Enchantment Emporium

FIVE

Allie didn’t have to ask what was wrong, Michael told her as soon as she opened the door.

“I caught Brian fucking one of the guys at the construction site.”

He didn’t sound angry; he sounded weary, and that was a thousand times worse.

“Oh, sweetie.” She grabbed the strap of the duffel bag hanging from his shoulder, dragged him over the threshold, and wrapped as much of him as possible in a hug. “I’ll call Auntie Jane.”

She was mostly kidding. Calling in the aunties for a cheating boyfriend was like calling in a nuclear strike on the asshat who’d parked diagonally across two spots at the mall. This didn’t mean she wouldn’t call them if Michael wanted her to.

He laughed a little, like she’d hoped he would, and if it sounded like he was laughing to keep from crying, well, that was okay, too. They’d take that next step when they weren’t standing in an open doorway. Anger had probably got him packed and to the airport and onto the plane where he’d had nothing to do for a couple of hours but think about how his life had fallen apart. “Let’s leave the aunties out of this; you know how they overreact.”

“They salt the earth because they care. Come on.” Unwrapping herself only as far as necessary, she tugged him a little farther into the store and locked the door behind him. “Upstairs. I made cake.”

“Magic cake?” He sounded about twelve—or as much like a twelve year old as a man who’d topped out at six foot five and then put on the muscle bulk to match could sound.

“Is there any other kind?”

Arm around his waist, she steered him through the store and past the mirror…

“Is that…?”

“Don’t even look, Michael, trust me.”

… and up the stairs and into the apartment where she stepped back and took a good long look at him. He wore a shirt and blazer over jeans and work boots, the uniform for an architect visiting the site, and he’d obviously been in them since early Friday morning. His hazel eyes were shadowed, there were flecks of dried blood in the corner of his lower lip where he’d chewed off a bit of dried skin, and dark stubble buried curves where his dimples were hidden. Michael had always shown his heart on his face.

“Fuck the aunties. I’m going to kill him myself.”

“Allie… it’s just…” The duffel bag slid to the floor and he dropped into one of the kitchen chairs like his strings had been cut. “Just don’t. You know what Brian’s like. Hell, I know what Brian’s like.”

“I thought he’d changed.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

It had been Brian’s idea that Michael take the job with his father’s firm, allowing them to finish their internship together. Brian’s idea that they live together in Vancouver. Although he hadn’t stopped fucking around the first year after he and Michael had hooked up, Allie knew for a fact that the last year the three of them had been at Carleton, Brian had actually managed monogamy. Not without temptation and not without a few alcohol-fueled rants about having been neutered, but he’d kept it in his pants.

She should never have let that charm fade.

She should have given him a different one as a going away present. One that came with consequences.

“I thought you said there’d be cake?”

“Yeah, I did.” Allie bent to kiss the top his head, although given his height she didn’t bend far, then pulled the cake out of the fridge and sliced off a hefty wedge. Filling the largest glass in the cabinet with milk, she set them on the table in front of him and slid into the next chair, tucking a bare foot up under her.

“You’re not eating?” He frowned at her red boxers and over them the worn and armless remnant of one of David’s old high school football jerseys. “You were in bed.”

“One, not yet.” Tugging at the frayed hem of the jersey, she was just glad it wasn’t his; under the circumstances, just a bit creepy. “Two, it wouldn’t have mattered. And three, if I’m going to eat cake at two in the morning I might as well apply it directly to my ass. Eat.”

The left dimple made half an appearance. “You sound like your mother.”

“Could be worse.” Frowning, she watched him stuff a huge forkful of cake into his mouth. “Did you eat supper?”

“It’s worse.”

Reaching out, she smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “Just answer the question.”

“I had something at the airport. And I bought a sandwich on the plane. Two actually.”

“Good.” If he could still eat, he wasn’t completely broken. So far there’d been nothing in Michael’s life so terrible it had killed his appetite. Except, if anything, this should…

“Because I was expecting it.”

Allie blinked. Not at Michael knowing what she was thinking before she got there herself, they’d been able to do that to each other since they were kids, but at the actual words. After a moment, she managed a quiet, “Why?” her reaction waiting on his answer.

“It was too perfect, wasn’t it?”

With his stupid perfect life and his stupid perfect boyfriend.

At least she’d got the stupid boyfriend right.

“No. It wasn’t too perfect. It was exactly as perfect as you deserve.”

His mouth twisted. “Apparently.”

“Oh, sweetie, that’s not what I meant!” It was easier to hold him with him sitting down. Arms wrapped around him, head tucked into the curve of her throat, she rested her cheek on the top of his head and murmured, “Brian’s an ass, he doesn’t deserve you. And you deserve better.”

“But I still want him.”

“Yeah. I know.”

After a long moment, he sighed. “I need a shower.”

“I didn’t want to mention it.”

Both sofas opened into queen-sized beds. Allie didn’t bother setting up either of them. Michael was one of the most tactile people she knew and when he was hurting, he needed touch.

Emerging from the bathroom clean and shaved, chestnut hair damp and curling slightly over his ears, he glanced over at the sofas and then at Allie standing in the bedroom door.

“It’s a big bed,” she said softly.

A little of the tension went out of his shoulders and he almost smiled. “Promise to keep your hands to yourself?”

“Nope.”

They’d shared a bed, or certain variations of the word bed, off and on since they were five. There’d been a few rocky months in their teens before Allie had been convinced he really wasn’t interested…

“Can’t you just close your eyes and pretend I’m a guy?”

“Can you close your eyes and pretend I’m a girl?”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Why would I?”

… but in the end she settled for having as much of him as she could. Charlie thought she was a little too fond of self-flagellation, but the comfort they took from each other outweighed the unrequited bits. Usually. And maybe Charlie wasn’t entirely wrong.

She wondered if it hurt more that he’d caught Brian with another guy. If maybe a girl would have hurt less. Michael might not be interested, but Brian was as firmly in the enthusiastically nondiscriminating camp as any Gale. One very cold February night after Brian had essentially moved into their student apartment, the heat had gone off and the three of them had shared a bed. Allie and Brian had held a silent and speculative conversation, then placed Michael definitively between them.

Head on Michael’s shoulder, his arm a warm, familiar weight against her back, she inhaled the scent of clean skin and fabric softener from his worn T-shirt and murmured, “What did Brian say?”

“When? Oh…” A disdainful snort in the darkness. “He didn’t see me. I saw him, went back to the apartment, packed some shit, and left.”

“So you didn’t give him a chance to explain?”

