Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Betrayal Page 4

  “Only your favorite, of course. Stay here for a second, okay?” Back to his old self, Sebastian stood, gathered up the last plastic bag, and hurried away, going around the bar to the far side of the circular platform where Lily couldn’t see what he was doing. When he returned, he held out his hand for hers and bowed. “If I may have the pleasure, my lady?”

  Lily lips twitched upward, her heart skipping a beat as she placed her slender hand in his. She relished the strength in his fingers as they curled gently around hers and pulled her from her seat. He led her around the bar and over to a bench tucked up against the railing. The spot gave a sweeping view of the north and west, from the illuminated patchwork of Centennial Park to the shimmering facade of Suntrust Plaza and Bank of America’s golden peak lighting the sky beyond.

  When she tore her eyes away from the beautiful view, she noticed two little plates arranged on the bench, each accompanied by a fork and a glass of pale liquid. On the plates were her favorite dessert: chess pie.

  Neither of them spoke as they sat and dug in, enjoying the view, the fare, and each other’s company. Lily’s insides glowed as she savored the intense, gooey sweetness of her pie. When she raised her glass and sniffed it, she was surprised to smell alcohol. She glanced at Sebastian.

  “It’s not poisonous, you know,” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

  She gave him a skeptical look and took a hesitant sip. Her expression transformed as the intense and refreshing bite of the white wine washed over her tongue, cutting through the chess pie’s heavy sweetness with rich flavors of orange and lemon. “It’s delicious! It goes so well with this pie. I had no idea you were a wine connoisseur.” She smiled up at him and he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Er, I have to admit I looked it up. Not that I don’t know my way around a few superb mixed drinks. It’s one of the hazards of dealing with pixies—the little rogues can’t resist a good cocktail. But wine isn’t really my forte. This is a Castello di Amorosa Late Harvest Gewurzt-something-or-other.” He laughed again. “No idea how to pronounce it. I’ve honestly never heard of it before and had to go to a few places before I found a bottle.”

  “Well, however you managed it, it’s perfect,” Lily declared, feeling bold and taking another sip.

  “Really?”

  “Really.” Her smile broadened, her whole body relaxing as she drank more wine and savored the perfect moment. Alcohol was not normally her thing. Maybe if it all tasted this nice, though, she would actually drink it.

  Sebastian seemed to have forgotten his own dessert, because his gaze was locked on hers. His dark eyes were so intense, their brown a deep umber in the dim light as they stared down at her with wordless longing, and she suddenly found she couldn’t breathe. She felt Sebastian gently take the fork from her hand and set it down, scooting closer as he did. Lily’s lips parted slightly, too distracted by his slowly approaching face to protest her separation from the delicious pie. Her heartbeat quickened, but she had no urge to pull away. Instead, she felt frozen, heady anticipation but also fear coursing through her. Was he going to kiss her? She wanted him to…maybe? Probably? Would she feel hurt if he did not?

  The piercing wail of brass horns cut through the air, shattering the fragile moment as the cheery ringtone of Bewitched’s 1960s theme song drowned out the soft background music.

  2

  The Devil Comes Calling

  Lily jerked back like a startled deer. “Oh! I’m so sorry. That’s my phone. Let me go get it.”

  Sebastian looked crestfallen, the dark intensity in his eyes momentarily dimmed. “Aw, come on, Lil. Just let it ring. If it’s important they’ll leave a message.” He took her hand, trying to draw her back toward him.

  “It—it will only take a moment. I promise.” Not really wanting to go, but feeling too embarrassed to just sit there while her phone made such a racket, Lily pulled her hand out of Sebastian’s grip. She hurried around the bar, eyes searching for her clutch and wishing she had turned off her ringer. Finding the little purse, Lily dug out her phone, then hesitated, torn between answering and silencing the dratted thing. Instinctive politeness won and she answered in a rush, managing only a breathless “Hello?” as she put it to her ear.

  “Miss Singer? It’s Richard. Agent Grant. I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

  “Oh—n-no, of course not,” came her automatic reply. Instantly regretting her words, she squeezed her eyes shut and mentally kicked herself. “Um, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but…there’s something going on I need your help with.”

