Princess of Shadows (Obsidian Queen Book 2) Page 4

  “And we’re standing right here,” a familiar someone announces, “so don’t bother coming up with an excuse to send us away.”

  I turn, startled by the voice I haven’t heard in over three months. Jonathan stands next to Rafe and Eric, grinning.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand, rising to my feet, trying not to burst into tears. I’m so ridiculously happy to see them. I thought they hated me. I haven’t heard a word from anyone on the team since I left, not even Eric.

  “Charles has been heartbroken,” I tell the Bunny, wrapping my arms around his middle. “How could you up and abandon him like that?”

  I’m talking about the cat, of course. I, myself, am fine.

  “Gray forbid it.” Eric’s chest rumbles with laughter.

  I back up, narrowing my eyes. “He…forbid it?”

  “He’s a bit of a grudge-holding Wolf,” Jonathan says, stealing me from Eric. “And therefore he wasn’t pleased when you left the team.”

  Stepping forward to meet him, I let Jonathan wrap his arms around me. His hand cups the back of my neck as he pulls me closer. The Griffon smells good, like subtle cologne. I breathe him in, clutching him a little tighter.

  It’s pathetic how much I missed these two, how abandoned I felt when we drifted apart.

  “Aw, we missed you too, sweetheart,” Jonathan murmurs next to my ear. “We just couldn’t risk the wrath of the Wolf.”

  I step back, startled, and then realize his hand is on my bare skin.

  When he grins, I smack his chest. Hard. “No listening to my thoughts.”

  Jonathan raises a cocky brow, not even trying to deny it.

  “Why are you here?” I ask, pulling my eyes from Jonathan.

  “We want you back on the team,” Eric says. “In an official capacity—none of that rubbish Finn set up last time.”

  “No.”

  But it’s not me who declines—it’s Rafe.

  I turn to him, setting my hands on my hips. “Don’t you think that’s for me to decide?”

  The knight gives me a grim smile, one that says we’re going to have a fight on our hands if I push the issue. I shoot him a stern look, but he doesn’t budge.

  “What if we start on a case by case sort of basis?” Eric extends his large hands, palm up, in a pleading gesture.

  “Why do you need her?” Rafe demands.

  Jonathan glances from Rafe to me. “Gray can explain all that when we meet.”

  “If Gray wants me back, why didn’t he come himself?” I ask.

  The two exchange a heavy look, and then Eric, ever the diplomat, says, “He doesn’t know we’re here.”

  Rafe snorts, his posture relaxing.

  “You can’t invite me back without Gray’s approval!”

  Jonathan, looking more amused than I think the situation calls for, steps forward. “Gray wants you back—he never wanted you to leave. But he’s stubborn.”

  Eric grins. “His exact words were, ‘If she wants to come back, she’ll have to crawl on her hands and knees. I’m not going after her.’”

  “She doesn’t need all the details.” Jonathan gives his friend a withering look, and then he takes me by the arm, pulling me to the side of the room as if he’s going to let me in on a secret. “Recently, men have been disappearing in Redstone. They’ve all been married, all richer than sin. The only other thing they had in common is they’ve stayed in a mansion that claims to be haunted. Now the well-to-do and bored are flocking there in droves, eager to see the mansion for themselves, too stupid to realize something truly dangerous is going on. People are claiming ghosts, vampires, aliens—you get the point.”

  Despite myself, my interest is peaked. “But there are no ghosts, vampires, or aliens. They aren’t real.”

  “Exactly. The guild believes there’s an Aparian up to no good, and they’re sending us in.”

  “So where do I come in?”

  He holds up his finger, asking me to wait a moment while he digs out his phone. He ends up showing me a picture of a forty-something woman in a tan polyester, button-up shirt and a scowl under a hint of a girl ’stache.

  “Um…?” I ask, frowning at the woman.

  “The only men who end up missing are on vacation with their wives. The guild wants to send one of us in with Linda for a long weekend getaway, hoping we’ll be targeted.”

  “But she’s old enough to be your mother.”

