Jocelynn Drake - Dead Man’s Deal

“Two months, Gage,” Gideon said, picking up his earlier thread of conversation, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Bronx and I were standing there waiting to see if our lives were about to come to a messy end. I watched, barely breathing, as he tugged on the cuffs of his blue, collared shirt within the dark gray business jacket he was wearing. He could have been a banker by all appearances, with his shiny shoes, Rolex, and blue-and-gray-striped tie. The only thing missing was the wedding band on his left hand, but then warlocks and witches weren’t permitted to marry. I wondered if the missing ring bothered him, or his hidden wife.

“I seem to have fallen into a bit of trouble,” I admitted.

Gideon’s gaze drifted over to the house I had protected, his face expressionless. The occasional pixie slipped from its hiding place in the eaves to the nearest tree, thick with leaves that were only now starting to show the colors of autumn. “So I gathered. Your new job involves freeing pixies?”

“Not quite.”

“I gathered that as well,” he muttered, turning to walk toward Bronx’s Jeep. “Come along. I’m not going to kill you or your troll.”

I sighed, my shoulders slumping. Motioning for Bronx to accompany me, I walked over to where Gideon was standing beside the Jeep. It was somewhat larger than many of the vehicles people drove simply because it was one of several styles that had been enlarged to accommodate large creatures like trolls and ogres. The warlock peered into the passenger-side window, seeming curious about the interior.

“This is the one that works with you?” he said, straightening to look over my shoulder at Bronx. His expression was the same as when he was looking over the car, only mild interest but largely dismissive.

“Yes, he’s a good friend,” I bit out, but I stifled my irritation. The fact that he had deigned to notice Bronx at all was a compliment. In general, warlocks and witches considered any creature as beneath their notice. All the same, his manner was insulting.

“My name is Bronx,” my companion said in a smooth, even tone, betraying neither fear nor anger.

Gideon said nothing, so I spoke for him. “And this is Gideon, a dear friend. You’ll have to excuse him—the Ivory Towers don’t teach manners.”

“That would explain a lot,” Bronx replied, earning a shocking, surprised bark of harsh laughter from Gideon. I turned to find that the troll was looking straight at me, the butt of the joke. Ha. Ha. Ha.

“You … you seem very protective of Gage despite what he is,” Gideon said stiffly. “Are you worried about your job?”

I could hear the shrug in Bronx’s voice when he spoke. “Jobs come and jobs go. There will always be others. Gage is my friend and there won’t be others like him. I would prefer to keep him alive.”

“He’s a warlock.”

“And I’m a troll. He’s my friend not because of what he is, but because of who he is.”

Gideon’s tone grew hard, intent on pushing him. “He’s going to get you killed.”

Bronx smiled as he looked down at me. “Better him than cholesterol.”

To my shock, Gideon was smiling when I turned back to him, but there was a sad look in his eyes. “He reminds me of Ellen,” he whispered. “She says she’d rather die because of her association with me than because of boredom.”

My smile died before it could rise on my lips. Ellen was Gideon’s secret wife. He had shown me a picture of a pretty blond woman and their daughter, Bridgette, two months ago. If the Ivory Towers found out about Ellen or Bridgette, all three were dead, but Gideon would be killed only after he had watched his family ruthlessly tortured to death.

“Are they all right?” I demanded. Gideon’s eyes snapped to my face, as if he were waking from a dream. “Has something happened to them?”

Gideon wasn’t someone I would dare to call a friend. We had similar goals and ideas and we had both been brought up in the Ivory Towers, but that was where the similarities ended. Gideon had been a thorn in my side for years, a shadow chasing my every step. Even so, I couldn’t help but feel something for the man. Particularly since I had discovered that he had been protecting me.

“No, they’re both fine.”

“Safe?”

“Yes.”

“Hidden?”

“Not unless you drop it,” he growled.

I breathed a soft sigh of relief. “Then what are you doing here?”

“You mean other than because of your display?” he said, waving one hand at the house we had just left. Honestly, I had almost forgotten where we were and why we were even there. But then a pissed warlock standing in front of you made you forget about everything else.

“Well, you usually pop in, smack me around, threaten me, and then leave. This is an extended visit.”

“I came to warn you.”

And with that, all the joking was pushed aside.

Gideon was my main source of information on what was happening in the Ivory Towers. I may have left years ago, but I soon learned that I wouldn’t be able to safely turn my back on the group. Many of the witches and warlocks of the Ivory Towers had wanted me dead for leaving, and it seemed that despite the passage of time, that was still the prevailing sentiment. Gideon’s job wasn’t so much to make sure I didn’t break the agreement to not use magic as it was to come up with a reason to haul me before the council so I could finally be executed. Gideon was the only buffer I had between myself and death at the hands of the Towers.

“I might soon be removed as your guardian.”

My knees buckled, but I didn’t realize it until I felt a pair of large hands slowly lowering me to the ground. My mind was too busy trying to absorb the information that he had dropped on me. Gideon not my guardian? I was fucked. Totally, undeniably fucked.

Yes, Gideon was an asshole. He had taken pleasure in beating me and scaring me every opportunity that he had. But I wasn’t an idiot. I knew that I had given him plenty of opportunities over the years to drag me before the council. Hell, he had the council’s permission to kill me on sight if he caught me using magic. If anyone else had been tasked with watching me, I wouldn’t have survived my first year away from the Towers.

I’d gotten better, severely cutting back on my magic use. I didn’t absentmindedly flush the toilet with a wave of my hand anymore, but I still used magic and I would have to continue to use it until I got free of Reave.

“Why? What’s happened?” My voice was hoarse when I could speak. Bronx released his hold on my arms, but was hovering close.

Gideon paused and looked over at Bronx.

“Trust him!” I shouted. “He’s not going to run off and tell your secrets.”

“The Towers are in chaos,” he admitted in a rush. “While a body hasn’t been located, the general consensus is that Simon Thorn is dead, and with few exceptions, all fingers are pointing in your direction.”

Simon had been my mentor at the Ivory Towers. I’d left at the age of sixteen because of my hatred for their beliefs, and Simon wasn’t pleased with my decision. He tried to kill me, but I survived by some insane stroke of luck. The council let me live and leave, but Simon had never accepted the decision. When an opening on the council recently popped up, Simon decided to kill me so the blemish on his past was eradicated. He had failed and was now buried under a residential street in an extremely shitty part of Low Town.

“I doubt you’re going to find a body,” I said, and then glared up at Gideon. “You can’t tell me anyone is upset the bastard is gone.”

He shook his head, looking tired. “No. Some are pissed that you managed to kill someone from the Towers. Others were simply reminded that you’re still alive, and are focused on having you killed, legally.”