  “Oh?” Lily’s stomach did an uncomfortable flip and she looked over her shoulder to see Sebastian leaning against the corner of the bar, arms crossed and a distinctly unhappy look on his face.

  “Yes, though I think it’s better if we don’t speak about it over the phone. Let’s just say I need your, er, particular expertise. Remember the things you showed me last summer, when we were after Rex Morganson? There are some strange things like that going on in Atlanta and of course the FBI can’t make heads or tails of it. I haven’t said anything, I swear, but I can’t just stand by and do nothing, now that I know there’s, um, more out there than meets the eye. Would you be willing to meet so I can explain?”

  Lily’s insides felt like someone had used them to tie several sailor’s knots—and done a very bad job of it. A tense lump weighed down the pit of her stomach as she tried to organize her thoughts. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was get involved in anything related to the FBI in general—or Richard Grant in particular. In fact, she had half a mind to hang up on the spot and fall into Sebastian’s arms, begging him to pretend like the phone had never rung.

  But she couldn’t.

  Telling Richard—a clueless mundane—about the existence of magic last September had been a risk, but they had needed his help and she’d had no choice. And he had helped them when he could have refused, jeopardizing his career in the process. She couldn’t turn her back on him now, much less risk him telling someone non-magical about whatever was going on.

  “Of course, Agent Grant. Why don’t you come by my apartment—alone, of course—where we can talk in private?”

  There was a hesitation on the other line, but finally he said, “Yes, that would probably be best. Can I come by tomorrow? Say, around ten in the morning? I’m on call in the afternoon.”

  Lily grimaced, glad Richard couldn’t see her. Tomorrow was Saturday, and she had been hoping to spend it blessedly alone except for a healthy supply of tea and books—well, and her know-it-all cat. She needed time by herself to relax and recharge after an evening out, but she worried that putting Richard off was as much a risk as not meeting at all. Suppressing a little sigh, she said, “That would be fine. I’ll be expecting you.”

  “Thank you, Miss Singer. Have a good evening and…thank you.”

  Unhappy, Lily hung up without replying, worry gnawing at her gut. She took her time sliding her phone back into her clutch and placing the purse on top of her folded stole, before she slowly turned to face Sebastian, who eyed her with a closed expression.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Um, nothing,” Lily said, looking down, wiping clammy palms on her skirt. She really, really didn’t want to discuss the topic of Richard just then. Or ever, really.

  “You call that nothing? Agent Grant? Your house? Alone?”

  Lily bristled at his tone. “It is strictly business, and its sensitive nature warrants discretion.” Don’t you trust me? she wanted to add, but her tongue seemed glued to the roof of her mouth.

  Sebastian’s eyebrows rose. “Business? Do you often take business calls from dear ol’ Richie?”

  “Of course not!” Lily gasped. Her temper—fueled by her Italian blood on her mother’s side of the family—almost never showed itself. Except around Sebastian, it seemed. “And why would you care if I did?”

  The shrug Sebastian gave her was stiff, his face shadowed. �
�Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because he lied to you, used you as bait, and put your life in danger. I don’t trust him.”

  “He was doing his job,” she shot back, annoyed that she felt the need to defend the FBI agent. He had lied to her, and she had fallen for it. The memory sent an ice pick of pain through her heart, and her mouth moved without her permission. “You’re just jealous of him, aren’t you.”

  Sebastian’s face flushed. “Jealous? Of that doofus? He has as much personality as a blank wall, and about as much imagination.”

  “Well at least he’s reliable. And clean. And has an actual job!”

  Pain flashed across Sebastian’s face and he recoiled as if she’d dealt him a physical blow. Lily clapped her hands over her mouth, horror and embarrassment flooding her. What in the world had possessed her?

  “Sebastian, I—I didn’t mean—I just thought—” she stammered, floundering, but his entire expression had gone blank like a door closing. The sight of it pierced her through and through, and she clenched her hands, wanting to reach out and touch him. But she couldn’t move. His face looked so hard she was afraid of making things worse.

