avoiding getting caught. You’d be surprised how often hiding in plain sight works.”
Merc adjusted the strap of the messenger bag currently slung across his chest. The Spellbook was inside, and every so often he tilted his head to look back at it, a slight frown on his face. He did so again, and Amana asked, “What’s wrong? Is it hurting you?”
“Do you feel it?” Less than a second after the question was asked, Merc’s lips thinned and he gave the tiniest shake of his head.
So he hadn’t meant to ask her or let her know anything was amiss. Still, it was out, and it was best to acknowledge the fact before he could start to brood over conspiracy theories. “I don’t feel anything, but I’m not magic like you either,” she said, motioning to the black lines on his arm.
After a few moments of silence, his only answer was a nod, and then he was leading them to the front door, which opened into an underground club. Unlike what she had expected from the exterior of the building and the quality of cars parked around, this place was stylish, women dressed in full hair and make-up and men in something other than jeans. Amana’s tug on her rumpled white blouse and quick hand through her hair didn’t quite settle the low hum of embarrassment running through her blood, especially with the catty double-takes a few women favored her with as she passed by.
Merc was just as conspicuous, but the double-takes given him were of a different nature. Was it normal to want to trip a woman because she was giving lascivious looks to the man who was technically your captor? Of course, nothing about this scenario could even point to normal , so why worry about it now?
They made their way to the back of the club to the door marked Private – Employees Only . Merc stepped through without hesitation, and with a hand at her elbow, made sure she followed.
The suite of offices looked similar to what she’d seen at the club when she met with Fallon and Laire – utilitarian, but with comfortable furnishings and the occasional pretty piece of artwork to view. As they made their way down the main hall, a tall, rangy man stepped into their path. “Merc my man, didn’t know it was you we were expecting.”
“Didn’t have time to call,” Merc responded. Though the words were pleasant and spoke to at least a past acquaintance, the undertow of tension was palpable, and Amana stepped behind Merc, out of the possible line of fire.
She must have been too obvious in her nervousness because the man smiled at her, giving a small flip of his hands suggestive of the don’t shoot move. “Don’t worry, little lady. Bossman said to escort our guest, so I’m not kicking y’all out.”
“Always dreaming high, Whisper. That’s what I like about you.” But Merc relaxed the smallest bit, which meant Amana could untense those muscles that had gone into flight mode.
Whisper led them into a waiting room, and his hand once again on her elbow, Merc sat her in a chair. A slither of heat sprung from his hand to wind its way down her body and around her waist. What the…? “Stay here,” Merc commanded, then followed the brunet man into another room.
Amana tried to stand, but sure enough, she was held fast. Another bit of magic then. She was going to discover every single thing those tattoos were capable of, including if she could somehow strangle him with his own magic.
She closed her eyes, the boredom of waiting settling down on her as the minutes passed, wishing she could fall asleep on command. It would be a handy skill to have right now, but since she’d spent the last ten years avoiding sleep to the point she dealt with insomnia on a recurring basis, it was probably too much to hope for now.
The lights dimmed, and a man appeared. “Amana?” She jerked back, but he held out a hand. “The Guild sent me. They’ve been looking for you. I’m here to set you free.”
*
Whisper didn’t talk as they would their way through the back
Merc adjusted the strap of the messenger bag currently slung across his chest. The Spellbook was inside, and every so often he tilted his head to look back at it, a slight frown on his face. He did so again, and Amana asked, “What’s wrong? Is it hurting you?”
“Do you feel it?” Less than a second after the question was asked, Merc’s lips thinned and he gave the tiniest shake of his head.
So he hadn’t meant to ask her or let her know anything was amiss. Still, it was out, and it was best to acknowledge the fact before he could start to brood over conspiracy theories. “I don’t feel anything, but I’m not magic like you either,” she said, motioning to the black lines on his arm.
After a few moments of silence, his only answer was a nod, and then he was leading them to the front door, which opened into an underground club. Unlike what she had expected from the exterior of the building and the quality of cars parked around, this place was stylish, women dressed in full hair and make-up and men in something other than jeans. Amana’s tug on her rumpled white blouse and quick hand through her hair didn’t quite settle the low hum of embarrassment running through her blood, especially with the catty double-takes a few women favored her with as she passed by.
Merc was just as conspicuous, but the double-takes given him were of a different nature. Was it normal to want to trip a woman because she was giving lascivious looks to the man who was technically your captor? Of course, nothing about this scenario could even point to normal , so why worry about it now?
They made their way to the back of the club to the door marked Private – Employees Only . Merc stepped through without hesitation, and with a hand at her elbow, made sure she followed.
The suite of offices looked similar to what she’d seen at the club when she met with Fallon and Laire – utilitarian, but with comfortable furnishings and the occasional pretty piece of artwork to view. As they made their way down the main hall, a tall, rangy man stepped into their path. “Merc my man, didn’t know it was you we were expecting.”
“Didn’t have time to call,” Merc responded. Though the words were pleasant and spoke to at least a past acquaintance, the undertow of tension was palpable, and Amana stepped behind Merc, out of the possible line of fire.
She must have been too obvious in her nervousness because the man smiled at her, giving a small flip of his hands suggestive of the don’t shoot move. “Don’t worry, little lady. Bossman said to escort our guest, so I’m not kicking y’all out.”
“Always dreaming high, Whisper. That’s what I like about you.” But Merc relaxed the smallest bit, which meant Amana could untense those muscles that had gone into flight mode.
Whisper led them into a waiting room, and his hand once again on her elbow, Merc sat her in a chair. A slither of heat sprung from his hand to wind its way down her body and around her waist. What the…? “Stay here,” Merc commanded, then followed the brunet man into another room.
Amana tried to stand, but sure enough, she was held fast. Another bit of magic then. She was going to discover every single thing those tattoos were capable of, including if she could somehow strangle him with his own magic.
She closed her eyes, the boredom of waiting settling down on her as the minutes passed, wishing she could fall asleep on command. It would be a handy skill to have right now, but since she’d spent the last ten years avoiding sleep to the point she dealt with insomnia on a recurring basis, it was probably too much to hope for now.
The lights dimmed, and a man appeared. “Amana?” She jerked back, but he held out a hand. “The Guild sent me. They’ve been looking for you. I’m here to set you free.”
*
Whisper didn’t talk as they would their way through the back
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