The Witch Thief (Harlequin Nocturne) (17 page)

Through the peephole she could see two men in hotel uniforms. One pushing a room-service cart, the other with a hanging bag draped over his arm.

Her magic ready, in case it was a trap, she opened the door and stood to the side for the men to enter. They were in and out within minutes. The entire time the dragon didn’t stir, not even when she fumbled through his discarded clothes looking for something she could pass off as a tip.

Two bags of gold powder seemed to do the trick. As the employees left happy, if confused, she snapped the door shut behind them and hurried back into the room where hopefully new clothing awaited.

Joarr had moved. He was sitting now, propped on a pillow, his chest bare and his gaze following each of her movements. Her hand on the hanging bag, which the valet had left on a chair, she stilled.

“Not hungry?” he asked.

She pushed the cart toward him. “You go ahead. I need to…shower and change.” And escape. She needed to escape. Her time with Joarr was changing her, weakening her.

He flung his legs over the side of the bed. They, like his chest, were bare. The covers hid his midsection, keeping her from knowing if the rest of his body was similarly unclothed. She dropped her gaze to the bag’s zippered closure. With it open, she pulled new outfits from inside.

Joarr’s was white, of course, and of fine material—dress pants and a sweater. She laid them on the foot of the bed and turned back to the bag. She expected another fancy dress, in white, or something else fitting what was obviously Joarr’s taste. Instead she found jeans and an embroidered peasant blouse. The material was higher quality than her own had been and the embroidery hand-stitched, but it was her—everything she loved and would have chosen for herself.

She crumpled the clothing in her hands, not sure how to react.

“You didn’t seem comfortable in the other,” Joarr murmured. “Is this better?”

Better? Perfect.

Amma nodded.

He was out of bed, standing beside her. She hadn’t heard him move, but there was no missing him now that he was only inches away.

He ran a hand down her arm. Heat flowed into her, through her. “Go shower. I’ll keep your food warm.”

And she did. She ran. At least in her mind she was running. She was fairly certain her body left the room at a semi-reasonable pace.

Once inside the bathroom, she turned on the water and willed her mind to slow. It was okay. She could handle this. If she ran away now, she’d leave with Joarr and the dragons still having a claim on her baby.

Perhaps Fafnir didn’t have the chalice. Perhaps the notes had just been ploys to lure a dragon to him, but she didn’t know that yet. She had to find out.

The image of Fafnir licking blood from the dragon corpse’s wound flitted through her mind, causing her to shiver.

It couldn’t be safe for Joarr to face the dwarf.

She should convince him to give up, to forget the chalice and return to his stronghold—but he wouldn’t. She’d seen his face. It wasn’t just about the chalice anymore.

And she still needed the dragons’ cup to seal their bargain.

So, what to do? Fafnir was their only lead. She had to talk to him. Then she could leave and let Joarr seek his revenge or not, let him endanger his life or not. She couldn’t worry about that, couldn’t let herself.

* * *

Joarr leaned against the bed’s headrest. He’d let Amma talk him into allowing her to go to the club alone tonight—or let her think she had. He, of course, didn’t plan to let her visit with Fafnir alone and unprotected.

She’d argued that she could get close to the dwarf without him becoming suspicious, learn if he truly had the chalice and, if not, what his game was.

Her plan was a good one, but it didn’t meet with Joarr’s satisfaction. Not even slightly.

The dwarf and his dragon-blood-drinking habits were Joarr’s problem, his danger to face.

He wouldn’t let Amma face the dwarf alone.

But she had been adamant, so adamant, he’d had to wonder at her motive. She’d been with him, seen the dead boy in his dragon form. If the dwarf could down a dragon in his youth, what could he do to a witch?

Unless the witch knew she had nothing to fear…unless she was working with the dwarf.

Despite their lovemaking and despite the fact that he was in danger of falling for her, Joarr couldn’t put aside the suspicion. Amma was too eager to get back to the club, too eager to talk with Fafnir. And Joarr couldn’t believe winning one piece of his treasure would motivate her that surely.

There had to be something else going on.

And if there was, if he discovered she was involved in the deaths of these dragons…want her or not, love her or not, she would have to be destroyed.

Chapter 16

D
ressed in her jeans and peasant top, Amma didn’t blend in tonight, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to blend in; she wanted the dwarf to spot her.