  He makes a disgruntled noise and shoves the cell into his back pocket. “That’s why we need you.”

  “Wait.” I hold up a hand between us. “Who’s playing the husband in this scenario?”

  As Jonathan told me his story, Rafe and Eric slowly made their way over, so they’re close enough now to hear my question.

  “Since the department suspects the men are being seduced and then led to their deaths, Gray is out of the picture,” Eric says. “We all know how his willpower is when it comes to women who want to jump him.”

  A low noise escapes me—not dissimilar to one of Charles’s angry hisses.

  “And I can’t read magic,” Eric finishes.

  That leaves Jonathan. Relaxing, I turn to the Griffon and raise a brow. “Why, Jonathan, is this your way of proposing?”

  A slow, delicious smile spreads across his face, making me laugh. “That depends on your answer. What do you say? Want to marry me for a weekend?”

  “It’s not safe,” Rafe says, cutting me off before I can answer. “She’s not going.”

  Jonathan and Eric both give Rafe questioning looks.

  “I am going.” In fact, I made up my mind this very moment. Call me as stupid as a human, but I want to see this haunted mansion myself. And let’s face it—Rafe is making me crazy. We could use a little break from each other. “I’ll be with the team. They’ll watch out for me.”

  “Like they watched out for you with the pixie?” Rafe crosses his arms, challenging me.

  Jonathan clears his throat. “I hate to break it to you, but both times Trent stole Madeline, she was in your care.”

  Rafe narrows his eyes, looking like a serpent before it attacks. I laugh a little, a nervous sound, and step between them. Then I look at Rafe. “I’m bored to death—and my only chance at getting the apprenticeship I want went up in smoke the moment I opened the wedding invitation. We haven’t seen any sign of Trent since he kidnapped me. He’s probably moved on.”

  The three knights don’t look convinced of that.

  “You can’t keep me here forever,” I press, lowering my voice a little. “It’s all right if I leave the house occasionally.”

  Looking confused and more than a little concerned, Jonathan and Eric’s faces go carefully blank. They eye Rafe, wondering what exactly is going on here.

  “You’re not going, and that’s final,” Rafe says as if it’s the end of the conversation.

  I meet his eyes, and the two of us stare at each other in a silent standoff. One I fully intend to win.

  ***

  “I’m glad you’re back,” Eric says as we follow a waitress to the table Gray is holding for us.

  I start to say something, but Jonathan cuts me off. “Yes, we know. Just this one time. The point is we’re wearing you down.”

  I don’t bother to answer because I’ve spotted Gray at a far booth, where he’s looking at his phone. His face is solemn enough you might think he’s decoding a bomb at the very center of the Earth’s core, but I suspect he’s playing games.

  He looks up, catching me staring at him, and our eyes meet. It’s a tense few seconds, but it’s ended quickly because I run into a table.

  Yep.

  Super smooth, Madeline.

  Good thing Rafe’s not here—he’d probably decide the table must die for being in my way and light it on fire.

  In fact, Jonathan had to swear on his life and the life of his car that the team would keep me safe before Rafe finally agreed to let me leave the house without him. I best keep myself out of trouble, or Jonathan’s beloved Corve
tte is toast.

  “Madeline,” Gray says when we reach the table.

  I stare at him, willing my chaotic emotions to calm. He looks good, just as I remember him. “Gray.”

  We continue our stare-off as Jonathan slides out my chair and gently pushes me onto it. “Yes, I think we all know each other’s names. I’m Jonathan; that’s Eric. We get the picture.”

  I shoot him a look, but the Griffon only smiles as he settles in next to me.

  Gray folds his hands on the table in a businesslike fashion. “I understand you would like to rejoin the team?”

  And suddenly, with him acting all self-important, I can see the resemblance between him and Finn—which makes me want to stab him with my heel. A bit graphic, I know. Sometimes that whole Obsidian magic makes more sense.

  “Really?” I ask sweetly. “The way I understand it, the team needs me and would like me to come back. Maybe you need to ask nicely.”

