Harley Merlin 12 by Bella Forrest (story books to read TXT) 📗

the two people I held dearest: the one I’d been “cursed” to spend my life with, and the one I hoped I’d get the chance to spend my life with. If I lost either, it’d kill me.

Fifteen

Finch

While Raffe and Kadar prepped for their Arabian Nights adventure, I had other fish to fry. A big, ugly trout by the name of Erebus. Or was I the trout, dangling on his hook? Either way, he’d texted and given me another unexpected reason to get suited and booted. I hated to say it, but it almost sounded like a date. A pushy one, at that:

Dear Flinch,

Your presence is required at Gatsby’s Speakeasy at two o’clock. I assume you can locate the a dress with your cellular device’s mop function? Dress well, or as well as you are capable. I would prefer it if you did not look out of place. Do not be late. I will be waiting under the name Mr. Erebus.

Best regards,

Erebus.

I didn’t want him to think I was too obedient, so I’d gone for the same silky monstrosity I’d worn at Ignatius’s and my trusty pair of black jeans. Gatsby’s Speakeasy was a snazzy joint on the pricey side of San Diego, famed for its fishbowl-sized gin cocktails and wealthy clientele. They’d no doubt sniff out my measly bank account from a mile away. But at least this shirt screamed money, and plenty of it.

Weirdly, Gatsby’s was as human and magicless as Astrid, not exactly the vibe I’d expect Erebus to go for. Maybe he had developed a taste for the finer things in human life, though I imagined he’d had to use a blanket spell on the staff and clientele to draw any unwanted attention away from his distinctly unnatural appearance. Even in ‘human’ form, he didn’t exactly look human. But at least this wasn’t a shady alleyway in some eerie industrial park. Small mercies.

I pulled up in a cab and stepped out, letting the cabbie go, since it’d be easy to get another from here. If Erebus kept calling me like this, he’d end up with a hefty invoice for all my travel expenses.

The exterior didn’t look like much—a drab brick building with a tiny sign above the door spelling out the name. If you didn’t know it was here, you’d walk right past it. Very in-keeping with the speakeasy aesthetic. Well, if you ignored the burly bouncers on standby. I broadened my shoulders, puffed out my chest, and strode right up to the door. I’d prepared a speech and everything, but the bouncers nodded and let me through.

Your loss. It would’ve been Oscar-winning.

My jaw dropped as I entered the bar. The interior was a world away from the unassuming outside. Red velvet curtains, dark wood paneling, crystal chandeliers, and circular tables with hooded lampshades casting a saucy glow on everything. I pictured old-timey chaps wooing their chapettes over sidecars or whispering furtively about their next heist. Even in my fancy shirt, I felt woefully underdressed. The bartenders were in tuxedos while the hostesses sauntered about in sparkling flapper dresses. A little sexist, sure, but I didn’t run the place.

“Good afternoon, sir.” One of the penguin-suited hosts greeted me. “Do you have a reservation?”

I started to answer when a figure at the main bar caught my attention. She sat directly in the center, her legs crossed elegantly over a twisting barstool, her body turning slightly to the side as though offering a better look. Long blonde hair cascaded past her shoulders in loose curls while a white, sequined dress pooled downward. “Mesmerizing” didn’t cut the mustard. And she clearly knew I was watching.

She glanced over her shoulder in a majestic display of choreography, and a pair of twinkling, pale yellow eyes stared into mine. This bar might not have been magical, but those eyes were unlike anything I’d ever seen before. And that shrieked magical.

No… it can’t be. I physically flinched at the sight of her. Probably not the effect she wanted. But her movements, fluid and dancer-like, and the glitzy white dress, reminded me so much of Katherine in Imogene’s guise. Panic struck me like a thunderbolt of bad memories, and it brought a storm of paranoia with it. What if Katherine was still alive? I’d used her image to trick Davin in the Jubilee mine, but what if that had been a sick irony? What if she’d tricked us into believing she was gone, while she’d bided her time? What if Erebus had double-crossed me in Elysium and somehow spared Katherine? What if this woman was her? And what if I’d walked right into her trap?

“Sir?” the host prompted, but I barely heard him.

Snap out of it, idiot! She’s dead. You killed her. You watched her die. Common sense kicked in. Erebus had hated my mother as much as anyone. He’d been chomping at the bit to end her when he took over my body to make it happen. I’d felt his excitement. There was no way he’d given her a hall pass out of her demise.

“Sir? Do you have a reservation?” The host sounded impatient.

The mesmerizing stranger smiled and raised a champagne glass to me before stepping from her barstool and heading for a doorway in the back wall. She paused for a moment and sipped from her glass, beckoning for me to follow.

“I’m… with her.” I gestured to the beautiful woman. It was as though someone had taken over my voice-box. I felt compelled to say it. A magnetism drew me to her. I knew it was magic of some kind, but I was helpless to do anything but obey her call.

The host’s mouth fell open. “You?”

“Yes, me,” I replied coolly. Way to give a guy a complex.

“Very good, sir.” The host stepped aside, giving me free rein to go after the curious minx. I mean, where was the harm in following a mysterious, insanely hot woman through unknown territory? Thinking of it that way didn’t make it