But he wasn’t at the door tonight; the dwarf Regin was. Amma didn’t let that stop her, didn’t play around like she had the previous evening. Using her magic, she cleared a path through the crowd.

This dwarf was thinner than Fafnir, more wiry, but there was still a resemblance between the two. Brothers, she decided.

She held her hands in front of her and let him see the magic dancing between her fingertips. “I’m here to see…” She hesitated. Who to ask for? Why was she here, really? “The Collector.” She locked her gaze onto the dwarf’s face, watched for a reaction. The dwarf who had delivered the second note had mentioned the Collector’s treasure, but that didn’t mean he was here. If he wasn’t, it would up the odds the entire thing was a ruse.

Uncertainty flickered in the dwarf’s eyes. He shifted from one foot to the other.

She smiled and lowered her hands, dressed herself in confidence. “We’ve done business before. I’m thinking perhaps we can again.”

The dwarf glanced over his shoulder, into the bar.

Amma tilted her head to the side. “As I said, I’m hoping we can do business again. I have access to a number of rare items. But if you think he wouldn’t be interested.” She turned as if to leave.

The dwarf jumped in front of her. “No.” His eyes shifted from side to side as if searching for his best response. “I mean, I’ve not heard of this Collector, but if you believe he is here…I can ask.”

“That,” Amma replied, “would be lovely.” She walked past him and into the bar.

He scurried after her.

She didn’t speed or slow her pace, just walked confidently toward the stairs. There she waited. “Upstairs?” she asked, once the dwarf had caught up with her.

Looking unsure again, he nodded. “I can take you to a room. Then ask around.”

“Yes, that sounds like a plan.” Her adrenaline pumping, she followed him up the stairs. Could it be this easy? After all of this, could she simply meet with the Collector and offer him some trade for the cup?

Once on the main floor the dwarf motioned for her to follow him to one of the boards. He signaled to someone Amma couldn’t see, and the board lowered.

He hopped onto the narrow piece of wood. Barely holding on to one of the ropes, he waved for her to follow his lead. Her gaze latched onto the rope and followed it up, to the ceiling three stories above them.

The dwarf frowned. “You want a meeting. You have to go to a room.” He pointed to one of the jagged overhangs she’d noticed during her last visit.

Amma shook her head. She wasn’t afraid of heights, not anymore. She’d flown with Joarr and been fine, invigorated by it even. But that was different. That had been with Joarr.

The dwarf tapped his foot. “If you won’t—” His gaze focused on someone across the room. He cursed.

Amma followed his line of sight. Fafnir stood by one of the bars talking with another dwarf. His hands were moving erratically, and even from this distance, Amma could hear a few of his words.

“Not…enough…need description.”

Amma spun, putting her back to Fafnir. Gulping in air, she stepped onto the board.

* * *

Joarr stood outside the club. Amma had made it inside easily.

Too easily?

Why had she chosen the direct approach tonight when last night she’d been so insistent on stealth?

As a rule, dragons didn’t favor stealth. Yes, sometimes it was necessary to shield themselves in fog so as not to arouse unwanted notice—but in an attack? There was so little to threaten them they almost certainly chose the direct approach.

Of course, perhaps three dragons were dead because of that.

He let out an annoyed breath. He didn’t like the direction his thoughts were headed.

If Amma was working with Fafnir, he needed to know. And if he attacked directly, he couldn’t. Also, satisfying as storming into the club and blasting the dwarf to roasted bits would be, it would not get him the chalice.

But if Amma was working with the dwarf, Joarr needed a disguise to keep her from spotting him. He glanced at his pristine pants. Fingered the fine wool they were made of.

She would not miss him dressed like this.

With one last sigh, he turned and disappeared back into the alley—to shift and change.

* * *

Amma teetered on the narrow board. She was thankful Joarr had thought to include real shoes with her outfit and she wasn’t trying this circus trick wearing the high-heeled boots from the night before.

The dwarf beside her had waved for their board to be lifted as soon as she had stepped onto it, but she could tell his attention was still on Fafnir.

“Your brother?” she asked.

He glanced at her, surprised.

“There’s a resemblance,” she explained, hoping he’d buy her switch from confident wannabe trader to interested patron.

The dwarf grimaced. “It’s his job to work the door. He goes missing every time Dad’s back is turned.”

Dad…the Collector?

She smiled and tried to look trustworthy. “I have sisters. Siblings can be difficult.”

