Deception (13 page)

The elevator opened, and Agro stepped inside, pleased it was empty. A simple pleasure, but he was in the mood to celebrate. Soon he’d be partying with his witch.

“Ha,” he laughed, riding the elevator to the second floor.

When the doors opened, he stepped into the hallway and moved to the opposite wall, leaning against it as he waited for Guthrie to arrive with the witch’s room number. Several seconds later the elevator dinged, and Agro’s pulsed sped as he straightened.

The doors slid open to an elderly couple, and Agro’s lungs deflated, but he plastered a cordial smile on his face and gave them a polite nod. He tugged on his cuffs as he watched them walk away, his impatience flaring. Then he turned and nearly collided with Guthrie.

Agro swayed on his heels, but quickly found his balance. “Room number,” he demanded, recalling the elevator.

The doors opened, and Guthrie followed his boss inside. “427.”

Agro pressed the button for the fourth floor then paced around his lieutenant. “This is it. She’s not to slip away, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If she’s not alone, kill whomever she’s with.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if she tries to fight or flee, knock her out.”

Guthrie smiled and gave a nod. “Yes, sir.”

Agro glanced at his subordinate’s face then looked up, watching the number four illuminate. “You get too much pleasure out of that thought. If you kill my witch, I’ll castrate you then shove your testicles down your throat.”

“Yes, sir,” Guthrie soberly agreed.

The doors slid open, and the wizards followed the signs, quickly finding room 427. Agro took the doorknob and magically disarmed the locks, his heart nearly bursting from his chest. Then he took a deep breath and quietly entered the room.

The chamber was bathed in black, only a sliver of moonlight pouring through a crack in the curtains. Agro furrowed his eyebrows and moved further inside, searching for her aura, but the bed was dark. The bathroom to his right was wide open and empty.

“No,” he growled, flying to the bed. “Turn the light on.”

Light fixtures flickered to life as Agro reached the empty bed, its blankets neatly made. “No!”

He grabbed the covers and yanked them away, burying his face in the mattress as he filled his lungs over and over again.

“She hasn’t been here,” he hissed, flashing his gaze around the room.

“Someone’s been here,” Guthrie replied, heading for the desk.

He reached for a paper cup, and Agro leapt from the bed. “Don’t touch it.”

Guthrie retracted his hand, and Agro leaned over, breathing in the cup’s ambiance. It smelled of old coffee, the dregs of which lay stagnant at the bottom, but there was an underlying hint of femininity. “It’s not hers,” he simmered. “I’ve smelled her before. I’ve inhaled her lingering power, and it’s not here.”

Beside the cup, sat a stack of brochures, a notepad, and a crumpled piece of paper. Agro picked up the paper then smoothed it as he fanned out the pamphlets. Most of them boasted pictures of Seattle – the Space Needle and various museums, but three of them were guides for Lake Tahoe. He looked to the discarded note, finding contact information for eight different hotels in the Lake Tahoe region. The notepad was scrawled with various directions, all of them leading south.

“It’s a lie,” Agro whispered, struggling to breathe.

“Perhaps we’ve merely stumbled upon someone who shares her name,” Guthrie suggested.

“No,” Agro shouted, spinning around, and a gust of energy blew Guthrie onto the disheveled bed. “It’s a set up,” Agro raged on, shredding the contact list. “Belinos lied, and that son-of-a-bitch Caitrin was in on it. They sent me on a fruitless chase, and I took the fucking bait.”

Guthrie stood and straightened his shirt, making sure Silestra remained safely tucked up his sleeve. “You couldn’t have known, sir.”

“I should have,” Agro fumed, tearing away his shirt. “This isn’t the first time that family’s made a fool out of me.” He growled and burst the shirt into flames, but then he halted, his spine straightening with a chill. “Do you know what this means?”

Guthrie shrugged. “We’re back at square one?”

“No. This means they have her.”

Guthrie considered this then bobbed his head. “It would make sense.”

