Prince of Demons 1-3, Box Set Page 10

  She blinked. “Of course. I meant no offense.”

  “She’s new to Scotia and wasn’t aware that fae are fiercely loyal.”

  That seemed to pacify. “Follow this gentleman. Your table is ready.” He smiled at Cal warmly and ignored Lana as she passed.

  “Wow,” she said. “Sorry.”

  Cal chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. I should have said fiercely loyal and prickly sensitive.”

  She laughed softly. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better about the blunder. I…”

  “Cal!”

  Lana turned when she heard a feminine voice that managed to sound both effervescent and sultry at the same time. She turned to see a gorgeous blonde woman advancing toward their table. She wore a red dress the same color as the Witchery carpet and it made her blue eyes pop like headlights turned on bright. Cal stood and readied himself for a hug.

  When she pulled back she looked down at Lana, her smile not wavering at all.

  “Atalanta Ravin, this is Aelsong Hawking, Princess of the Elves.” He looked at Song for confirmation. “And Fae?”

  She waved. “Oh it’s a muddle. I ne’er cared so much for title bullshite anyway.”

  Lana had no idea whether she was supposed to sit and offer her hand or stand and curtsy. So she did the sensible thing. Nothing.

  “Atalanta. A goddess name,” said the princess. “Beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” Lana said, feeling like it was inadequate as a reply to royalty.

  “Didn’t you meet her brother when you were at Jefferson Unit?” Cal asked.

  Lana brows drew together, then she remembered Elora’s husband who did, in fact, bear a remarkable resemblance to the elf in front of her. “Yes! I did!” She was starting to relax.

  “So the castle’s not big enough for entertaining?”

  She practically guffawed. “Everybody needs a change of scenery, Magic. I happen to know you like sittin’ at different tables now and again.”

  “Well said. I’d ask you to join us…” Cal began.

  “I’m playin’ hostess to a bunch of fae.” She rolled her eyes. “’Tis a bloody bad job but somebody’s got to do it.” She chuckled in a way that let Lana know she wasn’t being serious. “’Twas good to see you, Cal, and nice to meet you, Atalanta.”

  “The pleasure was mine,” Lana said and meant it quite sincerely. After all, she didn’t know a soul in Dallas who had ever met an elf princess. Cal sat and they were alone again. “For cripes sake. You get hugs from royalty!”

  “Oh, well. She’s not just royalty. She spent some time at Headquarters working for The Order in the Psychic Department. She’s got a gift.”

  “So. Not just a pretty face.”

  He smiled. “No. Much more. Just like you.”

  Lana had no time to digest whether that was idle flattery or a real attempt at flirtation because the sommelier arrived to talk about wine. He nodded toward Lana, but directed his remarks to Cal. Cal declined to see the menu and asked for a recommendation. The wine steward listed three.

  “The 1982 Beychevelle,” Cal said.

  “Excellent choice, sir.” The sommelier bowed from the waist and rushed away.

  She had no idea how much a bottle of 1982 Beychevelle cost, but she suspected it would be a treat. “So you’re a wine connoisseur?”

  He graced her with his best smile, the one that made his eyes crinkle in the handsomest of ways. “Hardly. It’s a trick. I refuse the menu, ask for a recommendation and pick one randomly. I know anything recommended is going to be good and, so long as money is not a factor, it works.”

  “Slick.”

  He shrugged. “Yes I am. Consider yourself forewarned.”

  She ordered roasted butternut squash soup to be followed with salmon and lime Chantilly. Cal ordered chicken liver paté and parmesan dumplings and an entree of pot-roast pheasant with foie gras bonbons, coco bean cassoulet, and devils on horseback.

  When the waiter left she said, “They’re going to have to help me roll you back to the car.”

  “Hey. I’m a growing adventurer.”

  “Hmmm. You may grow right out of your adventure-chic wardrobe.”

  Cal grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “Wait until you hear about dessert.”