He snorted in agreement then without warning picked up one leg and spun out so only one foot was on the board and one hand held the rope. The board turned with him.

“Don’t know who he’s talking with,” he muttered. “If he isn’t careful I’ll tell Dad what he’s been up to when he’s out of town. Where I’ve caught him a time or two.”

Clinging to her rope, Amma didn’t reply. The floor was far below now. The air was warmer here—heat from all the bodies below rising. Sweat beaded between her breasts. Again she thought of Joarr. When near him she craved heat, but his heat was different, comforting, while this was cloying.

The board jerked and swung another direction. Their upward speed increased. Amma slipped; her arm jerked in its socket as she gripped the rope. Her hand ached.

They were approaching one of the jagged outcroppings now. A few more feet and she’d be able to jump up and grab the edge—not that she would. Her fingers wouldn’t release their hold on this rope until the board was squarely sitting on solid ground.

The dwarf waved his hand and the board swung wide, again without warning. It stopped ten feet from the nearest overhang—thirty-some feet above the concrete floor of the club.

Amma swallowed.

Still holding on with only one hand, the dwarf stared at her. There was a new glint in his eyes. “How do I know you’ve dealt with the Collector before?”

“He… I… Why would I lie?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but I have another question for you. How well do you know my brother?” A short sword had appeared in his hand and it was pointed at Amma’s throat.

* * *

Like Amma, it had been easy for Joarr to enter the club tonight. No one had been at the door to stop him. He’d just followed the line of humans freely traipsing inside.

As he walked, he listened to the talk around him.

“Better hurry. Fafnir could show up anytime. Or worse, Regin.”

Fafnir, Joarr knew. Regin he assumed was another dwarf, most likely the one who had escorted Amma inside.

He tapped on the shoulder of the human who had said the last. “And where would Regin be? Since he isn’t at the door?”

The man shrugged. “Beats me. But if you see him coming, go the other way. Fafnir’s crazy, but Regin…” He shook his head. “He means business.”

A fist grabbed Joarr’s heart. “A woman I know was with him, petite, blonde. Did you see her?”

The man’s eyes widened. “Regin? Doesn’t sound like him. He’s all business, man. Your girl have some business with him?”

Did she? That was one reason Joarr was here.

Without replying he made his way to the stairs.

* * *

“Your brother? Why would I know your brother? I told you I was here to see the Collector.”

The dwarf’s blade tapped Amma under the chin; she felt a sting as it sliced into her skin. Her gaze slid to the open space below them; power thrummed through her body, made it hard for her to hold on. Under normal circumstances, she would have blasted the little man, but here, dangling so far above the ground, she was afraid she’d lose her grip and tumble to her death.

He tapped her again. “No one comes here to see the Collector. The Collector doesn’t do business here. And I saw you look at my brother. Are you working for him? What have the pair of you plotted?” The sword dug deeper into her flesh. She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t move. She was barely able to breathe.

She shifted her gaze to the club floor and saw Joarr.

She didn’t know how she recognized him. He wasn’t dressed like himself at all, wasn’t dressed like he had been the night before, either. His hair was blue and he appeared to have put on one hundred pounds.

It was his eyes, she decided. That blue was hard to hide, as was the fire that blazed from behind them.

She smiled. Joarr was here. His appearance, especially in disguise and after acting as if he agreed with her plan to approach Fafnir alone, could mean he didn’t trust her. But he was here and suddenly she wasn’t afraid any longer.

She let go of the rope and held out both arms. “I said I was here to see the Collector, but if you are going to be difficult about it—” She unloosed two streams of power and blasted the dwarf in the chest.

He saw it coming and lunged toward her, but she stepped backward off the board.

It was an insane thing to do, or would have been, if she hadn’t been so inexplicably sure Joarr would keep her safe.

She fell feetfirst, dropped like a torpedo, her hands pointing up above her head. She didn’t let herself feel fear. She concentrated on the sensation of falling instead, the power of the wind pulling at her clothes and the screams from the people below. Her eyes were open and she could see the world going by, saw the dwarf who had threatened her grab another board and cling there, his sword still gripped in one hand. The look on his face, shock, made her move worthwhile—or would if things played as her heart told her they would.

Then there was a roar and she closed her eyes. More screams from the humans below and warmth flooded through her. Her feet hit something solid. She bounced onto her side, grabbed with her hands.

Scales.