Robin Owens - Enchanted Again

Hartha lifted and dropped her shoulder. “Young. Not too much more than his third decade.”

“His uncursed life span could be sixty more human years.” Tiro rubbed his hands. “I will gain my independence much sooner than I thought. She will lift the curse and die.”

There was a terrible high-pitched buzz in the room that would drive Rafe crazy if he had to work here. The back of his neck prickled as if someone were watching him. He glanced out the main window, saw the Tesla and other parked cars, and no one on the street. The spot between his shoulder blades tingled—and that was his main warning signal.

He wanted out of the room, out of the building, hell, out of the States. He could be snowboarding in Vancouver. Nah, he was ready for spring. But somewhere else.

He wanted Conrad out of the place, too.

Amber was paler than yesterday, as if she’d had a shock. Not his problem.

Rafe shifted his shoulders, rubbed the back of his neck, and followed Conrad’s stare to a corner of the room that seemed to blur. No. Of course not.

Conrad swallowed, but then his mouth hung open. Rafe took a step and jostled him. No man should look so clueless in front of a threat. And despite her truly excellent figure showcased in a red knit dress, Amber Sarga was a threat.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t help you—”

Conrad choked and crumpled, panting. Rafe grabbed him and steered him toward one of the chairs that he half fell into.

Amber poured a cup of black coffee and put it on the table in front of him. Conrad plunked the mailing tube he was carrying onto the table. “I…brought…my…family…tree,” he panted.

“I can’t.” But Amber’s voice wavered. She looked at the strange blurry corner. Conrad rubbed his eyes and his temples, scrubbed his face. Rafe blinked to clear his vision. Nothing there.

“Please, we know you’re a curse breaker. I’m begging you, I need your help. If not for me, for my son.”

“What kind of curse is it?” Her voice was low and gravelly, full of satisfaction. Rafe shook his head. It hadn’t been her speaking.

Of course it had been.

“Like I said yesterday, in the Cymbler family, soon after we have a son, he disappears. We don’t meet him again until he is an adult. Shortly after that meeting, we die and it goes on and on and on and on and—”

Rafe put his hand on Conrad’s shoulder, squeezed it. “Drink your coffee.” He lifted his hand, moved to put himself between Conrad and Amber’s pitying gaze.

But she didn’t look as if she were pitying Conrad because of his delusional ramblings. She appeared terrified. No golden tan like Rafe had admired yesterday. She was unnaturally white.

Almost as if she believed in curses, too.

“I met m’ father. He told me of the curse.” Conrad hunched over the drink, lifted it trembling in his hands. Droplets of coffee dribbled down his cup, hit the table.

No, they didn’t. There was no wetness on the table.

There had to be. Rafe better get his eyes checked.

Conrad gulped from the mug. His hand found a paper napkin and he wiped his mouth, plunked his cup down and looked around Rafe to stare at Amber. “You know,” Conrad said quietly. “You know there are such things as curses, and you know how to break them.”

Amber stood, gazing at Conrad, still too pale. “You don’t know what you ask.”

Straightening, Conrad reached for the tube. “This is the Cymbler family tree. It’s five years out of date. Study it. You can see that what I said is true.” He glanced up at Rafe. “Rafe’s is there, too.” He jerked his head, indicating Rafe. “This is my friend, Rafe Davail. He’s cursed, too.”

Amber’s light pink lips moved. “I know.” Rafe didn’t actually hear the words.

“More coffee?” Conrad lifted his cup.

Amber moved to a side cabinet and reached toward a carafe. Rafe intercepted her. “I’d like some. I’ll do it.”

She stiffened and her body nearly brushed his. He could catch her scent and he recognized it, knew he’d never forget. Naturally it was the fragrance of crumbling amber. Dark. Musky. Dangerous.

Rafe poured himself a cup of coffee, stepped over and filled Conrad’s cup. Nope, not a drop of liquid on that table. He put the pitcher back.

Conrad drank, then cleared his throat. “I know there are rules to curses. Some sort of release or unbinding must be built into a major curse when it is invoked.” Conrad smiled but it wasn’t in amusement. He really believed this stuff.

Rafe strove not to.

Amber looked startled. She wet her lips. Color was coming back to her face, her lips were rosy now. “Yes?” she asked.

“The least you can do is follow my family tree back, see when the curse might have begun. I know you’re an excellent genealogist, can work back farther than others. I know you…have a special touch.”

Her whole body went stiff. It didn’t look good on her, she should always be supple. “I strive to give my clients satisfaction,” she said flatly.

“I’ve seen some of your reports,” Conrad said. “Incredible research and stories.” His eyes narrowed, and he drank more coffee. “Almost as if you were there.” His face went hard and Rafe was glad to see it. Conrad continued, “I’ll pay whatever you want for you to remove the curse on my son.”

“Conrad!” Rafe protested.

“And Rafe will pay whatever you want to remove the curse on me, even though he doesn’t believe in it.”

“I can’t do that,” Amber said.

“Then you look at my family tree and use your psychic gift to tune into the past and find out how I can break it.”

Rafe stared.

His cell rang and he pulled it from his pocket. “Ace Investigations.” He thumbed the speaker on.

“This is Herrera of Ace.” The prime investigator sounded tired. “We’ve found Marta Dimir and Dougie Tyne-Cymbler in Bakir Zagora.”

Conrad shot to his feet. Years dropped off him. “I’m outta here. I’ll be in Bakir Zagora by this evening.”

“Black Stream Hotel,” said Herrera.

“Wait!” Rafe said, blocking the door. Conrad shoved him away and ran through the lobby to the front door. Rafe knew he’d have to take the guy down to stop him.

“Rafe, take care of this business for me. Please.”

Rafe strode to catch up. “You can’t mean…”

Conrad grabbed Rafe’s shirt. “Look. I need all the help I can get.” He swallowed hard. “I feel like I’m in a war. I gotta go.”

“I understand that, but—”

“Never asked much from you, Rafe, but you need to fight for me on this front. Please.”

Chapter 4

RAFE LOCKED GLANCES with Conrad. Rafe didn’t know what to say, but time seemed to slow down and a chill touched his spine like the winter wind of mortality. Conrad was his best friend. Rafe had been hard on friends. Not even his brother wanted to be with him. Too bad, so sad.

And while he stood, Conrad shot out the door, into the Tesla and was gone. The way he was driving, he’d better watch for cops.

“Davail, you there?” That was shouted from his phone.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Keep an eye on Marta and Dougie. Conrad’s on his way.”

Herrera said, “I’ll need another man or two here in Bakir Zagora.”

“Money’s no object,” Rafe said.

“Right. Later.” The P.I. hung up.

When Rafe went back into the conference room, Amber had her arms crossed over her very fine breasts. Her expression was cool. “There are some things money can’t buy.”

Rafe shut the door hard behind him. He should go after Conrad.

But his friend had asked him to help him here. “Are we talking about ‘curse breaking’?”

“That’s right,” she said. “No amount of money on the face of the earth—”