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Levian waved her hand to conjure up a new bottle of bubbling pink fae wine in front of Barith’s nose. “Have another drink, and shut your drooling maw. The grown-ups are speaking.”
The dragon sneered at her barb but tossed his empty bottle to the floor and took up the new one. Levian rubbed her temple. She’d been no doubt hoping Barith had forgotten their bet, but the dragon would forget his own name before he forgot a bet of that size.
The mage focused on Sirus again. “What exactly were the terms of your contract?” she asked, frustrated.
“I must keep Gwendolyn out of zephyr hands.”
Levian looked into the fire. “I don’t know who is more tedious, this bloody waste of good wine,” she said, pointing to Barith, “or a vampire hell-bent on lying to my face.”
“It’s no lie.”
“No?” she challenged with a withering glare. “Several of the fae kingdoms, not to mention the Council of Mages, would happily take the woman off your hands at the slightest whisper that the zephyrs’ High Priestess thought her to be of interest, even if they had no idea why. Especially after that public spectacle in New York. You know this. And I know how much you find this type of work a chore. I also know that if someone roped you into such an odious task as playing hero, you wouldn’t be willing to waste more time than was required. You could literally drop her on any number of doorsteps and your contract would be satisfied, but instead you are asking my advice, which leads me to deduce there’s more to this than you’re telling. You don’t want just anyone to have her. Why?”
He’d sworn to Marcus he would keep the object safe and hidden as part of their contract. Keeping Gwendolyn out of zephyr hands by tossing her to the whims of one of the other magickal factions was far from a solution. He needed to find somewhere to tuck her away, but he wouldn’t save Gwendolyn from the frying pan only to throw her into the fire. Perhaps, to the mage’s credit, he might have at the beginning, but not now.
“She foretold of our meeting,” he offered, finding Levian’s gaze.
The mage’s eyes widened with curiosity. “How?”
“A dream.”
She tapped her fingers along the edge of her glass again. “Seeing you in a dream doesn’t mean she has foresight, though it is interesting.”
“She was dreaming about you?” Barith scoffed. He grunted. “That’s more a nightmare I’d think, poor lass.”
Sirus ground his teeth.
Levian rose from her seat to pace. “What do you know of her family?”
“She’s estranged from her parents, but I know nothing of their origin.”
The mage twisted her face in thought. “She’s mortal, yes?” Sirus nodded. “So her parents couldn’t have been creatures of pure magickal ilk,” Levian went on. “One of them must have been human, or at the very least half human. Did she give any other details of her dream?”
“No.” He’d not asked, though he’d very much wanted to.
Levian downed her glass and licked the traces of wine off her lips. “I’ll find out what I can, but I make no promises.”
She made it all sound like it was going to be wildly inconvenient. Sirus knew better. Levian was self-absorbed, but she loved to unravel curiosities. Gwendolyn was the exact kind of mystery the mage would throw her full attention into when bored and in need of a project.
With a flourish of silk, she spun to stumble back to her chair. As she did, that familiar sense of something edged along his senses again. Sirus tried to focus on it but felt the heavy presence of magick diluting his efforts.
“What are you hiding?” he growled. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so quick to trust her.
Levian cocked a brow, and the corners of her lips turned up into a wolfish grin. “Finally noticed, have you? Honestly, I was as suspicious as you were when you first arrived. I thought she was the reason you’d come. It seems we were both wrong in our assumptions.”
“Who?” Barith asked.
Recognition struck Sirus like a punch to the face. Levian smiled. “Perhaps we should both start believing in coincidence after all,” the mage mused, ignoring the dragon.
* * *
Sirus took the stairs four at a time. When he reached the top, he froze. Niah stood just inside the doorway to Gwendolyn’s room, peering in casually with her arms crossed as she leaned against the frame.
“I wondered how long it would take you to sense I was here,” she said in a hushed tone, not taking her eyes off the room.
Unlike Sirus, his sister looked like the vampires Gwendolyn probably knew from modern culture. She was fair in complexion and looked even more opaque due to her penchant for dark clothing. Her hardened demeanor was at odds with her youthful, round face, which was sprayed with a dusting of soft brown freckles over her nose and cheeks. Niah was only nineteen when she’d been made a vampire. The youngest ever reborn into their clan.
Sirus’s blood was hot, but he willed himself calm. It had been decades since he’d last seen his sister. Of all places he’d ever thought to find her, it was not here. He’d not even known she and Levian were acquainted with one another.