  “The team never abandoned you, princess.” Gray leans forward, his expression growing hard. “You did that all on your own. I’m not going to fawn over you because you’ve decided you want to play again.”

  “Who’s up for fried okra?” Jonathan says loudly. “It’s a little slimy, but if you use enough ranch dressing, it’s not too bad.”

  I lean forward. “I was never a real part of this team, and you know it.”

  “You could have been!”

  “Finn—”

  Gray stands suddenly, sending the salt and pepper shaker flying along with a dessert menu. “I don’t care what my moron brother did! We accepted you, and you ran off with Rafe. And what the heck, Madeline? You answer to him now? You ask permission to even breathe? Jonathan told me what’s going on, and it’s twisted.”

  Silence.

  Complete and total silence.

  And not just from our table—oh no. From the entire restaurant. Every eye is on Gray, and once they’re done looking at him, they look at me.

  “Awkward,” Eric drawls under his breath.

  Slowly, Gray sits.

  “So is that a yes for the fried okra then?” Jonathan asks after several long, tense moments.

  Eric snorts, but Gray shakes his head like this won’t work.

  “I’m sorry,” I say softly, the words so quiet I’m not sure anyone at the table but the Wolf with heightened hearing will make them out. “I thought you would be relieved when I left.”

  “We weren’t,” he says.

  A few moments pass, and then Jonathan lets out a heavy sigh, sets his menu aside, and turns to me. “I hate to say it, but Gray’s right. You can’t just parade into our lives, wearing those short little skirts and crazy high heels, taking up far too much time in the bathroom, using my shampoo—”

  “I did not use your—”

  “And then just up and leave us,” Jonathan continues, ignoring me completely. “We went through some serious Madeline withdrawals.”

  “I had to punch a troll,” Eric says, joining the conversation, scowling at me. “With my hand. Like a brute.”

  Unable to help myself, I crack a smile.

  Jonathan glances between Gray and me. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, can the two of you please shut up and get along? Because I do not want to be married to Linda.”

  Eric and Gray both shudder as if the prospect isn’t a pretty one.

  After a moment, I nod. Gray joins me.

  “Good,” Jonathan says, nodding as well. “Now let’s talk haunted mansions.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Excited?” Jonathan asks, probably half exasperated that I won’t sit still.

  It’s Wednesday afternoon, and we’re on our way to Redstone, Colorado in the back of a flashy red, four-door Porsche crossover. Our driver—aka Eric—is up front, flying on the corners, driving the car like he stole it.

  But we didn’t steal it. We borrowed it from Gray’s boss, and we were told that if we so much as get a scratch on it, we’ll lose our pay for a year. I think he was joking. Mostly.

  A few yellow and red leaves cling to the aspens and oak brush, but most of the deciduous plants are bare. We missed the fall colors by a few weekends. Now it’s early October, and the leaves that lit the mountainside are littering the ground.

  “I am excited,” I readily admit.

  I looked up the mansion earlier in the week, browsing through various social media sites for pictures, and I’m in love. It’s a massive, sprawling structure, white and grand, with cedar beams and rustic Colorado accents. And it's only a mere twenty-five thousand for a long weekend.

  The Knights’ Guild is coughing up a lot of money to send us in—money they intend to get back when we catch the nefarious Aparian behind the disappearances.

  We pass the historic coke ovens, a waterfall, and the historic Redstone castle. We turn off the main road, take several twisting backroads, and fifteen minutes later, we park in front of a towering black metal gate with a call box. The lane beyond is surrounded by trees and brush, and it’s impossible to see where it leads.

  Eric leans out the window, pushing the button with the confidence of a man who’s been a professional driver his entire adult life and not all of four hours.

  I roll down the window as we wait. The mountains smell like campfire smoke and fresh air, and even though the sky is a perfect canvas of blue, there’s a touch of winter on the breeze.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Kingman,” Eric announces when the man on the other side of the speaker asks who’s calling.

  After a moment, a lock clicks, and the gate very slowly rolls open.

  “Remember,” Jonathan says, leaning close. “You’re very rich and very important.”