  “It’s getting late,” he finally said, turning away to begin gathering up their scattered supper. “I should take you home, so you can get ready for your guest tomorrow.”

  “But I—”

  “Don’t forget your shawl,” he said, ignoring her protest.

  Lily’s voice faltered, and she just stood, feeling awkward and miserable. Richard should have been a non-issue. Revealing magic to him last summer had been a move of desperation—one she wished she could have avoided—and he was the last person she wanted to be meeting with on a lazy Saturday morning. So why was Sebastian insinuating they had some kind of secret arrangement? This was where she wanted to be, with Sebastian, despite his faults. Yet how could she tell him that after what she’d said? Why had she even said it, for goodness sake?

  While she tried to figure out what in the world was wrong with her, Sebastian was busy cleaning up the remnants of their date, stuffing everything haphazardly into bags without even a glance in her direction. When all trace of their presence had been packed away, he nodded in the direction of the elevator.

  Not knowing what else to do, Lily led the way, a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach. Their trip down to the ground floor was painfully silent—not even the elevator attendant said a word.

  By the time they reached the front doors, the valet was waiting with their car. While Sebastian threw his bags in the trunk, Lily let herself into the passenger seat, slipping in and closing the door before he had a chance to offer his help. The drive back to her apartment was as silent as the grave, and the most awkward twenty minutes of her life. She knew she should say something, but what? She agonized over it the whole way home, her eyes downcast and her hands incessantly twisting a corner of her stole until it was quite wrinkled.

  By the time they pulled up to her apartment, she was so preoccupied that she forgot to get out of the car, and jumped when the door opened of its own accord. There Sebastian stood, hand outstretched, expression still closed. Lily timidly let him pull her out of the low seat and onto the sidewalk, where she waited as he turned and closed the door behind him. When he faced her again, he simply stood there, hands in pockets, gaze level but emotionless. Almost apathetic. She couldn’t read a thing from him.

  “G-goodnight,” she said, ducking her head, unable to bear that look. What else should she say? Her mind felt as frozen as a turkey buried in the snow.

  “Night.”

  Sebastian’s monosyllabic reply hung, still and brittle in the biting air. Then Lily heard the scrape of shoes on pavement and the cadence of Sebastian’s swift stride before there was a click of a car door opening. Panic gripped her and her head flew up, eyes seeking him out in the streetlight’s glow. He couldn’t leave, not yet. This felt all wrong and she knew she had to say something. Something.

  “Wait!”

  Sebastian’s shadowed form paused, the angle of his body showing he already had one foot in the car.

  “I…I wanted to say…to say…” Helpless frustration rose in her as her mouth worked silently. Why was she so useless with words? Sebastian’s form remained motionless, as if he was frozen and waiting for her words to free him.

  “T-thank you. For the bracelet, and the dinner. They were both wonderful. Thank you.” There, common politeness. She had forgotten it in the tumult of her tangled emotions. It wasn’t what she had meant, or needed, to say. But it was all she could manage on the spot,

  “You’re welcome, Lily.”

  She couldn’t be sure, but she thought—or perhaps only hoped—that his voice had regained a little warmth.

  “Oh, and Sebastian?” A sudden thought had struck her, and she only hoped she was making the right decision.

  “Yes?”

  “Um, could you come over tomorrow around ten to, uh, meet with Agent Grant? And me, of course.” She coughed nervously, and when Sebastian didn’t reply she tried to elaborate. “He said something fishy is going on, something magic related. I…I could use your help. Please?”

  The streetlights behind him cast his entire form in a black silhouette, so she could do nothing but imagine his expression as he dipped his head in affirmation.

  “I’ll be there.”

  “T-thank you.”

  He didn’t reply, only lowered himself into his fancy rental car, shut the door, and quickly pulled out of the parking space.