“Explain what? That he was just standing there between the trailer and the crane minding his own business when some guy in a hard hat threw himself on his dick a few dozen times?”

“It’s just…” Strange? Weird? Unlikely? None of the above, given that he’d been caught in the act. “What did you do with your phone?”

“Left it at the condo.”

“I wonder why he hasn’t called me.”

“He’s afraid of your reaction.”

“Smarter than he looks.”

“Obviously.”

She spread her fingers out over his heart, feeling it beat through muscle and bone. Feeling the ragged edges of the break rubbing against each other.

“Allie?” Something in his voice suggested she wasn’t going to be happy about the question.

“Yeah?”

“What drawer are Gran’s sex toys in?”

She couldn’t see him grinning in the dark, but she knew the dimples had reappeared. “Shut up!”

“Two more?”

He shrugged as he stripped out of his camouflage, using the movement to work the knots out of his shoulders.

“That’s all of them, then. This would be the one thing in millennia they’ve agreed on.” Heavy brows drew in. “Perhaps I should have had you deal with them as they emerged.”

He’d spent thirteen years dealing with the horrors drawn to his boss’ power—creatures that crawled and walked and flew out of nightmare, creatures that didn’t belong in this world however Human they looked—and this was the first time he’d ever heard him sound unsure. Whatever was coming had him rattled. Off his game. “If I knew what we were all waiting for…”

“You know what you need to. You know what you always have. And you know I depend on you. If this creature gets loose in the world, I will be in mortal danger.” The dark eyes narrowed. “You need to kill it. They’re watching for me now, they’ll be watching for me when it arrives, but they don’t know about you. That’s why you couldn’t deal with them as they emerged. If they find out about you…” He spread blunt-fingered hands, rings glittering under the fluorescent light. “Capture. Torture. Eventually, you’ll tell them where I am. Best to keep a low profile.”

“Best for both of us from the sounds of it.”

“Of course.”

“What about after it’s dead? What will they do then?”

“After?” The older man snorted. “After, they’ll very likely try to kill you, but with no reason to hide, you can pick them out of the sky as they come in for the attack.”

“Provided they attack one at a time.”

“Which they will. As I said, they don’t agree on much and, furthermore, with only a single shot to base their assessment on, there’s no way they’ll anticipate how dangerous you are. After, they’ll be furious and you can take advantage of that lack of finesse.”

True. Checking that his M24 rested secure against the padded lining of the case, he frowned. It sounded reasonable—for those definitions of reasonable that referred to the more important part of how he made a living—but there seemed to be more variables every time they talked. For the first time in a long time, he wondered if he did know what he needed to.

Brian called at 8:10 just as Allie eased the ancient Beetle onto Deerfoot Trail heading for the airport. Eased because one of Gran’s charms appeared to be a NASCAR derivative and maintaining a speed less than 20K over the 100 KPH limit proved to be taxing. Fortunately, Saturday morning traffic was sparse compared to the usual commuter tangles so, after glancing down to see the call display, Allie picked up the phone.

“Is he there?” Brian sounded wrecked.

She’d left Michael communing with the coffeemaker, eyes squinted nearly shut, hair sticking up in at least three different directions. He’d slept through the dragons’ flyby—probably for the best—but had hopefully regained enough consciousness to understand her instructions for opening the store.

“Allie, please. Is Michael with you?”

He deserved to know that much.

“Yes,” she told him. And hung up.

“Hi, you must be Joe. I’m Michael, a friend of Allie’s. She’s gone to pick Charlie up at the airport, but she should be back by eleven unless Charlie convinces her to stop by a grocery store, which would not be a bad idea since there’s a significant lack of crap in that apartment. But not a big surprise since Gale girls don’t trust anything they haven’t baked themselves. Which reminds me, I ate the last of the rhubarb pie for breakfast, so you’re in the clear with Aunt Ruth’s charm, and in case no one’s warned you, pancakes are sneaky because they can pour the batter in pretty much any pattern they want. Generally, they’re pretty harmless, but stick to toast and eggs if you pissed one of them off. And butter the toast yourself. Oh, and Allie says you’re in charge.”

He had a place here. The prickle of panic evoked by the stranger at the door stopped running up and down his back. Joe looked down at the enormous hand engulfing his and then up, way up into a friendly smile and shadowed fox eyes. “How the fuck tall are you?” he demanded, wondering if this Michael had a touch of the blood.

“Uh… six five. Ish.”

“Ish?” Who actually said ish? “And could you maybe let go of my hand, then?”

“Sorry.”

“It’s all right; seems I can still use it.” He flexed the fingers just to be sure. “So, when did you arrive?” Charlie and Roland he remembered, but Allie hadn’t said anything about Michael.

“Late last night.”

Front door unlocked, Joe turned the sign, and decided to be amused by how much the big man had to shorten his stride to walk beside him to the counter.

“So, uh… you’re a leprechaun?”

“Oh, she told you that, did she?” She might as well have hung a sign around the big guy’s neck saying I trust him, so you can. Conscious of Michael’s continuing stare, Joe sighed. “Go ahead and say it.”

“I don’t…”

“Yeah. You do. Let’s get it over with and move on. I’m a little tall for a leprechaun.”

Broad shoulders rose and fell; the grin was damned near blinding. “Not from where I’m standing.”

Joe spent a moment thinking of punching the guy in the nuts, considered the consequences, and pulled a ten from the cashbox. “If I’m in charge, you’re going for coffee.”

“I don’t…”

“Next door.”

“Okay, then.”

He sold a yoyo to a kid on a skateboard while Michael was gone and was entering it in the ledger when he got back.

“The old guy next door? Kenny Shoji? He can tell exactly what kind of coffee you like. Pretty cool, eh?” The big red mugs looked small in his hands although they regained their size when he set them on the counter. “He said it makes more sense to use these than to keep wasting paper, that we should bring them back when we’re done, and that if I’m staying for any length of time, he’s going to get some crap coffee in so that we can abuse it without causing him pain.”

Seemed that Michael was also a triple/triple man. And it seemed that coffee shop Kenny trusted him on sight. Joe, however, still had trouble trusting anyone so tall. At least a dozen members of the NBA and four MLB pitchers were half bloods, so it wasn’t like the Courts didn’t have a presence in the MidRealm. He slid the ledger back under the counter. “How long are you staying, then?”

Just like that, the shadows in Michael’s eyes won; darkening the hazel, banishing the grin. “I don’t know.”

In spite of his suspicion, Joe felt like he’d kicked a puppy. A big, half-grown, annoying puppy that he’d best stay on the right side of, not only because of the size of his teeth but because Allie was clearly holding the end of his leash. Sighing, he scraped at a smudge on the counter with a ragged fingernail. “So why’d you need sanctuary, then? And don’t even try to lie to me about it.”

