Phaedra materialized beside her, long blood-red hair whipping around regal white features that were filled with subtle, smug amusement.
Everyone in the room turned to stare. They all wore different versions of the same kind of outfit Olivia wore, along with varying expressions of surprise.
Details blurred in the moment, except for a few standouts. Carling Severan, former Queen of the Nightkind, stood at the head of the conference table. She was a dark-haired, beautiful woman, with honey-colored skin and long, almond-shaped dark eyes.
Despite the fact that Olivia knew that Carling was one of the most Powerful witches in the world, and she was also one of the oldest and most Powerful Vampyres in the world, Olivia sensed no evidence whatsoever of the other woman’s Power. The fact that Carling could cloak her Power to that extent was more than a little unsettling.
The Vampyre stood beside a man Olivia had never seen before. Both Carling and the man were the same height, which meant he could not be very tall, perhaps only a few inches taller than Olivia herself. He wore a plain gray T-shirt, jeans and boots, and he was extraordinarily striking, with a hard, boldly planed face half-hidden by sunglasses, short, dark brown hair speckled with flecks of white, and a palpable aura of power that was both physical and magical.
Along with everybody else, he seemed to be staring at Olivia and Phaedra. With his sunglasses, it was hard to tell where his eyes were trained, but at least his face was turned in their direction.
Olivia jerked her gaze away. She knew exactly what everybody was thinking. No one in her right mind would bargain away a costly, potentially dangerous favor in return for transportation from a Djinn, not for a trip that could be completed so easily by mundane means. Everyone present would think she was either insane, or insanely important.
Actually, scratch that thought. Nobody would believe she was insanely important.
There was probably a worse way to meet the people she would be working with for the next few weeks, but at the moment, she couldn’t think of what it would be.
Olivia took a deep breath to try to calm her rioting nerves. Then she looked at the empty floor around her feet. Irritation took control of her mouth. She said to Phaedra, “You forgot my luggage, dimwit.”
Realization transformed Phaedra’s features, wiping the smugness away. The Djinn crossed her arms with a scowl. Then she blew into the whirlwind again. A moment later she reappeared, and Olivia’s luggage landed with a thump at her feet.
The room was so silent, one could have heard a pin drop.
Let’s be sensible, shall we? Let’s not make an enemy of the whackadoodle Djinn.
“Thank you,” she said, in as polite and dignified a tone as she could muster. Phaedra twitched a shoulder in impatient reply and stalked into the room to lean against a wall.
The tips of Olivia’s ears felt as if they were burning, and so did her cheeks. She refused to look around at anybody. She especially did not look at the striking, powerful man who stood at the head of the room.
Instead, she picked up her suitcase and pack, carried them into the large conference room, set the pieces along the wall with the heaps of other luggage, and then sat at the large conference table, several seats away from anybody else.
The floor never did open up and swallow you, no matter how badly you might wish it.
Chapter Two