  Lana opened her mouth to ask, but the wine steward arrived. He made theater of popping the cork and pouring a sample for Cal. Cal, in turn, made theater of sniffing, swirling, and tasting. It was a ritual that Lana had observed many times, since she was from a privileged background. She despised pretense, but had to admit that it was usually paired with an amusement factor that just never got old.

  On receiving Cal’s approval, the wine was poured a couple of inches into her stem first. It was a gorgeous blood red that encouraged carnal thoughts and she could smell the sultry aroma as soon as it had begun to flow from bottle to glass. She lifted it to her lips and looked at Cal over the glass she drank. There must have been something suggestive in her look because his eyes heated in a way she hadn’t seen before. There they were. The two were caught up in each other in a prelude to romance as old as time. That’s when it happened.

  Since she was looking at Cal and he at her, no one could say how his glass of Bordeaux had ended up overturned and in his lap. Somehow he managed to substitute a grimace and hiss for the yell that no doubt wanted to be freed. Lana looked from Cal to the wine steward, who was hovering somewhere between being horrified and stricken, and hoping for death by mortification. His mouth was moving as if he knew what he wanted to say and simply couldn’t push the words out.

  “Sir, I… ne’er have. Fae’s gods. My clumsiness is unforgivable.” As the sommelier continued to babble apologies, two of the wait staff had more or less shoved him out of the way to offer Cal assistance. They had brought wet hand towels. By that time the Maître d had joined the commotion and was glaring at the poor wine steward.

  Cal held up his hand and said, “Dry towels instead, please. It’s quite alright. Such things happen.”

  They continued to buzz around the table until Cal said with the firmness of authority, “Please. We’d like to return to our conversation and proceed with as much normalcy as possible.”

  When all had quieted, Lana said, “You must be miserable.”

  He smiled tightly. “It will dry and I’ll forget all about it.”

  She laughed, “Somehow I doubt that.”

  “Your soup, madam.”

  The soup was a beautiful golden color and smelled heavenly. The waiter placed Cal’s pate and dumplings in front of him.

  “Food will help.” Lana hoped to encourage the return of his good humor.

  He smiled. “Yeah. It always does.”

  She took a spoonful of soup and moaned out loud at the rich goodness. “There’s nothing sexier than a man who can be gracious in the wake of wet pants.”

  Cal snorted. “You caught me. The whole thing was prearranged and staged so that I could impress you.”

  She took another bite and raised her eyes with the precision slow flirtation that Southern women do so well. “Well. It worked.”

  By the time they were midway through their entrees, they were beginning to relax.

  “This place is everything people say it is.” Lana swirled a bite of salmon in the sauce, took a bite and briefly closed her eyes.

  “I gathered from all the yummy noises you think the food is passable.”

  “Understated.” She cocked her head. “Sort of like you.” He nodded in acceptance of the compliment. “So do you bring dates here often?”

  He smiled and looked around. “I’ve been here before.” He leaned across the table, pinning her with a look of intensity and lowered his voice to a pitch that sounded, well, intimate. “But I’ve never stayed overnight in one of their world famous suites.”

  The fork on the way to Lana’s mouth paused in mid-air, while she tried to discern whether that was an invitation or a casual observance. She didn’t have time to decide because all hell broke loose. The
sommelier breezed past the table. Or tried to. The wine opener that he kept attached to a long chain in his lower vest pocket slipped from its nest, caught on the tablecloth and pulled everything to the floor, as Cal and Lana looked at each other in shock. Both were still holding forks.

  Diners nearby had leapt out of the way of the mess and were now standing at a reasonably safe distance. The Maître d came rushing over as staff hurried to clear away the disaster. The wine steward stood helplessly looking at the bottle opener in his hand, trying to imagine how such a thing could have happened.

  In ten minutes the mess was cleaned up, fellow diners had picked up where they were before the spectacle and the table had been reset.

  The Maître d looked appropriately abashed. “Sir. Our sincerest of apologies. Please allow us to replace your dinner and the wine as well.”