“Because you’re a leprechaun?”

“No, because any idiot can see you’d be crap at it.”

Seemed for a moment like Michael wasn’t going to answer, then he shrugged. “I caught my partner fucking around on me. You?”

So he’d caught that it went both ways. The big guy wasn’t stupid for all the air was probably right thin up near his head. “I got my life threatened by an attitude case with a gun and loaded Blessed rounds.”

Looking thoughtful, Michael took a long swallow of coffee. Set the mug back on the counter and said, “True death, eh? Well, that puts infidelity in perspective. Your life sucks worse than mine.”

Joe saluted that insight with his own mug, then kicked the second stool over. “You know you’re fucking covered in charms, right? And they’re not all hers.”

“You can see them?” Michael asked, sitting down. “Sorry, stupid question. Of course you can, given who you are.” Glancing down at a tanned forearm that screamed don’t even fucking think about it to anyone with the sight, he twisted it so the muscle rolled beneath the skin. “Some of them are Charlie’s, a couple are Aunt Mary’s—that’s Allie’s mother—at least one is her cousin Katie’s, and there’s one of David’s. Her brother,” he added when Joe raised a brow.

“No aunties?”

“They try, but Allie always catches them. Her gran actually managed to keep one in place for almost a week once, but that was only because she drew it just before my dad dragged me off to Ottawa with him. Allie hit the roof when I got home and she found it.”

“Little possessive is she, then?” Joe murmured watching the charms on the backs of his own hands catch the light.

“A little.” His smile flashed bright and unconcerned about being possessed. “But she’s not controlling, and the aunties are. Can be,” he amended. Frowned. “Are.”

“But you’ve family of your own?”

“Sort of.” Michael took a long swallow of coffee. “Well, yeah. But my parents are politicians—back room, not elected—and they never have much time for anything that doesn’t impact at the federal level. First day of kindergarten when the au pair was late, Allie took me home with her and I pretty much stayed. She’s got no sisters and that’s kind of an anomaly in her family.” He shot Joe a knowing look. “I think that’s why she collects strays.”

“I’m no stray!”

“If you say so, but you’re a long way from home.”

As much as he wanted to, Joe couldn’t argue with that.

Charlie’s reflection was wearing a cowboy hat as she passed the mirror on her way into the store, but that, Allie noted, seemed to be the only embellishment. Her reflection stood tied to a stake surrounded by bones split for their marrow.

“Yeah. Dragons. I know,” she sighed as she followed her cousin.

“You must be Joe.”

Eyes wide, Joe managed to sweep his gaze from the blue hair to the lilac Docs and settle somewhere in between by the time Charlie stopped across the counter from him.

“I’m Charlie. Don’t let her…” A toss of her head, toward Allie. “… boss you around.”

Ginger brows drew in. “But she’s my boss.”

“Well, you’re screwed, then.” She turned and charged between the first set of shelves. “Michael!”

“Charles!”

Allie rounded the shelves in time to see Michael heave Charlie off her feet, secure her with one arm, and reach out to stop an ancient wire spinner stuffed with old Maclean’s magazines from toppling over. Moving up next to the counter, she leaned over and beckoned Joe closer. “Charlie can mark you with a song, so if she gets out her guitar, watch where the music is going.”

“You people are scary in a group,” Joe snorted. “You know that, right?”

“Yes.” Allie smiled. “But this isn’t a group.”

“Say the word,” Charlie growled as Michael put her down, “and Brian’ll have the theme music to ‘Mr. Dressup’ on permanent earworm.”

“Let it go, Charlie.”

“Right.” She reached up and cupped his face in her hands. “Revenge served cold. Got it. You know where I am when the time comes.”

“Thank you.”

“Could be worse. If you were straight, you’d have been stuck with Allie, and it’s not like she’s all about commitment.”

He grinned. “When was the last time you slept in a bed?”

“I can’t remember, but I was in Halifax.”

Allie caught his eye and nodded.

“Okay, then.” Bending, he scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder. “Bedtime.”

“Hey! There’s a whole bunch of eight track tapes up here.” She grabbed one off the shelf and tossed it into Allie’s hands as she passed. “Hang onto that for me.”

“It’s the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack.”

“Or not.” Falling forward, head pillowed on her arms, she stared down Michael’s back as they exited the store. “Your ass looks amazing from this angle.”

Michael’s response got lost in the sound of his boots on the stairs.

“I sold a yoyo while you were gone,” Joe said at last.

“Well, what do you think?” Allie asked as Michael wandered around the half-completed loft, poking at pipes and wiring. Like most of the Gale boys, he’d spent summers working construction for her Uncle Neil. Unlike most of the Gale boys, he’d actually enjoyed it and the experience had ultimately shifted his interest in art into architecture. Allie figured the renovation would keep him from dwelling on Brian’s betrayal.

Brushing dirt off his hands, he returned to her side. “The plumbing and electrical’s all in. If I finish the build, and you hire the retailer’s people to install fixtures and counters and carpet and shit—under my supervision—this place could be livable in about a week. Maybe less.”

“Carpet?”

“We run linoleum across that end, kitchen and bathroom. Put down a good, hard-wearing Berber in the remaining space.” Arms folded, he looked down at her from under the edge of his hair. “It’s going to take a lot of yoyos, Allie.”

She smiled, reached up, and brushed his hair back. “You just make the calls and let me worry about the money.”

“Allie!” Joe whirled around to face her as she came back into the store picking yet more spiderwebs off her sweater. “This person…” He waved at the tiny woman practically vibrating by the counter. “… wants to buy this painting.” It was the seascape Allie’d been looking at just before Shamrocks-and-attitude had shown up.

She suppressed a grin at the way the customer just barely kept herself from snatching it out of Joe’s hands. “That’s great.”

“Yeah, but it’s…” Leaning closer, he dropped his voice. “… got a price on the back that says ten thousand dollars.”

“And?”

“Ten thousand dollars? That can’t be right.” He waggled the painting so that Allie could see the charm sketched under the price.

The woman raised a thin hand in protest, fingers trembling slightly, the scent of linseed oil wafting up from a stain on her sleeve. “Please…”

“Why don’t you let her hold it, Joe.”

“But…”

“It’s okay.”

Still frowning, he turned back around toward the customer and barely managed to let go in time when she snatched the painting from his grip. “It’s just…”

“A nice round number.” Allie noted that half the woman’s left eyebrow appeared to be Cadmium Yellow, and asked her, “Do you have a problem with the price?”

