Lisa Shearin - Con & Conjure

I think my mouth may have fallen open. “You’re better at this than a goblin.”

“Why, thank you, Raine. What a lovely compliment.”

“I’m not sure I meant it as one, but I’m glad you’re on my side. So I take it I’ll be glamouring myself as an obnoxious little banker?”

Mago arched a brow.

“Hey, you called him obnoxious; I didn’t.”

“True. Yes, you will.”

“Do you have a scrying crystal with you to show me what he looks and sounds like?”

“Naturally.” Mago went to a suitcase on a stand in the corner of the room, peeled back a small section to reveal a padded and hidden compartment. He extracted a small box that would easily fit in my palm.

“I’ve never seen a crystal that small.”

“The advances in spy magic are indeed wondrous.” Mago handed it to me. “Take it with you and study it. You’ll be having a late lunch with him tomorrow at the Swan Song. Balmorlan had initially wanted to meet in the elven embassy, but I knew you weren’t about to set foot in that place again.”

I closed the box on the scrying crystal. “I’d really rather not. I’d also really rather not have to perform in front of the hoity-toity crowd at the Swan Song.”

Every high-ranking mage and Conclave bureaucrat had a favorite table at the Swan Song. If you were even going to try to make a reservation, you’d better have made sure the chief waiter recognized you and your name, otherwise there would mysteriously be no tables available at any time you wanted to dine. The Swan Song was all windows along the street side on Mid’s major thoroughfare. The owners wanted anyone passing by to see only the crème de la crème of magical society at their tables.

“Not to mention, I can look and sound like Symon Wiggs, but that doesn’t give me any knowledge of a criminal cartel, their money, or any banking knowledge, period.”

“Don’t worry, cousin. You have the perfect coach right here.”

“Uh, I’m a quick learner, but I don’t think—”

Mago’s dark eyes sparkled. “You don’t honestly believe I would let you have all the fun?”

“You’re going with me?” I asked hopefully.

“Of course. Balmorlan has never met Symon Wiggs in person. Plus, it’s perfectly normal for men such as Symon to bring along a colleague as a witness—or protection—when dealing with less than savory characters. Besides, I wouldn’t miss seeing you out in public with . . .” He wiggled his fingers downward. “Now, what did Phaelan say you called them?”

“Dangly bits.”

“Oh yeah, dangly bits. I wouldn’t miss that for the world. No worries, Raine. After my incomparable tutoring, that meeting will be the most fun you’ve ever had with your clothes on.”

That night, I had the most fun I could have with my clothes off.

When I’d told Mychael that I’d be meeting with Mago and Taltek Balmorlan the next day, he hadn’t reacted quite the way that I’d expected.

I nestled against his bare chest and smiled. Actually all of him was bare.

“What is it?” Mychael murmured.

He must have felt me smile. His words rumbled in his chest and against my ear. Nice.

I snuggled closer. “You took my meeting better than I thought you would. I should have more meetings.” I raised my head so I could see his eyes. “Is this the way you’re going to react every time I do something dangerous?”

Mychael smiled sleepily. “You didn’t like it?”

“Oh, I liked it; I just don’t understand it.”

“I don’t want to lose you.” He gently pushed the hair back from my face, his fingers lingering on my throat. “So anytime you do something where you might get hurt, I’m going to do this beforehand.”

“Send me off to my doom with a big grin on my face?”

Mychael’s hands did some delicious things under the covers. “Something like that.”

The sparkle in his eyes told me he wanted to do it all again. I started to say something, but Mychael closed his lips on mine and I suddenly had no idea what I’d been about to say.

“Sneaky tactics,” I said when he let me come up for air.

“I never claimed to play nice.”

I ran my fingers lightly down his taut stomach, and Mychael’s breath caught in response. “I noticed that,” I murmured, “and I want to say that your behavior has my complete approval.” My hand moved up to his chest and stopped. “So, what do you think of Mago and me meeting Balmorlan at the Swan Song?”

Mychael gave me a level look. “It doesn’t matter because what I think won’t change your mind.”

“No, it won’t. It can’t. Believe me I’m not chomping at the bit to sit across a table from Taltek Balmorlan unless I get to stick a piece of cutlery in him. Mago’s got a good plan; better still, it lets me play a big part in taking Balmorlan down—even though I have to glamour myself as a man.” I smiled up at him. “Will you still love me when I’m a short, scrawny, pompous jerk?”

Mychael made entirely too much of a show of thinking it over. I took a pillow and let him have it. He wrestled the pillow away from me and let me have it. Wrestling, tickling, and giggling followed. I was the giggler; Mychael was the tickler. Mostly. I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his head down to mine, capturing his lips and taking my sweet time with a long, deep kiss. That put a stop to the tickling.

“I’ll know it’s you underneath that pompous banker exterior,” Mychael said when I let him up for air, his voice husky. “So I might not be able to control myself.” His lips curled in a slow, wicked grin. “I might just have to kiss you right in the Swan Song.”

“Oooo, I’ve never been kissed there before.”

“Then I’ll have to change that.”

I looked up into his eyes. “You’re going to be there, aren’t you?”

His lips were on my throat. “Closer than you ever imagined.”

“You’re as good with a glamour as I am. Nothing you’d show up as would surprise me.”

“Not nearly as good. I have to stay the same sex that I was born as.”

“And I can’t tell you how glad that makes me.”

Mychael laughed. “I think you just did.”

“You did say your walls are soundproof, right?”

“They’ve never been tested to your extent.”

My eyes widened. “Then the Guardians outside your door could be—”

“Envious as hell,” Mychael finished for me.

Crap.

“How many of your ‘envious as hell’ Guardians will be at the Swan Song tomorrow?”

“Enough.”

“Enough for . . .”

“Whatever trouble you manage to kick up.”

“And if everything goes perfectly to plan?”

“Then they’ll be envious and stunned.”

“Here’s hoping for stunned.”

I piled the pillows on my side of the bed against the headboard and sat up against it, pulling the sheet up with me. Talking about tomorrow had made me think about Mago, which led me to my family, which made me think about criminals, which led to Rache Kai. Thinking about Rache effectively pulled the plug on my playfulness.

Mychael didn’t know the landing place for all my mental gymnastics; he just saw that I’d covered up all of my toys. He got the hint that playtime was over, or at least suspended for the time being, and sat up in bed next to me. The seconds ticked by and neither one of us said a word. Mychael probably knew what was wrong. I definitely knew what was wrong. I also wasn’t about to be the one to bring it up. I didn’t want to talk about it, argue, or analyze it—all I wanted was for it, namely Rache, to go away. Preferably without killing anyone.

The knowledge that Rache was on Mid and Mychael knew that he’d once been engaged to me was kind of like a dragon hulking in the middle of the room. You could try to ignore it, but that didn’t change the fact that it was there, it was big, and it wasn’t going anywhere.