturing that devolved into pleading on the residents’ part. Soon they’d reached divvying up of the pot. Cara never raised her voice, but quickly, they all stood as she pulled out chairs, pushed walkers close, caught a falling cane.
She obviously had everything in hand. He turned back to the ladies, pulled his mint tin from his pocket, and offered it. “Do you know where I might find the Sarasvati twins?”
Mrs. Cole raised a dark brow, taking a mint and swishing it in her mouth, considering him. “Young man, to be clear, we know who you are. We’ve heard the stories about the legendary William Best, savior of the underdog, bringer of dark justice…and occasional stirrer of trouble. We don’t need trouble in Beckwell, and especially not for our Cara. You planning on causing trouble for either the Sarasvati twins or Cara?”
He straightened, tucking away his mint tin. “No, ma’am. I’m not.” If trouble found him, that was another story.
“Hmm.” Lips compressed, her doubtful expression confirmed she didn’t buy it. She looked past William.
He followed her gaze.
Cara had broken up the poker tournament, returning with one of the former players. Cara carried an ungainly confiscated bag, heavy with the pot, including long wizard staffs protruding from the bag.
He turned quickly back to the ladies. “All I want to do is protect towns like this. And people like Cara. Especially Cara.”
Another long glance from Mrs. Cole.
Cara would be here any second, but he kept his gaze steady, tried to appear harmless.
At last, Mrs. Cole spoke. “Most days they’ve been helping out around the refugee camp, helping the doctor’s assistant, Mr. Frizzly, with getting folks into better accommodations. You’ll find them there.”
“Thank you.”
He took the heavy bag from Cara, setting it against the far wall with other supplies while Cara got her new student settled and addressed her class.
“I hope everyone behaved themselves. If you’re really nice, William’s promised he might pose for our session on the nude figure,” she said, giving him a wink.
A few of the ladies hooted and whistled appreciatively. Maybe they wanted to see if he hid evidence of evil beneath his clothes.
Still, the light in Cara’s eyes, the challenge in her raised brow nudged something inside him. That old part that used to bring flowers home for Mother, that dreamt of having a home and family of his own one day. He’d had plenty of time getting comfortable with his body. Would Cara still have that teasing light in her expression if he called her on that dare and stripped down?
Heat rushed through him, reminding him that technically this was his wife.
The wife he’d married to stay close, to physically control her if necessary, whatever it took to get her away from the Guardians. A needed icy chill killed his lust.
Cara turned back to her class, missing his temporary brain malfunction. “I’d like to remind you all of the notice that went out three months ago restricting ownership, use and gambling of magical objects. We all know how the last time they were used turned out. They think it may still be three months before the music room will be usable again.”
There were some more whispers about this, a few snickers, too.
Cara continued. “All right then. Let’s finish up our paintings.”
He settled back in his chair to observe and wait for when they could leave for the refugee camp, find the nymph twins…for when he could uncover more of Cara’s secrets. Gods help him if they led straight to the Guardians, and protecting this town meant hurting her.
Chapter Eleven
Normal Need Not Apply
The morning zipped past, and Cara finished her three art sessions—two for the residents with the beginner session in the morning followed by more advanced techniques, then the one open to the public. She loved teaching as much as she loved painting and seeing the joy of creation on her students’ faces was always an energy boost. It was barely noon; the dining hall was loud and clattering with trays and residents…and William was at her side. Talk about another boost. He’d stayed through all three workshops, except for a brief phone call, which he’d politely taken in the hall outside. He didn’t paint, he didn’t ask questions or interrupt, his large, muscular body just there, observing, handing out supplies, cleaning up messes, anticipating her needs in a way that was strangely sweet yet awakened an electrical charge inside. Her classes were a solitary venture, but the help warmed her insides and kept prompting a stupid smile.
She glanced at William, muscles flexing in his back, tush cute in those khakis as he finished folding the easels and putting them away while she cleaned the paint sets a few creative kids had thoroughly mixed. They worked companionably, like they’d done this hundreds of times, not like she’d married him yesterday.
His actions made him sweeter, sexier, which wasn’t helpful. Not when she needed to focus on finding nymphs and Dom, getting back to normal. Continue to prove her value to Beckwell and the Shades. That started with finding the nymphs and faking her way through a walk-through in the refugee camp without Dom’s help.
She straightened, having tucked away the last of the paints and the paintbrushes, and found William likewise surveying his completed work, hands on his hips, only emphasizing those beautiful, broad shoulders. Damn, but she’d always been a sucker for a hot guy with broad shoulders.
He turned and caught her full-ogle, raised a brow. “We ready to head out?”
She burned hot as the sun, spinning away to reach for her coat and slip it on. “Sure. Just give me a second to drop off some things at the clinic for Doctor Quilan.” She knelt and did the deadlift her “emergency bag” required—a padded bag with pouches inside that held her most commonly needed potions. It sure was an emergency today, since without Dom, that was all she had.
During one of the breaks between the classes, she’d flipped through the files, recognizing the names of regulars. One needed a wing liniment because the muscles in paranormal wings got sore and required different care than human muscles. Some anti-sun solution for a vampire. More 460SPF sunblock for the medical assistant, Frizzly, who, as a troll, turned to stone if exposed to sunlight. Not especially convenient when he’d been outside a lot, helping organize and find shelter for the refugees. Someone had to tame that chaos, and with the Four dealing with larger issues like national human-paranormal relations, well, he was it, and knowing he’d be running low, she’d had a new batch mixed up and ready last week. Again, the idea that Jessie was building houses for paranormals sounded like it had potential. She could mention it to the Shades…or shoot Jessie a quick text.