The woman opened her mouth, closed it again, an internal struggle clear on her face. Finally, she shook her head, gray-streaked ponytail swaying in counterpoint behind her.

“You handle the money, Joe.” Her tone suggested he table any further protests until after the deal had been completed. Allie was pleased to see he’d realized it wasn’t actually a suggestion. “I’ll wrap it.”

“It’s a bank draft.” The woman’s voice was also thin, the audio matching the physical, and she couldn’t meet Allie’s gaze.

“Bank draft’s fine.” Two layers of brown paper with a charm sandwiched between offered more protection than the anal retentive wrapping provided by galleries and high-end auction houses. Allie’d put her wrapping up against pretty much everything but digestion by dragons. Given dragon digestion, that was a case of you pay your money, you take your chance. Given the presence of dragons in Calgary—or over Calgary, at least—that was not a rhetorical observation.

“Ten thousand dollars?” The words spilled out of Joe’s mouth as the door closed and the customer sprinted out of sight. “For that piece of shite? You charmed her into thinking she wanted it!”

“First, it was Gran’s charm, not mine. Second, the charm’s intent was to keep just anyone from recognizing the painting, merely ensuring certain specific criteria were met. Third, it’s a Turner. A study for Calais Pier. I recognized it when I was going through the box earlier. I think he was working out the motion of the waves between the packet and the pier.” She twirled a finger in the air. “The circular pattern was unique for its time.”

“And that means what?”

“Back in 2006 a private telephone bidder bought Turner’s Giudecca, La Donna della Salute and San Giorgio at a Christie’s auction in New York for 35.8 million.”

Joe blinked and finally managed a choked, “Dollars?”

“Dollars.”

“And the yellow-eyebrow woman knew that?”

Allie nodded. “My guess is she spotted the Turner a while ago and then went looking for a buyer willing to give her part of the price up front. She’s probably been panicking we were going to sell it to someone else. Or realize the actual price of what we had. Ten thousand was enough she didn’t feel too guilty about not telling us how much it was worth.”

“Millions. It’s worth millions.”

“Maybe. But, given Gran, I guarantee most of that ten thousand is profit. And…” Allie grinned. “… yellow-eyebrow woman will make enough to be able to paint for the rest of her life without worrying about starving.”

“But you could have made 35.8 million!”

“No, that needs auction hysteria. But she probably was able to find a collector willing to pony up one or two million, though.”

“Not the point. She’ll be making it, won’t she? Not you!”

“She needed it. That was one of the charm’s criteria. Gran’s letter said the store had become crucial to the local community.” Allie watched a young couple walk by. He pushed a sleeping toddler in a stroller. She tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to get a half-grown golden retriever to heel. “When I met you, I thought she meant the community, but now I think she was working wider.”

“So what, it’s suddenly all, ‘hey, let’s be Robin Hood’?”

“Joe, we made a profit of ten thousand dollars. Get over it. We needed a bit of money. A bit of money appeared.”

“You needed a bit of money, and a bit of money appeared?” Joe repeated, eyes wide, voice a little higher than usual. “That’s how it works for you? For your family?”

“Essentially. We don’t control it, though, that’s darkside stuff. Sorcery,” she added when he looked confused. “We don’t force it; we just let things happen.”

He sank down onto the stool. “Your life doesn’t suck, you know that, right?”

She glanced out the back of the store toward the garage and Michael and frowned at the muting of familiar pain. Still, he was here, with her, maybe that was enough these days. “There should be new pie in the fridge,” she said. “You interested?”

“Ten thousand dollars and pie.” Joe shook his head. “Total fucking absence of suck.”

“So, the Gale woman.”

“Alysha,” Graham muttered without looking up from his monitor. Damned spellchecker kept insisting he meant extinguished when he actually meant exsanguinated.

Dark brows drew in as Stanley Kalynchuk glared down at him. “Alysha?”

“That’s her name.”

“I am aware that’s her name. That’s all you’ve discovered in… what? Forty-eight hours? Our time is not limitless!” Kalynchuk slapped a copy of the paper onto the desk. “Or have you forgotten?”

Graham raised one hand off the keyboard to wave it at his publisher in a vaguely placating manner. “I’m working on the story about the suspicious cattle deaths—we need to put our spin on the speculation.”

“Our spin?” The snort managed the complex trick of being both dismissive and accepting. “What are you blaming it on?”

“Chupacabra.” And didn’t the spellchecker love that.

“Goat suckers?”

“They’re not necessarily goat specific,” Graham muttered, backspacing. “They suck the blood from livestock. Cattle are livestock.”

“They’re not being exsanguinated, they’re being eaten.”

“Potato, potahto.”

“And we’re too far north for chupacabra.”

“Yeah, like our readers are going to care.”

“And that right there is the problem in a nutshell. No one cares about scholarship anymore.” Kalynchuk paced away from the desk, turned by the white board, and, unfortunately, paced back. Graham had been hoping he’d stomp all the way off to his office. “Imagine the hysteria if we printed the truth.”

“We’ve printed the truth. No one ever believes us. No one is supposed to believe us; that’s the point of the exercise.”

“Control. Discredit. Hide behind the expectations of the masses.” A beefy hand smacked down over a blurry picture of what was probably a raccoon in a dumpster. “Most people wouldn’t know the truth if it bit them on the ass.”

Having half expected a bad Nicholson impression, Graham reminded himself that his boss was not a fan of popular culture

“Now…”

Even without looking up, Graham knew his boss was standing with his arms crossed. He was just that good he could hear crossed arms in the other man’s voice.

“… about the Gale woman.”

“Alysha. I’m seeing her tonight.” In three hours, twenty-two minutes, seventeen seconds. But who was counting.

“Seeing?”

He looked up at that, a little surprised by the challenge in the question. “Dinner. Unless you need me for something else.”

“No, not tonight.”

“You wanted me to find out what she knows. That’s all this is.”

“Make sure that’s all it is.” Challenge had become warning although he didn’t think he’d let any of his conflicted feelings show in his voice. “You do your job. You find out what you need to know, and you get out.”

“You make her sound like a war zone.”

Kalynchuk’s lip curled. “We don’t know that she isn’t.”

“Tight jeans, low-cut white tank top, pink ballet-wrap sweater.” Sprawled out on the bed, Charlie watched Allie finish dressing and frowned. “Okay, you’re clearly going for mildly sexy, given the boob and ass combo, but completely harmless. How tall is he?”

“Tall enough.” Allie slid her feet into a pair of pink plaid Chucks, the only flats she had with her.

“How tall?” Charlie demanded.

