Which is stupid. My jaw flexes, and I’m mad at myself for being dissatisfied with the life I’ve carefully built up over centuries.
“Why are you being so nice to me tonight?” Reggie asks in a soft voice. Her tone is secretive and low, perfect for pillow talk, and that mental image of her in bed with me, her form tucked against mine, hits me like a brick. I’m filled with that hot yearning all over again, like a schoolboy.
“Because I’m the only one around,” I say coldly. “You needed a rescue and no one else answered.”
“I don’t think that’s it,” she says, chuckling. “Nice try, though.” She points her fork at me. “You can try to be mean and cold, Ben Magnus, but I suspect you’re secretly a softie.”
I arch a brow at her. “I am not.”
“We’ll see,” she tells me, and keeps on eating. “So have you ever cursed someone?”
“Of course.”
“Into a cat?”
“No. Most human-focused spells are far too messy. For the last while, I’ve focused on corporate magic.” At her confused look, I continue. “Corporate espionage. I’m hired by mega-companies for sabotage. I ensure that their launches go well and the rivals’ do not. I nudge the stock market one way or another. I hex a particular corporation’s new campaign that threatens my client. And then there’s the far more nefarious stuff.”
Her eyes are wide, and she chews slowly. “It gets more nefarious than that?”
I chuckle. “I’ve been known to use some of the obfuscation charms on corporate tax accounts, among other things.”
“Do you take out rival CEOs?” she asks, her expression dubious. “Like murder?”
My amusement dies. For a moment, I wonder what she’s heard, and my hackles go up. I want to lash out at her for even asking, but I see her wide-eyed, guileless expression in front of me and know she means nothing by it. She’s not aware of my past. She’s not aware of Soren Jeffries or his suicide.
She’s not aware that someone killed himself because of my spells. It doesn’t matter that Soren asked me to cast those spells. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t been able to sleep with the guilt of it all. It doesn’t matter that my entire body clenches up every time I get a meeting request.
I’m a ruthless, evil warlock. Casting spells that ruin lives is what I do. Reggie doesn’t know that, though. She’s not aware of my reputation. “I do not murder for hire, no.”
She nods as if satisfied with my answer. “But you’re still a bad guy, right?”
I don’t know the answer to that anymore. Once I would have sneered at Reggie’s question. There is no morality when it comes to magic. But sitting in front of her, seeing her vulnerable like this, it makes me tired. It makes me want something different.
And I’m not entirely sure what that is anymore.
I just lift my chin, indicating her dinner. “Eat your food.”
And because she’s Reggie, she reaches over, snags one of my fries, and gives me a defiant smile.
16
REGGIE
My brain feels like mush with everything I’ve absorbed tonight. I’m not entirely sure what to think anymore. Everything feels like a lie.
Ben Magnus is a warlock. A bona fide warlock. Sweet, unassuming, slightly nutty Aunt Dru is a two-thousand-year-old Roman witch.
Magic? Real.
Maurice? Asshole.
Me? A real familiar. A legit, genuine familiar who somehow read an ad in the paper. All that crap that Dru was spouting about a bloodline must be real, then. Penny’s belief in witches and warlocks is legit. It’s Nick and I that are somehow the ones that are wrong in all of this.
Oh god, Nick. I can’t tell Nick any of this. I feel full to bursting with everything I’ve learned, everything I’ve fought against learning for the last week or two, and I desperately need someone to talk to about all of this. I want to go back to Ben and ask him a million more questions, but it’s late and I’ve already been enough trouble. He took me home to Dru’s and guided me up the stairs, making sure I was fine before turning and shutting the door behind him. I’m in my nightgown in my bed, but I can’t sleep.
I can’t go keep Ben up all night, either. He’s made it clear he’s got work I’m keeping him from, and when I saw the mess of candles on the table, the wax stuck to the blanket, I felt guilty. I’d interrupted some heavy-duty work of his, and yet he’d still come to rescue me.
Only Nick has ever truly had my back like that, and I can’t tell him about any of this. It’d be a breach of the trust both Ben and Dru have shown me.
And if Nick ever mentioned it to anyone . . .
I hate that I have to keep a secret from my best friend, but Nick loves to talk, and I know he blurts out everything when his clients are training. He has a heart of gold and zero filter.
Penny. I could talk to Penny. Schedule that coffee a little earlier than I planned. Penny will be able to give me all the gossip. Excited, I pick my phone up to text her and then look at the time. Shit. Okay, that’ll have to wait until morning. I toss my phone back down on the blankets.
There’s a scratch at the door.
I get to my feet, because I know who it is before I even undo all the locks and open my door. Maurice looks up at me and meows pitifully.
I put a hand on my hip. “Don’t try that shit with me, buddy. Your secret’s out. I know you’re a guy under all that fur.”
He sidles into my room and rubs against my leg, purring.
“Uh-huh. Were you watching me change all those times I went into the bathroom and you followed me? Or was that just normal cat nonsense?”
Maurice gives the tiniest, cutest, most innocent little meow.
“I’m calling bullshit on that,” I tell him. “You can sleep on the bed still, but no rubbing against my boobs or I’m going to make sure that someone puts you on a kitty diet and your litter isn’t changed for a month. You catch my drift?”
If a fat black cat could pout, Maurice would be giving me a sulky look right about now. He twitches his tail once and then hops up on the bed, then very deliberately moves to the corner of it.
Seems like we have an understanding.
Even as Maurice settles in on my bed, I can’t bring myself to lie back down. I’m too wired, too wide awake, too buzzing with everything that’s slid into place. So many things that seemed a little odd or off have suddenly clicked in my head. Of course Dru has all kinds of Roman art in her house. Of course she gets modern sayings mixed up. Of course they talk to Maurice like he’s a real person.
I slide out into the hall, glancing toward Ben’s door. It’s closed, of course. It’s very late and I imagine he’s tired. He’s probably going to have to work all day tomorrow on all those candles that were ruined on my behalf. Maybe he’ll let me help him. I head down toward the kitchen, wondering if he’s left the candles on the table. If so, maybe I can get a good look at them, see where I can help him.
The kitchen’s exactly as it was earlier, and Ben has left his mess everywhere. The control freak inside me trembles in horror, and I immediately start straightening up. I rinse out bowls and return herbs to their jars and clean the tables free of dusty markings. Ben mentioned he’d have to start over, after all. I’m not sabotaging things.
I’m helping.
I might be organizing his things more to my liking, but sure, I’m helping, too.
There’s a jar of something sludgy on the counter, and I don’t know if it’s supposed to be refrigerated or not. I sniff it, then cough as it burns my nostrils. Oof. Maybe I’ll put it in the fridge anyhow. I pick up a lid and then pause, because on the counter is the jar of olives I got out for Dru earlier, the ones she used as an offering.
And next to it is the crystal ball.