The rich paintings, beautiful faux window scenes, and classic Italian music in Antonio’s restaurant made Fiona feel like she was looking onto a street in Rome, Florence, or the renowned canals in Venice. The aromas coming from the kitchen were mouth-watering. Fancy tablecloths, white lilies, and romantic candles all added to the ambience.
“Please,” Antonio urged them, “order whatever you want. This is my treat to you, my friends.”
Lorcan, in his turn during their refined pissing contest, insisted on paying for the wine. He chose two of the most expensive bottles on the list, a rich red Barolo and a light Pinot Grigio.
“You okay, Boomer?” Lorcan’s unspoken voice disrupted her thoughts. “Better smile or Mario will think you’re not happy with his delicioso food.”
Fiona did smile then. Damn him; Lorcan could make her grin even at inopportune times. As annoying and inappropriate as he was, he sometimes made her feel like a carefree girl.
“I’m smiling,” she replied. “You should be worried about Barbie.”
Melissa had only ordered a salad. She wasn’t even drinking wine. If Antonio was going to be upset about anything, it would be her lack of appetite.
Melissa flirted with both men while picking at her lettuce. Fiona had a salad, too, but rounded it out with Parmesan breadsticks, seafood Alfredo penne and garlic toast. Antonio was happiest when people enjoyed his food, and she was happy to indulge him. She also needed to eat, given her wine intake. Lorcan had just filled her glass for the third time, plus she’d enjoyed one at the theatre.
She heard Lorcan’s voice in her head again. “Eating loads of garlic in anticipation of having to repel vampires, Boomer, or making sure Mario doesn’t score tonight?”
“You’re impossible!” she replied also telepathically with her go-to response to his unseemly comments.
Fiona had first met Antonio when his wife’s ghost came to her with a message for him. Unlike most who’d been raised with organized religion, Antonio welcomed the contact and felt indebted to Fiona, which sealed their friendship. His wife must’ve transitioned to the spirit realm; she’d never heard from her again.
The discussion at the table turned to places they’d traveled. Lorcan and Fiona couldn’t mention their journeys through time. Lorcan’s grin told her he was thinking about that.
Antonio spoke of his family’s villa and vineyards in Tuscany. About a year after his wife died, Fiona accompanied him there to see his family’s vineyards. His aunt even tried to pair them up, despite her not being exactly a good Catholic Italian girl. Now, Antonio’s younger brothers insisted he get over the loss and remarry; he’d only started dating to please them.
But, as Fiona knew so well, grief didn’t work that way.
You couldn’t simply decide when to move forward. Others definitely couldn’t force you. Grief counseling helped but it was a personal journey.
“Maybe you’d like to visit some of the properties I own, Fiona?” Lorcan suggested. “You could take your pick of tropical locales in the Caribbean or Spain. Or if you’d rather, I have places in France, the UK and Ireland. Maybe even near where you grew up in Ireland.”
Fiona smiled. She hadn’t known about those. There was probably plenty she didn’t know about him.
When Fiona ordered the tiramisu, Melissa looked at her, astonished or envious, she couldn’t tell. Was the younger woman watching her weight? Fiona hoped she didn’t have an eating disorder.
She already sensed that Melissa had undergone cosmetic procedures. Facial restructuring, likely. Breast implants, almost certainly—maybe rib removal, as well.
It distressed her how many people, usually women, felt they must change their appearances.
“But no matter where anyone might travel…” Antonio’s voice disrupted Fiona’s thoughts “…no wine rivals that made from the grapes grown in my parents’ beautiful country.” Antonio smiled.
“Italy does contribute nearly twenty percent of the entire world’s wine production while the US produces just over eight percent,” Melissa said. Then she put her hand over her mouth. “I read…er…heard that once…probably on a game show. But what do I know?” She tittered. “I don’t even drink wine.”
Perhaps worse than Melissa altering her appearance, was her purposely downplaying her intelligence, as if the vintage Barbie body she’d built needed a matching clichéd dumb blonde image.
Melissa eyed her closely. “You’re thin for how much you eat.”