“Five ten. Maybe.”

“Fuck a duck, I’ve got boots taller than that.”

“Well, if I was short like you, it wouldn’t be a problem, would it?”

“I gave you that extra inch, babe. Felt sorry for the chubby thing you had going in junior high.” She sat up and wrapped her arms around her bare knees. “You really like him?”

Because it was Charlie asking, Allie actually gave it some thought as she twisted her hair up and clipped it. “Yeah,” she said, after a minute. “I really like him.”

“You going to bang him?”

“Not tonight.”

“Why not? And please don’t tell me it’s because Michael’s here, because if you do, I’ll barf, I swear.”

“It has nothing to do with Michael,” Allie snorted, dusting bronzer over her cheeks, blending the freckles in a bit.

Charlie’s turn to think for a moment. “Weirdly, I believe you.”

“Tonight’s still about Gran.”

“Yeah, okay, allegedly dead grandmother equals death of verbal foreplay. No pre-game show, no game.”

“Fortunately, tomorrow is another day.” Allie leaned down and kissed the top of Charlie’s head. “I think you need more sleep.”

Graham drove a four-wheel drive pickup, dark blue under the grime, with a black cab over the truck bed. “It’s not very glamorous,” he admitted, pulling out from the store and right into an illegal U-turn across 9th, “but it’s paid for.”

“It’s just like home,” Allie told him, braced against the movement. “My family lives twenty-two kilometers outside a bustling metropolis of about four thousand people, so pickups are the default method of transportation.”

“Your grandmother left, looking for something a little more exciting?”

“She may have gone a bit wild,” Allie allowed, grinning at him. “Because there’s nothing more exciting than spri… cat saucers and yoyos.” He was wearing jeans and a leather jacket over a white shirt with a narrow blue stripe. And on his feet…

“What are you doing?”

“Checking for cowboy boots.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“I am.” She frowned as he turned north on 1st Street, suddenly realizing why things looked so familiar. “That’s interesting. We’re going back along the route the cabbie used to bring me in from the airport.”

Graham turned his attention off traffic long enough to shoot an incredulous look across the cab. “He drove through downtown?”

Her grin broadened at the indignation in his voice. “It’s okay. I knew I was getting hosed.”

“Did you report him?”

“I didn’t care that much, and I got to see something more than the expressway. That’s a win.” She relaxed a little when Graham turned onto 3rd. Twice over exactly the same route would have been more than coincidence. Turned out their destination was just west of 3rd and 6th. Allie peered north up 6th as they crossed it, her attention still drawn to something in the block north of 2nd.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s…” Eye widening, she noticed the name of the restaurant they were parking in front of. “Buchanan’s? You own a restaurant?”

He laughed. “Happy coincidence, but it is why I came here the first time. Wanted to see what the western branch of the family was up to. Well, that and The Western Star’s office isn’t far.”

It looked as though he’d have come around and opened the truck door for her, but Allie was out and on the sidewalk before he got the chance. “Seems like the western branch of the family is doing fairly well,” she said as he joined her. The restaurant was a square brick building with large windows running along the two open sides. “Chop House and Whiskey Bar?”

“It’s kind of a shrine to malt whiskey; they’ve got over 200 brands behind the bar. But the food’s amazing, too,” he added as Allie’s eyebrows rose. “They’re known for the best bacon cheeseburger in the city, but tonight, because it’s your first dinner out in Calgary, I thought we’d go straight for the cliché and a nice thick cut of Alberta beef.”

Allie bit her tongue and reminded herself that Graham was actually from Quebec.

“I feel like I ate an entire cow. Just flapped down and carried it up into the mountains and gorged myself. I’ll have to spend the next two days digesting.”

Graham laughed as he unlocked the passenger door. “Kind of more than I needed to know, Allie.”

“Just add it to all those background details you got for your story.” He hadn’t asked the kind of questions that would have required lies—and honestly, who would—so most of the details were even accurate. A few memories of Gran. Some funny similarities between the back rooms at the ROM and the Emporium. Stories about growing up surrounded by cousins she couldn’t get him to share. Every time she tried to get more information about his family, the question just seemed to slide sideways and end up somewhere else. She wondered what it was sliding off of.

“Background’s important,” he told her, stepping back to give her room. “I believe in thorough researching.”

It had definitely been more of a date than an interrogation. She hadn’t had to charm him once. Her cheeks actually hurt from smiling. “Clearly.”

“Are you cold?”

At nearly nine thirty the temperature had dropped, but it was the contrast between the cool night air and the warmth against the small of her back where Graham’s right hand rested that had caused the shiver. “I’ll be fine once I’m in the truck.”

Except the cab of the truck smelled too much like Graham to allow her to dial back her reaction. Like leather and a bit like apples and a little like steak sauce and a lot like male with a hint of something she thought she should recognize. It was a scent she definitely knew. Sharp. Not clean but clearing…

“Allie?” He’d paused, seat belt half on and stared at her, wearing an expression that suggested a little more than she’d intended had shown on her face. “Should I take you home now?”

She considered saying, Let’s head back to your place and get naked instead. Didn’t. It wasn’t so much talking about Gran that had damped her interest as knowing that however it had turned out, the evening had begun as part of Graham doing his job. Without knowing exactly why, she wanted more. So she sighed, and did up her seat belt, and said, “Please.”

They were back on 9th just crossing 6th Street when Graham’s phone rang.

“It’s my boss, I have to get it. Technically, I’m working right now.”

“Since the paper paid for dinner.”

“Yeah.”

“Better answer, then.”

He shifted the phone to his left hand and flicked it open. “What?”

Allie could hear a low rumble from the other end but no actual words.

“Fuck. You’re serious? No, you’re right, that’s not something you’d joke about. But won’t that attract…” Given the length of the pause after the interruption, it seemed like he was getting an earful. “Okay. Right. Actually…” He peered out the window. “… I’m almost at the parking lot. Yes, she is. Because we just finished dinner. Is there time to…? No.” The fingers of his right hand tightened around the wheel. “I said no.”

“You have to do something for work,” Allie guessed as he closed the phone and shoved it back into his pocket. “Something at Fort Calgary.” She waved a hand toward the dark, empty area that delineated the parking lot on the north side of the road. “And your boss isn’t happy I’m still with you.”

“Good call.” Deftly finding the hole between a transport and a sedan the size of a two-bedroom apartment, he crossed the westbound lane and maneuvered his truck up the dark, curved driveway leading toward the fort. “Someone reported screaming teenagers. My boss thinks that sounds like a story, and since I’m right here…”

“I’ll go with you,” Allie offered. “I could watch you work.”