  “Nonsense,” Cal said. “We were almost finished. Let’s move on, shall we? We’re having Crepes Cheree.”

  “Very good, sir. Would you like that with port or sherry?”

  Cal looked at Lana who shook her head and said, “With coffee.”

  “Make that two,” said Cal.

  When the waiter departed, Cal turned to Lana with a shake of his head. She burst into a fit of laughter. “It’s been an adventure in dining.”

  He gave her that lopsided grin in response.

  Coffee cups and saucers were set in front of them without a moment to spare because The Crepes Cheree was wheeled out in record time. Apparently the Maître d had decided that he’d leave nothing to chance. He shooed the chef away and gave the pan a generous dousing of brandy. Later, neither could recall exactly how his sleeve had ended up on fire with him screaming - from alarm, not pain. Before the flames reached his skin, Cal had stood, wrested the man’s jacket from his body and stomped out the fire.

  As the Maître d picked up the charred rag that had been his jacket, Cal slumped into his chair and said, “How do you feel about pizza?”

  “Sir, we’d be happy to…”

  “Just bring me the check,” Cal said.

  The waiter returned in less than a minute. “Management says ‘twill be no check this evenin’ and that you are welcome to return for dinner on the house on the date of your choosin’.”

  It seemed that even Cal’s graciousness had limits. The best he could do was a jerk of a nod. He helped Lana with her shawl and ignored the staff as they said goodnight on the way out.

  The royal couple were leaving at the same time. Aelsong quickly introduced both Cal and Lana to her husband as she smirked at Cal, who shook hands with the prince then said to Song, “You might have warned me, Cherie.”

  Her laugh sounded like wind chimes. “But what fun would that be?”

  “So you did know.”

  “Do no’ be impertinent or I’ll tell my mate to have you beheaded. Can you do that, love?” she asked Duff.

  “No,” he answered. “We decided last week that the beheadin’s must stop.”

  She looked disappointed and pouted. “Alright then. Be nice or I’ll have you locked in the tower. We can do that, right?”

  Duff nodded and beamed at her like she invented femininity.

  Cal huffed. “In that case, if your royal high asses will excuse us.” He started to guide Lana away.

  “Did he say what I think he said?” they heard Duff ask Aelsong.

  “Could no’ be. I’m thinkin’ he has a speech impediment.”

  Once they were out on High Street, Cal snapped his fingers. “Damn it all. I was supposed to call the cab fifteen minutes before leaving. In all the upset I let it slip my mind.”

  “That’s okay. It’s nice. Why don’t we walk back? It’s not far and all downhill.”

  “A great idea. And it’s dark so no one can tell where I’m stained or singed.”

  She laughed. “Look at it this way. You have a story to tell if you’re ever asked to name the most catastrophic dinner.”

  “Certainly there’s not even a distant second.” They began to walk in the direction of the Bank of Scotia building. “This was supposed to be your first mission celebration and I never asked how you felt about it.”

  “The mission. I liked it.”

  “And you’d want to go again.”

  “Any day.”

  “You know, I was attracted to you from the first time I saw you at Jefferson Unit, but I thought you’d been so traumatized that I wanted to give you time and space to accept what had happened. Then when it seemed you had made a successful adjustment we were assigned to work together and I didn’t think it would be a good idea to ask my assistant out on a date. Power dynamics and all that.” He looked over at her. “You understand what I’m saying?”

  She nodded. “Sure.”

  “I’d like to ask you out again, but whatever happens between us personally, I wouldn’t want it to interfere with our chances of working together professionally. You’re a good assistant.”

  She grinned. “Thanks, boss. You’re alright to work for when you’re not sulking about losing a toy.”

  He gaped. “I do not believe you just said that.”

  “I did.”

  “Okay. Well, no sexual harassment fears then.”

  “None.”

  “In that case…” He stopped, pulled her in close and brushed a soft kiss over her lips before she realized what was happening. It was good. It was sweet. Then it became compelling. She began to respond as he pressed her back into the wall with his own body. He smelled like wine, smoke, and, under that, a masculine and very appealing aftershave. She slipped her arms around his neck and was in the process of arching into him when she heard some giggles and snickers followed by an adolescent, “Get a room.”