  Lily stood there in the cold for many minutes after the sleek car had disappeared down the street. As the chill slowly seeped into her bones and she began to shiver, she suddenly realized she had never given him back his tuxedo jacket. Nor had he asked for it. That fact didn’t so much comfort her as give her one more thing to puzzle over as she trudged up the steps to her apartment, hoping things would make more sense tomorrow.

  It took three cups of her strongest Scottish breakfast blend to get Lily started the next morning, and even then her mind felt sluggish. The thought of facing the day made her want to hide under her covers and sleep until it was all over. Since that wasn’t what responsible adults did, however, she made herself a hearty breakfast of fried potatoes and an omelet, then forced herself through thirty minutes of calming yoga before taking a shower hot enough to scald her. That left her time to tidy the house and gather her thoughts before Richard’s arrival—though in reality, she spent more time avoiding than gathering the multitude of uncomfortable thoughts swirling in her head.

  To keep her hands busy while she waited, she took a lint roller to Sebastian’s borrowed tux jacket. She assumed it was rented and wanted it to be in spotless condition when she returned it. Considering her cat’s supernatural ability to deposit hair onto every surface in the house—even the vertical ones—a quick going-over was the least she could do.

  After ensuring the jacket was free of Sir Kipling’s “gift,” she couldn’t help but lean in to press her nose against the ebony fabric and take a slow, deep breath. Even though Sebastian had probably worn the tux for the first time last night, his musty scent still lingered. It reminded her of damp earth after a summer rain, or rich leaf loam on an ancient forest floor. The hint of spice was harder to place, but after a moment she decided it smelled like hot apple cider on a crisp fall morning. The scent was incredibly relaxing, and if she closed her eyes she could almost imagine herself back in Melthalin, surrounded by fairy lights. She wondered if Sebastian’s fae magic had anything to do with the unique smell.

  Knowing her guests would arrive soon, she resisted the urge to take several more deep breaths, and instead hung the jacket on the outside of her closet door where she wouldn’t forget about it.

  Ten minutes before ten, the doorbell rang. Sir Kipling, who was curled up on the couch, swiveled one ear in the direction of the door, twitched his tail in unconcern, and went back to sleep. Trying to ignore the trepidation building in her gut, Lily went to answer it, opening the door to a stone-faced Sebasti
an. He looked as grumpy as he always did before the hour of noon, the dark bags under his eyes adding to his ominous appearance. She let him in without a word and he slouched over to the sofa where he took a seat, glowering at the rug like it had personally offended him. Lily watched as Sir Kipling rose, yawned, stretched, and oozed over to Sebastian’s side of the couch. The feline oh-so-casually draped himself across the witch’s lap, his belly and all four paws pointing skyward as he silently demanded attention. The spectacle brought a tiny smile to her lips, and the tightness in her stomach eased somewhat.

  Knowing her cat had things well in hand, Lily busied herself in the kitchen, returning to the living room with a steaming mug of coffee and a plate piled high with scones. Sebastian was absentmindedly scratching Sir Kipling’s belly—of course—and only looked up when Lily stopped in front of him and held out her offerings. He took them silently, nodding in thanks at the floor, and began to nurse his coffee. Lily still couldn’t read him, but at least he had lost the blank, expressionless look of the night before.

  Right on the dot, the doorbell rang a second time, and when Lily opened the door it revealed the tall figure of FBI Agent Richard Grant, dressed smartly in a dark suit and tie. She studiously ignored how well they fit his body, focusing instead on pulling out her desk chair for him to sit in. Southern manners necessitated that she offer him something to drink, but a glance at Sebastian made her hesitate. Her friend still sat on the couch, plate and mug clutched in a tense grip as he gave the rug a look that would have made the Grim Reaper’s visage seem jovial in comparison.

  Feeling awkward and irritated in equal measures—why couldn’t Sebastian at least pretend to be civil?—Lily decided to ignore her friend and do what came naturally. With the most bland politeness possible, she provided her guest with a cup of coffee and then perched on the arm of the couch, too on edge to seek out a proper seat.

  “I know you have places to be, Agent Grant, so I’ll get right to the point. What seems to be the problem and why do you think I can help?”