“I could work better if you waited here.” His smile was a pale curve in the shadows. “You’d be a distraction.”

With the engine off, Allie could hear the truth in his words, so she gave him some back. “I don’t want to get in your way.”

“Good. Thank you.” He leaned back in before he shut the door. “I won’t be long.”

“And I won’t be staying here,” Allie told his shoulder through the glass as he turned toward the back of the truck. “How convenient that I didn’t tell you I would.” She rubbed a hand over the hair rising on the back of her neck. Graham could check out the screaming teenagers. She needed to find whatever it was that was making them scream.

Something thudded behind her.

Twisting around, she peered through the back window into the box. Although she could see a lighter rectangle where Graham had opened the tailgate, she couldn’t actually see what he was doing. What would a reporter need from the back of a truck?

Then the tailgate was slammed shut and she saw the beam of a high-powered flashlight paint the trees edging the parking lot with a circle of light. It would, she allowed, be difficult to write about something he couldn’t see. Leaning past the steering wheel, she watched his back in the mirror until he merged into the darkness, then traced charms onto both eyelids to boost her night sight before she opened the truck door.

Tried to open the truck door.

It wasn’t locked, but when she pushed against it, something pushed back. It seemed like the something making teenagers scream wanted her to stay in the truck.

Yeah. Like that was going to happen. She wet her fingertip, and traced a charm onto the curve of black plastic under the window. Before it could dry, she popped the latch and kicked out with both feet. Hinges shrieked a protest as the door slammed open.

Allie waited until she was certain nothing had been attracted by the noise, then closed the door and ran toward the strongest feeling of this is very wrong.

Very, very wrong, she amended after a moment, staring down at the gate into the fort and the creature struggling through it. It wasn’t so much that it had too many arms as that its body shape suggested it shouldn’t have arms at all. All four eyes were small and red and in the center of what had to be a face, a large beak snapped open and closed within a writhing mass of tentacles.

Extrapolating emotions from writhing tentacles had to be inexact, but it looked pissed. Really pissed. And a bit confused. A combination of arm waving and the way the deep fuchsia skin wrinkled over the eye ridges suggested a distinct what the fuck reaction to… something.

It took her a moment to realize why it wasn’t roaring or snarling or making any noise at all beyond a wet squelching sound as it tried to force moist appendages between the log posts. It was trapped and essentially helpless. Until it had forced its way through, noise would draw attention. Predators. Although if there was something around bigger and badder…

Idiot. She snapped a picture with her phone. The dragons.

About to head down to the gate and suggest moving backward as an option if it couldn’t move forward—get the emphasis right and Shoo! Go home! worked on anything from stray dogs to evangelical proselytizers—Allie jerked back as an impact crater opened between the two clusters of eyes and black blood sprayed out the back of a vaguely triangular head. It swayed, began to fall, clutched desperately at the posts, and turned to dust.

Whoever had pulled the trigger had known where to put the kill shot. They’d either hunted squelching, fuchsia, tentacled visitors from the UnderRealm before or had access to one heck of a bestiary. Not to mention that given all the writhing around in the dark, hitting the exact spot necessary made the gunman scarily good at what he did.

Odds that there were two gunmen in Calgary loading Blessed rounds?

Slim.

Joe was sleeping at the store from now on.

Then, from down by the river, came the scream of a teenage girl at horror movie timbre, and the feeling of wrong shifted toward it.

Graham was out there looking for screaming teenagers. Whoever had shot the creature jammed in the gate was, no doubt, looking for whatever was making the teenager scream. Smart money went down on a second creature. Or, technically, a first creature.

Part of her wanted to go after Graham, make sure he was all right, to not trust his safety to an unknown shooter who had already threatened one of hers. But…

As long as both the teenagers and the creature were covered by Graham and the shooter, Allie knew responsibility lay with the gate. Or, more specifically, closing it before anything else slithered through. Dragons were one thing—they were canny enough she could ignore them right up until they ate one of her cousins—but tentacle-mouthed, multi-armed pink things were something else again. Although she had no idea exactly what else again.

The creature trapped in the gate looked like a Slohath demon. It wasn’t, unless they came in more variations than he cared to consider, but there were enough similarities for him to chance the head shot. Kill one of these things with a Blessed round, and they died clean. Kill one with a regular round and there was fuck of a mess to clean up. Injure one and… well, there was no incentive to get a second shot off fast and aimed right like a pissed-off Hellspawn.

He went to ground in the dubious cover of a clump of dog willow and pointed his weapon toward the riverbank.

The second creature—technically the first, he amended—looked a little like a bear. Fur, claws, the whole running-on-four-legs, rising-onto-two-legs thing. But it was bigger. A lot bigger, if the pair of teenagers standing frozen in fear were any indication.

Hard to hear it growling over the sound of the river, but he could feel the rumble in blood and bone. His hindbrain suggested getting the hell out of Dodge. He told it to shut the fuck up.

No idea where the heart or brain was, but if it was bipedal, it had a spine.

His finger curled around the trigger.

Saw barbed spikes lift out of the fur along the creature’s forelegs.

Felt the breeze on his cheek.

Fuck! He was upwind!

He threw himself to the right. Too late to care about the noise as the dog willow snapped and broke under his weight. Felt the impact of the first thrown spike as it buried itself in the dirt by his hip. The second missed by a slightly larger margin—he’d moved closer to the thing, not farther away. A sudden, bitter smell that caught in the back of his throat suggested poison. While the third spike was in the air, he took his shot.

The creature was still turning. The first round caught it where head met shoulders. The second, about a centimeter up. No way of telling which killed it, they hit so close together.

Silver eyes gleamed over double fangs maybe twenty centimeters long.

It held its shape for a heartbeat, then the breeze caught the dust and spread it out over the river.

The space between the posts smelled like yogurt long past its best before date seasoned heavily with cumin. The air felt damp, oily against exposed skin. Allie wondered where she’d end up if she walked through although she wasn’t curious enough to actually try it. That kind of curious was just a short walk from totally bugfuck crazy.

A lack of hysteria about sudden disappearances suggested the opening to the UnderRealm only happened while the fort was closed. Something so convenient couldn’t be an accidental opening but had to have been deliberately constructed.

She couldn’t find any markers, so the gate had to have been opened from the other side.

By the dragons? No. Giant flying lizards were… well, giant flying lizards, actually, and not up to this kind of working.

Given the number of Fey in the city, it was most likely that one of their doorways had been hijacked. Someone had broken the security bindings, and the dragons had found their way through. Or been sent through. Or called through.