Antonio touched Fiona’s shoulder. “I encourage people to eat heartily. Food is one of life’s greatest joys.”
“Fiona’s not thin,” Lorcan scoffed. “She’s fit. She swims, walks daily, and is into marital arts. You should see her kickbox.”
Fiona heard his telepathic voice again. “Should I tell them how fantastic you are with your katana and fighting supernatural beasts?”
“What line of work are you in, Melissa?” Fiona changed the subject.
“I’m a flight attendant.”
“That must be interesting,” Fiona replied. “You’d see lots of different places.”
Melissa made a face. “It’s not as exciting as I’d hoped. I like the layovers in the sunny locations so I can work on my tan, but I feel like a glorified maid and can’t adjust to the jet lag.”
Fiona nodded. “Until we experience something ourselves, we don’t know what it really entails—the pros or the cons.”
“What do you do?” Melissa asked. “You said you’re Lorcan’s partner.”
Fiona glanced at him. “I own a quaint little new age apothecary shop.”
Lorcan smirked. He’d once described her store in those exact words.
Antonio eyed them closer, probably unsure how Lorcan could be her partner unless he was an investor. He didn’t fit the spiritualist image, although these days they rarely wore the headscarves, bangles, and beads, or peered into crystal balls.
Melissa leaned forward and reached for Fiona’s hand. “Do you have psychics and mediums there? I’m dying to have my cards read and I swear my late grandmother’s trying to contact me.”
Fiona pulled her hand back, took a business card from her black clutch and passed it to the young woman. “We have several intuitive readers. You should make an appointment.”
Melissa showed her the flat of her hand. “Do you do palm readings or…see ghosts?” she asked, eyes wide.
Fiona considered telling her that her deceased grandmother had just materialized beside her but decided against it. Learning about ghosts tended to unnerve people.
Fiona flicked her wrist, magically sending the woman’s spirit away. She often did that when Lorcan was near, as he saw ghosts in the condition the humans had been when they died and felt whatever trauma they experienced in his own body.
Fortunately, Fiona didn’t. Spirits that came to her appeared in their restored forms, but she intuitively sensed the elderly woman had been struck by a vehicle. Her damaged body, fear, and pain would be disturbing for Lorcan.
“Would you be interested in a tour of my restaurant, Melissa?” Antonio asked.
Had he picked up on Fiona not wanting to do an impromptu reading? Maybe he was happy to spend time with the attractive young woman so fascinated by him.
“That’d be awesome!” Melissa leaned forward again, displaying her impressive assets.
“That is…if you don’t mind?” Antonio glanced at Lorcan.
Lorcan shrugged. “Not at all.”
Antonio pulled out Melissa’s chair. They walked to another part of the restaurant, and she leaned against him.
“You’re not going to charge in on your white horse so she won’t fall for Antonio?” Fiona asked. “Women love his accent.”
They nearly swooned over Lorcan’s accent, too.
He shrugged. “Left my horse in the Wild West. Besides, I’m not the jealous type. If there’s an attraction let them enjoy each other. It’s not like Melissa and I are serious.”
“Your stupid rule of three means you never let yourself get serious about anyone.”
He gazed at Fiona again. “That’s the way I like it—hot, fast, and uncomplicated.”
She didn’t bother replying. They had very different opinions on sex and relationships.
“Good thing you don’t look like this on assignments, Boomer. I couldn’t focus on searching for or assessing MBs.”
She sipped her wine. “Contrary to television or films, a tight-fitting gown and high heels wouldn’t be conducive to fightin’ off baddies, magical or not. And gettin’ blood out of silk or chiffon would be a damn nightmare.”
“I imagine so.” His voice was huskier as his eyes rested on her throat. That made her uncomfortable even if she was a bit flattered.
“Good thing you’re part demon and not a vampire or I’d think you’re plannin’ to sink your teeth into my carotid artery by the way you’re starin’.”
His face turned ruddy. That was unusual. He wasn’t easily embarrassed.
“I’ve just never seen that much of your skin before, Boomer.” He lifted one eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing more.”
