Charming the Devil by Lois Greiman

McBain’s disturbing presence, the low rumble of his voice, the mesmerizing cast of his eyes. “I sensed no lies.” Which was true yet oddly confusing. “At least, not from him.”
    Madeline nodded. They were, once again, sitting in the parlor of Lavender House.
    “So your own untruths are still causing you troubles?”
    “Some,” she said cautiously, and remembered that strangely, her headaches seemed to disappear when McBain was near.
    “Then the pain is no longer debilitating?” Maddy asked, and watched her closely. It was aknown fact that in the past, the headaches associated with lies had left her all but incapacitated.
    Faye shook her head. “They were not unmanageable.”
    “Even if you speak of Mrs. Nettles’s past?”
    The story, which was entirely different from reality. Entirely more palatable.
    “Even then,” she said. “But I almost wished to tell him—” she paused, realized what she had nearly admitted, and glanced rapidly toward Lord Gallo.
    “Tell him what?” Madeline asked, and Faye forced a shrug.
    “’Tis simply that he seems so…”
    They waited in silent tandem.
    “Truthful,” she said, and finally allowed her fingers to fiddle for a moment with a fold in her beribboned skirt.
    “You presented him your truth amulet, is that correct?”
    “Yes.”
    “But you don’t believe that’s the cause of his honesty?”
    “I—”
    “I don’t believe it either,” Shaleena said, and sauntered into the room. It seemed she was ever about these days, rarely leaving the house since Joseph’s arrival. Why was that? She cherished the gardens as much as any witch, and Joseph seemed decent enough, for a man. Broad-shouldered and hard-muscled, he always conducted himself withsomber decorum. He spent much of his time in the stable, polishing brass and oiling harness leather. When he spoke, which was rare, there was a subtle hint of an unknown accent. Something smooth and rolling that conjured up images of the dark Carpathian Mountains and the legends they evoked. Intriguing, even to someone of Faye’s skittish nature, so why was Shaleena, an inveterate flirt, so intent on avoiding him?
    “Although they might slow him down a bit,” she added.
    For a moment, Faye almost thought she saw Lord Gallo grit his teeth. Indeed, a flash of annoyance seemed to strike his eyes, and in that instant she found that she almost liked him, almost trusted him. Though in her head she knew it was foolish not to, for he had saved her life just as surely as she had almost ended his. Sometimes fear made her actions a bit unpredictable.
    “The amulets,” Shaleena explained, and raised a carefully groomed eyebrow. “They are, after all, little more than rocks.” Lifting a book from the narrow table near the door, she glanced at the title and dropped it back. “Indeed, I don’t know why the child is allowed here at Lavender House.”
    “I am —” Faye began, but the other cut her off.
    “What? What are you? A foolish girl hiding from shadows? A danger to this coven?”
    “Shaleena,” Madeline warned, voice low, but the other turned toward her contemporary and continued.
    “I warned you not to trust her with this mission. Unless you’ve no qualms about someone dying. But you have always seemed so touchy about death.”
    “I’ve done nothing amiss,” Faye said, and felt her temper flare. Not fear. Not shame. But anger. It was such a rare event. So foreign that she almost didn’t recognize the feel of it. “Indeed—”
    “Nothing amiss?” Shaleena said and laughed. “Then I must have been misinformed. I thought I heard that you had blackened the eye of the very man you intended to lure.”
    Embarrassment smote her, but she kept her chin high. “I had no wish to lure him. I—”
    “’Tis just as well, then,” Shaleena said, and tossed her hair over one shoulder. Her breasts were ridiculously large. “For there would be little hope. ’Tis best to send a woman to do a woman’s job.”
    “I