And now other things were following the dragons.

At best, someone in the UnderRealm had been irresponsible. At worst, the dragons were a deliberate act of aggression. Not against the family, not yet anyway, but with Gran’s store so close and Gran missing…

Teeth clenched, Allie wrote a charm on back of a grubby gas receipt she found half buried by the path, then tossed it through the gate. The paper disappeared. The charm, drawn not exactly neatly with the punctured tip of her finger, hung in the air for a moment.

The flash hung in the air a moment longer.

The Courts were going to be pissed.

Tough.

“It like wasn’t a bear, okay! It was all furry, but it was too big!” Made shrill by terror, the girl’s voice sliced an advance path through the darkness.

“It had to be a fucking bear, didn’t it?” The boy was less shrill but more panicked.

“Bears’ eyes don’t glow!”

“Sometimes! In the right light!”

“All six of them?”

“If it wasn’t a bear, then what the fuck was it? Huh? What the fuck was it?”

The quiet answering rumble had to be Graham. Allie couldn’t make out the words, but the tone sounded more calming than interrogative. It also sounded as though they were about to pass right in front of her, heading for the path to the parking lot. She thought about waiting for them but decided Graham would be happier if he thought she’d stayed in the truck. When it took so little to make someone happy, why not go for it?

“A bear? That wandered down from the mountains? That got shot in the head and then disappeared?”

“Not disappeared,” Graham corrected. “Turned to dust.”

“A vampire bear?”

“Don’t even joke about it.” He waved at one of the police officers as he pulled out of the parking lot. Allie had no idea how he’d explained away their presence, but the teens were in the back of one of the two patrol cars probably still arguing about what had happened and they’d been told they could go. “Besides,” he added, changing lanes, “wouldn’t a vampire bear require a stake through the heart rather than a shot to the head?”

“Depends on the mythology.” She grinned as he turned to stare. “What?”

“You’re just messing with me, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Allie.”

“Yes, I’m just messing with you.” She didn’t know why she was laughing except that she really liked the way he said her name. “So that’s what the hysterical teenagers saw; what did you see?”

“Hysterical teenagers.”

“That’s all?”

“Well, I didn’t see a vampire bear, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He wasn’t lying. “Did you see the shooter?”

“Nope.”

Also not a lie.

“Neither did the hysterical teenagers,” he added. “Given there’s nothing to the story but hysterical teenagers, I doubt I’ll even follow up on it.”

“What about tracks?”

Eyes wide, he pivoted toward her; the truck swerved to the right. “Tracks of a vampire bear?” he asked, jerking them away from impact with a parked sedan.

“Tracks of whatever the kids saw,” Allie expanded, releasing her grip on the dashboard.

“If they saw anything at all.”

“If they saw anything at all,” she agreed as he pulled up in front of the store. “Do you think they saw something?”

For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer.

“I think they saw something,” he admittedly slowly. “But mostly, I think I want to see you again.”

Allie smiled across the cab of the truck. He sounded as if he was a little surprised by the revelation. She wasn’t. “That’s going to be one really well researched article.”

“Not for the article.” When her brows rose in exaggerated surprise, he visibly relaxed. “Okay, fine. You knew that. Tomorrow…”

“Store’s open. Monday?”

“I’ll be working.”

She could see schedules getting in the way until the moment was lost. This was not a moment she planned to lose. “Joe can handle the store.”

His eyes narrowed as he tried to work out what she meant. “So we’re on for tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“We could go to… uh…”

Allie realized she was in deep when she thought it was cute he hadn’t actually thought of anything in advance.

“… Banff!”

“Okay.”

“For the day.”

“Great.”

“I’ll pick you up at…”

“Ten.” Allie twisted sideways on the seat, and laid one hand on his arm. “So Joe knows he’s in charge. Actually, we haven’t really settled Joe’s hours, so Charlie may have to tell him that when he arrives.”

Even through jacket and shirt, she felt muscle flex. “Charlie’s here.”

“Yeah. She is.” Maybe he just needed reminding that Charlie wasn’t a guy.

“So tomorrow…”

Leaning forward, Allie kissed him. He was startled at first, then he started to respond, his left hand coming across to cup the back of her neck. “Tomorrow,” she murmured against his mouth as she pulled away. Before he could answer, she slid out of the truck, closed the door, and waved good-bye through the window.

Gale girls knew how to make an exit.

Now that the police were gone and the area was quiet, he retrieved his weapon from where he’d hidden it under the dog willow and placed it carefully back into the case. Having Alysha Gale actually at the site hadn’t turned into the disaster it could have been, but that, he was certain, was all luck because it sure as shit hadn’t been planning.

The tracks the creature had left had been mostly obliterated by traffic-cops who thought they were wasting their time weren’t too careful about where they walked. He carefully erased everything that remained, keeping half an eye on the sky.

“Yes, your involvement could very well attract the kind of attention we don’t want! Unfortunately, the presence of a greater danger does not change the fact that your job involves protecting me from lesser dangers as well. In this case, two lesser dangers. I have no idea what the Courts are thinking allowing these things through their gate! We’ll just have to risk it.”

“It turned to dust when it was shot?” Charlie frowned down at the picture on Allie’s phone. “I’m thinking the guy who pointed Blessed rounds at Joe is our prime suspect, then.”

“That makes sense.” She paused, David’s old football jersey half over her head. “We should go find Joe.”

“And?”

Yanking the jersey the rest of the way down, Allie took her phone back. “Offer him a safe place to sleep.”

“I thought you did that when you closed the store.”

“I did.” And as he had the night before, Joe’d refused the offer. Refused to hide. “But now we have more information.”

“He knows there’s a shooter out there with Blessed rounds,” Michael reminded her from the edge of the bed. “You want him to hang around, you’re going to have to come up with something more.”

“Than potential death?”

He shrugged. “Apparently.”

“You know what I think,” Charlie said, frowning thoughtfully. “I think this shooter has access to artifacts, so he could have acquired something that’s attracting all sorts of party people through the gate.”

Allie matched her frown. “What does that have to do with Joe?”

“Nothing. He’s not interested in having a sleepover, eating s’mores, and braiding your hair. We’ve moved on. Keep up.”

She chewed her lower lip. Artifacts stored power. Power attracted more power. “It’s possible,” she admitted.

“You have a better idea? We need to find this shooter. Track him down.”

“Not tonight.” Jeans unzipped, she shimmied them off her hips.

“Tomorrow.”

“Can’t. Have a date with Graham.”

“Allie likes Graham!”

She smacked Michael in the shoulder with her jeans. “What are you, twelve?”