“She’s there,” Agro insisted, summoning his cloak as he headed for the door.

“She wasn’t there when we were,” Guthrie countered.

“She ran,” Agro explained. “They expected us and had a solid system in place.”

“So how do we break it?”

Agro paused in the entryway, his hand on the doorknob as he brainstormed tactics. “We’ll flush them out, then catch them fleeing.”

Guthrie squinted then cleared his throat. “That’s what we did last time.”

“No. I went straight for their lawn last time. This time I’ll surround the property and move inward.”

“We don’t have enough soldiers for that, sir. Only fifty or so if you include the pre-teens. It won’t give you the coverage you desire.”

“You’re right. We don’t have enough soldiers, but we will by tomorrow night. Are you familiar with the way I track my troops?”

“No, sir.”

“Fuck! I don’t have time for this, Guthrie.”

“My humble apologies, sir, but I’ve never been privy to such things. I’m not Farriss.”

“Indeed,” Agro conceded, trying to calm his pulse as he retrieved a scroll from his bag. “You’re smarter than Farriss, so I expect you to get this the first time I say it. Every troop of the Dark Elite has a map like this, and they’re all linked with a tracking spell. Each commander is required to mark their location, and when they do…” He unrolled the scroll and showed it to Guthrie. “…their coordinates will appear on here. Cast a reveal spell on the back, key word
Appalachia
, and you’ll find a color coded legend, along with the names of every commander and how many soldiers they supervise.” He rolled up the map and shoved it into Guthrie’s hands. “Find a hundred soldiers and bring them to our camp in the Clatsop State Forest. You have until midnight.”

Guthrie’s eyes widened. “That’s less than twenty-four hours.”

“And?” Agro challenged.

Guthrie unrolled the map and scanned it. Then he swallowed and met his boss’ stare. “I’ll see it done.”

“Yes you will. Any questions?”

“Just two.”

Agro narrowed his eyes. “Voice them.”

“May I have assistance? Three would suffice, from the soldiers waiting down the street.”

Agro raised an eyebrow, pleased by the question. Not only was Guthrie serious about getting the job done, he was smart enough to know the job wasn’t easy. “Take four. What’s the second question?”

Guthrie held up the scroll. “What are these troops doing?”

“Be more specific.”

“Their purpose,” Guthrie clarified. “What is it?”

Agro’s nostrils flared as his fingers curled into fists. “They’re waiting for my call. Do they need a higher purpose?”

Guthrie tilted his head, his gaze shifting toward the map. Then he cleared his throat and tucked away the scroll. “No, sir. To serve you is an honor. A hundred of your finest and I will meet you in Oregon at midnight.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Agro warned, opening the door.

Guthrie concealed himself as he crossed the threshold, and Agro scanned the room with burning eyes, cursing the charade and its masterminds.

“Their end is near,” he vowed, concealing himself as he left the facade behind.

Chapter 9

Layla awoke to the soft tickle of lips on her neck, satiny flesh kissing the sensitive spot below her ear. The lips separated as they crossed her jaw, and steamy air sent a chill down her spine.

She shivered as the lips found hers, parting them in a no-nonsense way, and her heart raced. Now that she was well, healed from head to toe, Quin was finally making his move.

She reached for his face, her hand heavy and numb like she’d been lying on it wrong; and her lazy lids drifted open, finding vivid shades of green and blue.
What in the hell?

Her lungs froze, a scream building in her diaphragm as she stared into Finley’s eyes, their oceanic depths glinting with pride as his lips pressed harder into hers. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Then her lungs burst with a painful shriek as she pushed, scratched and kicked. He rolled off her, and she scrambled out of bed like a guilty mistress busted by a gun-toting wife.

Heavy and disoriented, she stumbled in her race for the door, reaching for the knob too early, fumbling then yanking wildly, just like the stupid horror film girls who drove her crazy.

