4 - We Are Gathered by Jackie Ivie Page B

not strange at all. Egotistical and self-absorbed, but not strange. But you’re always handsome.”
    An eyebrow cocked up. Just one. And that sent her heart up another notch.
    “That feels like a very solid six-pack you’ve got hidden beneath your clothes, and the more I look at you, the more I’m thinking you even have eye-liner on. Very Goth. And very eye-catching.”
    “Eye-catching? Me?”
    “You believe women all want you, you work at catching their attention, and you don’t get disappointed very often. Tell me I’m wrong.”
    “You’re wrong.”
    They were descending if her belly wasn’t lying. It was also colder. Much colder. And darker. And a lot quieter. And that started her shivering again. The next sensation was stone; solid stone. From flickers of lighting that didn’t help much, she could see stone. It was beneath her shoes and before her eyes – in every direction. This was another reason she’d never taken any street drugs. She didn’t want the hallucinations, and she didn’t like being out of control. And once she was out of this bad trip, she was putting a fat spell on Naomi. Why, if this got much worse, Rori was going after Naomi’s cat and familiar, Lady Jane, as well. She was into the second line of her spell when he spoke again.
    “You readied?”
    Rori’s eyes snapped open and she glared up at him. They should replace their fluorescent tubing. The flickers of light didn’t give her much to go by. There wasn’t enough light to make out much more than his face, and since even that light wasn’t steady, it made him look even more handsome. She could’ve sworn he knew her exact train of thought, too, as his lips conquered a smile.
    “For what?”
    She put the most acidic tone on her voice possible. It didn’t work. The fellow simply winked at her again, and lowered his voice into a low-toned whisper that was over-over-the-top dramatic. Rori narrowed her eyes, and then had to swallow to mute the flick of reaction that raced up her spine, raising hairs as it went.
    “To meet the others.”
    “What others?”
    He was still using that low-throaty murmur of sound. It added to his foreign intonation of words, and all of that really added to his mystique. He probably knew that, too. She got a huff of breath at the bridge of her nose as she thought it, and if he thought that was getting a reaction, he was in for a surprise.
    He’d loosened his grip on her, allowing her to rotate within the confines of his cape. It still smelled of leather and him, but there was an additional measure to it that meandered through her subconscious before she had it deciphered. The smell was more vivid because it was wet; dripping wet and leaving a ring of moisture that darkened on the stone surrounding her feet.
    “We went through a bit of storm. Nothing much, I assure you.”
    “Did I ask?”
    “No need.”
    He opened his cloak, gifting her with a rush that did nothing to conquer shivers, but proving one thing. He might be soaked, but she was perfectly dry, and encased with a full dose of static cling, since her dress sparked when she moved. The next moment, he moved past her to hang the cloak on an ornate iron-looking peg, right next to an equally ornate iron-looking sconce that held what looked to be a real torch. It was sending off flicks of light and a touch of smoke. All signs of a real working torch, secured about ten feet up on a very solid looking stone wall.
    Where the hell am I?
    “Tirgoviste Castle.”
    “What?”
    “You are in Tirgoviste Castle.”
    “Bull—.” Rori clamped her lips shut on the rest of the expletive without one bit of thought over it. Swearing got you slapped, and then it got your mouth washed out. And then it just got you sent to a punishment closet for hours at a time while foster parents called for a removal. Cutting off words now was ingrained. And it probably wouldn’t make an apparition disappear anyway.
    “Rori.”
    Her head snapped back and she glared at