“Fine,” Charlie sighed, as Allie danced back out of Michael’s reach, “not tonight and not tomorrow. Why should a guy with a gun come between you and your love life?”

“Exactly.”

“But we have to remember, he could’ve gotten his artifacts from the store, and that connects him to Auntie Catherine and possibly her disappearance.”

“She thinks she’s Nancy Drew,” Allie explained to Michael, sliding under the covers. Charlie had grabbed the middle position by the simple process of already being in it when the other two came to bed.

“You’re Nancy Drew,” she reminded Allie. “I’m the best friend with the gender inappropriate name.”

“Who am I, then?” Michael demanded.

“A Hardy Boy.”

“Which one?”

“Both of them based on how much room you’re taking up in the bed!” Allie dragged Charlie’s pillow out from under her head, leaned across her, and whacked him with it.

Later, after he fell asleep, Charlie sketched a new charm between his brows so he wouldn’t wake and pulled Allie into her arms. “You really like this Graham guy?” she asked, fingers ghosting along the curve of Allie’s shoulder.

“I really do.”

“I suppose I can learn to like him for your sake, then.”

Mouthing along the warm line of Charlie’s collarbone, Allie murmured, “Things will work out.”

Gale girls made sure of it.

Joe still hadn’t arrived when Graham pulled up.

“Haven’t quite got the hang of the whole having an employee thing, have you?” Charlie asked when Allie pointed out Joe didn’t have regular hours. “You obviously have plans, but I could go look for him.”

“It’s a big city.” She waved a “be there in three minutes” through the door and grinned when Graham smiled and nodded. Eyes still blue. Smile still causing her pulse to throb erratically. “How would you find him?”

“I can track your charm just as easily as you could.”

That was true. Allie chewed her lip. She knew Joe wasn’t dead or the charm would have died with him—and that, she’d have felt. “He knows he’s supposed to come in today. If we go chasing after him because he’s not here the moment the store opens, I’m afraid he’ll bolt.”

“Maybe he needs a little more commitment from you.”

“From me?” Allie paused half into her jacket. “What are you talking about? I offered him a job.”

“In a half-assed kind of way.”

“So he wouldn’t bolt. You didn’t see him that first day, all prickly and defensive. Just watch the store until he gets here, then call me.”

“Right.” Charlie leaned back against the counter then jerked straight again. “Wait… I’m watching the store? What about Michael?”

“He’s working on the loft,” Allie reminded her. She took her phone out of her messenger bag, stared at it for a moment, then put it back in the bag again.

“Yeah, but I fucking hate retail.”

“Suck it up.”

Allie paused in the doorway as Graham got out of the truck. Finally seen through the clear-sight charm, he looked no different than he did without it. Broad shoulders stretched the denim confines of a jean jacket and under faded jeans that clung to his thighs in all the best ways, he wore a pair of black cowboy boots. The halo of light and the angelic choirs were purely a product of her imagination.

On a brilliantly sunny but surprisingly cool Sunday in May, Banff was crowded, and a little tacky, and surrounded by some of the most beautiful scenery Allie’d ever seen.

“So is it in the rules that every visitor to Alberta has to be brought here?” she wondered, linking her arm with his and sidestepping a group of tourists taking pictures at the totem pole.

He tucked her in close to his side, the boots boosting his height by a good two inches. “That’s what they tell me.”

It was entirely possible that Gran had disappeared in Banff. And that was the story she stuck to when Auntie Meredith called.

“Where’s Allie?”

Charlie turned from searching a lower shelf as Joe came into the store. “Oh, good, you’re alive.”

Joe’s eyes narrowed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Shooter with Blessed rounds.”

He held up the hand marked with Allie’s charm.

“Right. Allie’s on a date with the short newspaper dude. You know anything about a gate to the UnderRealm out by Fort Calgary?” Eyes locked on his face, Charlie stood and sighed. “FYI, your poker face is crap.”

Joe sighed. “I know the gate’s there.”

“Your people open it?”

“They’re not my fucking people. And yeah, it’s one of theirs.”

“Allie closed it last night.”

He scratched up under his sweater and Charlie wondered just how rough he was living. She had a kickass charm to get rid of fleas. “Why?”

“A couple of creepies got through. Probably because the security had already been buggered by the…” Charlie cocked her head. “Do you hear music?”

“No.”

Squatting, she pulled out a stack of old puzzles and peered behind it at another stack of old puzzles. “I’ve been hearing an autoharp off and on since Allie left.”

“I don’t know what an autoharp sounds like.”

“Today it sounds like music no one’s making.”

“Oh.” She heard him shuffle closer, then he said, “Your grandmother had a bunch of music boxes in here somewhere.”

Charlie straightened again, wiping the dust off her fingers onto her jeans as Joe danced back again. Allie was right. Come on too strong, and he’d run. With strength she didn’t know she had, she resisted the urge to say, Calm down, I’m not after your Lucky Charms, and said instead, “Place to start, anyway. And she’s not my gran. She’s my Auntie Catherine.”

“Isn’t that worse?”

Snapping open her phone, Charlie grinned. “Usually.”

Stepping out of the truck, Allie came to a full stop as she stared at the Banff Springs Hotel. “Does everyone feel like they’ve been here before?”

“It has been photographed a lot,” Graham allowed, closing her door and pulling her forward.

After a long lunch that Allie fully enjoyed now she knew Joe was safe, they walked around the hotel grounds then drove back to the main street and the more touristy attractions.

Sometimes they talked.

“No, no one in my family is ever called Dorothy.”

“And I’m guessing there’s a distinct lack of ruby slippers?”

“Good guess.”

Sometimes they just walked. Hand in hand. Arm in arm. Connected somehow.

As the shadows began to lengthen, they decided to go back to Calgary for supper.

Although they never got around to it.

Graham’s condo was modern; white walls, dark hardwood floors, large photographs in black frames. His furniture was minimal. And his couch, for all its modern design, was surprisingly comfortable.

Removing her mouth from his long enough to unbutton his shirt and push it back off his shoulders, Allie’s eyes widened.

Intricate hex marks ran in two lines down the center of his chest.

Sorcery.

So not good.

As the calluses on his hand rubbed against the bare skin of her waist, she threw a leg over his lap and straddled him. “When this is over,” she murmured, nipping along his jawline, stubble rasping against her tongue like a cat’s kiss in reverse, “we’re going to have to talk.”

He blinked. Pulled back a little. “If you need… I mean, we could talk now.”

“After.”

When it seemed like he might be going to argue, she dropped a hand between them and began to unbutton his fly.

His hips rocked up. “After’s good, too.”