Last Wish (Highland Magic #4)

‘Then what are you after?’ he demanded.

The truth was that I wasn’t entirely sure. The glimpse I’d caught of him back at the Cruaich had started up a strange, yearning itch, one that I’d never be able to scratch again. Maybe this was my last chance to get my kicks with Byron before all hell broke loose. Maybe I thought I could find out what he and his father were up to. Or maybe I was just a fool. I suspected it was the latter but it didn’t matter now; I was set on my course.

‘Never mind,’ I said dismissively. ‘But if I can use Illusion to pretend to be Aifric and get away with it—’

‘Almost get away with it.’

‘Then,’ I continued, ignoring his interruption, ‘I can use it to pretend to be that woman.’

He stared at me. ‘You’re going to pretend to be a stripper? Do you even know how to strip?’

‘Ha!’ I scoffed. ‘It’s taking your clothes off, Bob. I do that every single day.’

I concentrated, pulling out the magic and telling myself to mimic every part of the stripper, seen and unseen, until I was transformed. It couldn’t just be coincidence that I’d ended up with more Illusion than any other Gift. This was meant to be.

I examined myself. Instead of my usual pale, milk-bottle skin, I had an all-over tan. I whistled. Damn, I looked good. I checked underneath the coat. Hmm. I was also dressed as a policewoman as the stripper had been. Talk about stereotypes. I glanced at the mask she’d given me and, deciding the Illusion was more than good enough, discarded it.

I gave Bob a twirl. He huffed and looked away. ‘Stay out here,’ I told him. ‘It’ll be safer for you that way.’

‘Don’t come crying to me when you end up in a real grave instead of an imaginary one.’

‘Everything will be fine.’

He sniffed loudly and vanished just as the back door opened and a rush of noise greeted my ears. A face peered out. ‘Chardonnay? Is that you? Are you ready?’

Chardonnay? Good grief. I smiled and nodded. At least my voice would be less of a concern this time around. I pitched my tone slightly higher to match the real Chardonnay’s. ‘Who am I looking for?’

‘You don’t know? The stag is Byron Moncrieffe.’ He said it as if there should be a drum roll.

‘Oh.’ I tried to look impressed and I felt the Illusion ripple to mimic the thought. ‘Okay, then.’

He looked me up and down sleazily. ‘He’s a lucky boy.’

Yeah, yeah. I smiled daintily and dropped a curtsey. ‘Then let’s get this show on the road.’

I followed the man inside, past cardboard boxes filled with pork scratchings and crisps which made my stomach grumble loudly. He turned and frowned at me. I giggled. ‘I’ve not eaten yet,’ I said. ‘I find I’ve got more of an edge on an empty stomach.’

He waggled his eyebrows. ‘Well,’ he said in a voice that was more of a growl than a purr, ‘I can fill you up when you’ve finished with those Sidhe.’

I tried – and probably failed – not to look nauseated.

He gestured at me to wait behind the door. I took off my coat, and he smirked at my police outfit then popped his head out front to check that everything was ready. All of a sudden, I felt the tumble of butterflies in my belly overtaking my pangs of hunger. Bob was right: this was a mistake. All I was doing was torturing myself.

I took a step backwards, ready to run away, but the man wasn’t having any of it. When he saw me hesitate, he shoved me onto the main club floor. Shite. I couldn’t change my mind now.

The music, which had been pumping out a loud staccato beat, abruptly faltered. I strode into the centre of the floor as at least forty pairs of eyes turned in my direction. Licking my dry lips, I lifted my chin – and almost had a mini heart attack when I saw that Aifric was here after all. I reasoned that he’d have no reason to suspect that the Illusion ruse from earlier was being carried on here but all the same, I was suddenly more terrified than before.

Forcing myself to play the game, I completed a slow half turn. Byron was looking distinctly ill at ease in a chair in front of me. I cleared my throat. How was this supposed to go?

‘Er… You’re all making too much noise,’ I said.

A chorus of jeers immediately answered me. I scowled and raised my hand. ‘The borough of Perth takes noise pollution very seriously.’

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aifric frown and jerk forward. One of the men from the Cruaich clearing grabbed hold of him and murmured in his ear. He relaxed and settled back, with a leer on his face. Ick.

‘Who is in charge of this gathering?’ I demanded.

Jamie, believing I was the real thing, opened his mouth, his brow knotted with tension but several others smirked and pointed at Byron. Keeping my expression severe, I looked straight at him. He wasn’t as na?ve as his Moncrieffe friend and I could already see the angry recognition in his eyes that his buddies had hired a stripper to make the evening more entertaining. His reaction sent him up a notch in my estimation – a tiny notch, anyway.

Bob was right: Byron looked painfully tired. He might be dressed to the nines but the shadows under his eyes were very heavy and there was a pallor to his skin that I’d never seen before. I quashed my worries and glared, still in my role as angry policewoman. ‘You’re going to have to explain yourself,’ I said loudly.

Byron, still looking irritated, got to his feet. ‘I don’t want this.’

‘Oh,’ I answered, injecting the tiniest amount of breathiness into my words, ‘you’re going to have to try harder than that.’ I deliberately dropped my gaze to his crotch. ‘The borough of Perth doesn’t enjoy limp responses.’

Laughter rose amongst Byron’s friends. He rolled his eyes. ‘Look,’ he said, in a way that almost made me feel sorry for him, ‘I’ll pay you if you just…’

I walked up to him. ‘Did you just try to bribe a police officer?’ I pulled the handcuffs from by my belt and dangled them in front of him. ‘I think that’s a very serious offence.’

He raised his hands to try to get me to back off and in one swift movement, I snapped the cuffs round his wrists. Now he was even more pissed off. I gave him a tiny shove, forcing back onto his chair, then I lifted my foot, nudged his legs apart and rested my shoe on the edge of the seat, right in front of his groin.

Catcalls rose all around us but this time I barely heard them. Byron was mine. ‘You’ve been a naughty boy,’ I purred. ‘But I’ve lost my truncheon. I don’t suppose I could borrow yours? It looks … big.’