  “Please,” I scoff. “I am very rich and important.”

  He grins. “That’s right. So am I.”

  I shake my head, laughing under my breath. What Jonathan lacks in connections and titles, he makes up in charm.

  Eric drives through the gates, going much slower than before. Old-fashioned streetlights line the drive, the kind with black poles and lantern-style tops. Since it’s the middle of the afternoon, they’re off now, but I imagine they’re impressive in the evening.

  After several minutes, the trees open, revealing the mansion on a slight rise in the landscape. It’s just as statuesque and grand as it looks in the pictures, with a bronze elk statue out front and a fountain that’s down for the season. The lane leads to a circular drive where another guest has just arrived.

  “I feel like we’re in a game of Clue,” I whisper to Jonathan. “I want to be Miss Scarlet.”

  He laughs as Eric parks behind an expensive-looking foreign car in front of us. It’s purple, quite shiny, and I have no idea what it is.

  A woman steps out of the driver’s seat. Her platinum hair is up in a chignon, and her clothes scream money. I admire her purse, wondering how she already got her hands on it. It’s not supposed to come out for another week.

  She pulls off her dark glasses, scanning the mansion and surrounding area. As if pleased, a small smile plays at her somewhat thin lips. A man comes down the grand steps to greet her, someone equally as posh as she. In greeting, he presses her against the side of the car, kissing her in a way that has me blushing.

  What a welcome.

  When the two come up for air, the man glances at our car and then quickly dismisses us. The pair walks around the side of the mansion, leaving the purple car in the staff’s care.

  I watch them from behind the privacy of the darkly tinted windows as Jonathan and I wait for Eric to open our doors. They disappear as Eric offers his hand to assist me from my seat.

  Once we’re out, Eric collects Charles’s carrier from its strapped-in position in the passenger seat and then follows us to the door. We walk up several wide, stained and stamped concrete steps. There are massive pots along the edges of the walk, each containing miniature pine trees, only four or so feet high, and fall-blooming chrysanthemums.

  Several pumpkins—most large but one humongous—sit in t
he generous entry, surrounded by a few bales of straw and a designer, handcrafted scarecrow. To complete the fall ensemble, tall black lanterns flank each step, all with thick, tall candles, ready for evening.

  All in all, it’s just about the coolest place to spend a weekend in October.

  Eric frowns as he scans the covered entry. “There’s no doorbell.”

  Jonathan nudges him out of the way and picks up the huge brass knocker secured to the door. He then knocks several times.

  “Do you think they’ll hear—” Eric’s words die abruptly when a young woman answers the door. She’s around my age, extremely pretty with long blond hair that falls in soft curls to her waist, and big blue eyes framed with thick black eyelashes. She wears a long cardigan sweater over a tight white tank that dips low enough to show off a generous helping of cleavage.

  Her eyes flutter over Eric, and then they fall on Jonathan.

  “You must be here for the weekend,” she says, her voice soft and wispy.

  The men stare at her, mouths slightly agape, likely because the poor dear is about to fall right out of her top.

  I internally roll my eyes and then step forward, extending my hand. “That’s right. I’m Mrs. Kingman.”

  It’s a weird thing to say, especially since we decided to go with Jonathan’s actual last name.

  The girl takes my hand, holding it softly for a brief moment before she lets it go. “I’m Olivia. Welcome to my home.”

  “Your home?” I ask, wondering how she could own all of this at such a young age.

  She smiles. “Well, my parents’ technically.”

  We walk inside a foyer and are immediately greeted with two sweeping staircases, one on each side of the room, that lead up to the balcony-style second level. Directly ahead, the entry opens into a great room, like a massive hall, and a fire crackles in a ceiling-height granite fireplace.

  There are more autumnal touches about—wreathes of colored leaves, pumpkins, and big, fat, orange pillar candles atop black candelabras.

  Despite the obvious holiday spirit, everything is terribly tasteful—no tacky fake spiderwebs or plastic, gruesome skeleton figurines to be seen. A wedding party could march through the doors this very minute and have a venue that dreams are made of.