  Cal took a step back and smiled. “Young eyes can see in the dark.”

  “I guess.” She smiled.

  As they resumed their stroll toward Charlotte Square, Cal turned toward her. “So what do you say? Want to give me another chance at…”

  He didn’t get a chance to finish that sentence. He pitched face forward and sprawled on the street.

  “Cal! Are you okay?” Lana bent to help him up.

  “Damn cobblestones,” he said as he righted himself and began straightening his clothes. “I guess I tripped. Seems the Fates are determined I’ll look a fool tonight.”

  “You don’t look foolish at all.” As they started walking she could tell that he was favoring one leg. “You did hurt yourself. You’re walking with a limp. Let me get us a ride.”

  “No. I just landed on one knee. We’re almost there. I’ll put some ice on it and be good to go by morning.”

  “Are you sure because…”

  “It’s okay. Really. Let’s get home.”

  It seemed like there was something more hanging in the air. Something like, “Let’s get home before the earth swallows us up or, quick, let’s get home so we can catch the end of the world on the news.”

  Lana didn’t hear from Cal for a couple of days. She thought about calling to see if his knee was okay, but thought it might be best to let disastrous memories fade. The catalog work was never ending. She tried to wait patiently for the next assignment and hoped it would be soon, but days began to take on the rhythm of routine and excitement about the concept of meaningful work began to seem silly and naive.

  So when two of her co-workers asked her to go out for a night of cutting loose, she thought it sounded like a brilliant idea.

  “We know a pub four blocks away that plays live traditional music tonight. We can drink disgustin’ beer and pretend to know the dances,” said Aelwynn.

  “Don’t mind her,” Gianna spoke up. “She’s still hanging on to remnants of the elf fae war.”

  “War?”

  “Well, it wasn’t a war in the sense of actual fighting. At least not for centuries. It was more like a I’m-not-speaking-to-you war.”

  “Oh.”

  “But the thing is that just a short time ago it would have been thought dangerous for an elf to be out
on the streets here.”

  “Really?” Lana asked.

  “Yes, but then the prince married an elf,” she laughed.

  “Oh,” said Lana. “Yes. I met her.”

  Aelwynn’s eyes widened. “You did not.”

  “I did. A few nights ago. She’s lovely. And nice.”

  “Ooh,” Wynn turned to Gia, “we have friends in high places.”

  “Stop it,” Lana said. “It’s not like that.”

  The pub was crowded, but they managed to grab a snug when a small party got up to leave.

  “I’m thinkin’ about goin’ home,” said Wynn.

  “You mean quit?” asked Gia.

  “Aye.”

  “You are?” Lana jumped in. “Why?”

  “Because The Order does this courtin’ thin’. They recruit you with flattery. ‘We only employ the best’.” It was sarcastic, but the bite seemed to disappear when delivered with the lilt of her Irish accent. “It sounds like a glamorous life usin’ your gift, whate’er ‘tis. But after the orientation and…”

  “Testing. Testing. Testing,” interjected Gia.

  “…they send you to the library archives in the basement to transfer paper documents to encrypted data files and ne’er be heard from again. At least no’ until some ancient person kicks off. ‘Tis like they line us up and keep us on a shelf.”

  “That’s right,” said Gia. “Plus all the men who work for The Order are either knights stationed elsewhere or old crusty academics. Or executives.”

  Lana stayed silent, not wanting to point out that she knew at least one extremely attractive and eligible man who was a far cry from either of those characterizations.

  They ordered rich, satisfying comforting pub food, avoided “disgusting beer” and drank tankards of red ale. So much so that their judgment was impaired as evidenced by the fact that Aelwynn allowed a giant fae with flaming red hair and beard to dance a jig with her thrown over his shoulder. One hand firmly on her derriere kept her in place while the other was free for balance and the flourish of fine folk dancing.