The door finally opened, and she ran with one purpose – get away from Finley. She didn’t know what was going on and didn’t have time to care. She didn’t even know where she was or where she was headed. She just went.

Her steps remained sluggish as she used a wall to propel herself down a hallway. Then she came to another door and flung it open, risking a glance over her shoulder as her soles found moist grass. She didn’t see Finley, but stopping didn’t cross her mind.

She looked forward, vaguely realizing she was on the coven’s lawn. Then she came to a jerking halt as her heart dropped into her stomach.

There, in the middle of the pristine clearing, bathed in dawn’s cloudy light, stood Tessa – the unfriendly witch Layla met at the bonfire with Finley. She was naked, her slender curves glistening with morning dew, and she was wrapped in Quin’s embrace, their lips passionately melded together as their auras raced.

Layla’s throat solidified as she dropped to her knees, the horrid world around her frozen in time. Her insides were frozen, too. No heart beat, no lung fluctuation, no discernable thoughts save for one. “No.”

Strong hands took her shoulders as Finley’s voice floated through her hair, echoing in her right ear. “I’m not looking so bad now, am I?”

Layla’s head pounded as burning tears blurred the heartbreaking scene, and her throat opened, making way for the bile charging up her esophagus.

Her body lurched as the vomit burst free, and Finley wrapped his arm around her. Coughing and crying, Layla twisted and lunged backward, and her shoulder blades hit something hard, knocking the air from her lungs as she dug her heels in and pushed.

Quin dove for the edge of the bed, catching Layla’s ankle in one hand as the other shot magic at her falling torso. He wasn’t fast enough, and he heard the air leave her lungs as her shoulder blades hit the floor.

Despite being breathless, her fight continued, and Quin lost his grip on her ankle as her legs propelled her across the room. A thud echoed through the chamber as her head hit the camouflaged baseboard, and Quin cursed as he leapt out of bed.

He knelt beside her, and her eyes popped open, bloodshot and unfocused, but huge and frightened.

“Hey,” he whispered, reaching for her face.

She slapped his hand away and scooted up the wall, flashing her gaze around the enchanted bedroom.

Quin curled his rejected fingers into a fist, trying to ignore the pain her slap inflicted on his heart, but he couldn’t prevent the stinging moisture it brought to his eyes. Taking a slow breath, he patiently waited for her gaze to return to his.

She raised a hand to her face, touching the vomit smeared across her cheek. Then she looked at Quin’s torso, which bore the brunt of the bile blast along with several scratches.

Quin reached for her again, but paused when she flinched and squirmed. “What’s going on, love? Are you sick?”

Her chest shuddered, and he thought she was going to vomit again, but she just dropped her face in her hands and sobbed.

Quin looked at the clock – three in the morning. “Do you want me to call Serafin?”

“No,” she wailed. “I’m not sick.”

“Then what’s going on?”

“You… Tessa…” She drew a choppy breath and hiccupped. “…kissing.”

“What?”

She lowered her hands, meeting his stare with pleading eyes. “Tell me you haven’t been with her, Quin.”

“Who?”

“Tessa.”

He had no idea who she was talking about. Then it hit him like a palm across the face, and he sighed as he bowed his head.

“You have,” Layla squeaked. “Are there any witches in Oregon you haven’t been with?”

“It was three years ago, and it wasn’t a relationship.” He looked up, his heart constricting under the weight of her sad expression. “What brought this on?”

“I dreamed you were kissing her.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, glancing over the aftermath of the nightmare. “That’s what all this is about? The vomit and fighting?”

Her shoulders shook as she buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I threw up on you.”

“Don’t be,” he whispered, dying to touch her.

“It was awful,” she hysterically went on. “First he was kissing me, and I thought it was you, but it was him, and I ran and found you kissing her…”

“Wait a minute,” Quin interrupted. “Who was kissing you?”

“Finley, and it was horrible, but nothing compared to the way it felt to see you kissing her.”