She sighed. “I’m goin’ to talk to Henry tomorrow—”
He turned sharply. “Why? Are you going to rat me out to Henry or ask to no longer be paired for missions because I looked at your cleavage?” He put his hands before him. “I’m a healthy male and you’re attractive. Why wouldn’t I look?”
She blew out her breath and reached for her lacy black shawl, wrapping it so it covered her shoulders and chest.
“I was going to say—before you interrupted—that I’d like to know why we haven’t been given an assignment. Do you want to request that we not be a team any longer?”
He shook his head. “Of course not. I like working with you. Besides, being partners and making each other accountable for sticking to the rules was the condition of our remaining at LAMB.”
It was unlikely she and Lorcan would ever follow the unrealistic rules LAMB listed in their Dealing with Magical Beings handbook. They’d been oppressed in the past and both had trouble with authority figures.
“I already called Dalton,” Lorcan said. “He claims they’re giving us time to recover from the last assignment.”
“Maybe so, but a month?”
He shrugged again. “That’s what he says.”
Could she even trust Henry or anyone at LAMB?
Fiona eyed him, noting that his jet-black hair was no longer pristinely in place. His tie was a little loose, too. She reached over and tightened it, which took him by surprise so she pulled her hand away. “You and the cute bar attendant spent a little alone time in a theatre supply closet earlier, didn’t you?”
“Alone time?” He chuckled. “How the hell did you know?”
She rolled her eyes. “Really? Witches sometimes know things they wish they didn’t. Still, even a dunce could tell she was givin’ you the let’s hook up look. And you’re not renowned for your restraint with women.”
He snorted. “Give me some credit, Boomer. I’m showing impressive restraint with you.” He grazed her hand, and she jerked it away. When inebriated she was more easily aroused. She definitely didn’t want that.
His eyes darkened, and she saw a flash of demon-red anger. “Fuck,” he cussed under his breath. “I get it—you don’t want me to touch you.”
He sat back, tensed his jaw, reached for his glass, downed the wine, then poured more and looked toward the bar. He probably wanted something stronger.
She shook her head. “You know why I’m not all touchy-feely like you, Lorcan. I don’t want to see a blast from anyone’s past or a glimpse of their future.”
He nodded but looked untypically broody. “Are you okay with Mario touching you?”
“Not your business, Junior. It breaches our agreement of you talkin’ or askin’ me about sex,” she said. “Like you’ve ever abided by that.”
“Hey! You opened that can of worms by mentioning the chick at the theatre.”
She huffed. “Antonio and I are just friends. We sometimes act as each other’s plus-ones.”
He didn’t reply.
“Anyway, I think I’ll go.” Fiona swirled her glass and finished her wine. “I’m tired and who knows how long they’ll be. Maybe they found a supply closet, too.”
That brought a hearty laugh from Lorcan. She stood and he looked up at her.
“Want a ride home or are you going in his limo?” he taunted.
She and Melissa had ridden in the limo with Antonio, while Lorcan drove his truck to the restaurant.
He bobbed his finger at her. “Don’t even considering walking home at this hour!”
She noted his serious expression. “Jeez, Dad, chill out! I’m certainly not walkin’ in these.” She lifted her gown’s hem revealing high heels.
He gave a low whistle and waggled his eyebrows.
“God, you’re irredeemable. If I wanted to walk home, I would. I like walking at night. Besides my other skills, I have a can of Mace.”
“You’ve had a lot of wine, Fiona. Unlike demons, witches’ intuition and reaction time are affected by overdrinking. A strong human could overpower you if you were taken by surprise, not to mention a dozen different MBs that could be lurking about.”
“If all else fails…I’ll resort to witchcraft,” she countered.
Dizzy, she reached for the table. Guess she was a little drunk.
He stood to steady her and shook his head, eyes narrowed. “You are not walking home alone!”
She only frowned.
“You think I’m being overprotective,” he said. “Yet you shield me by removing spirits.”
“How did you know that?”
“I saw the old woman’s ghost briefly appear, plus the air was cold by Melissa. Why do you suppose her grandmother hasn’t gone to whatever lies beyond?”
Fiona shrugged. “Maybe she wants to ensure her granddaughter’s heart isn’t broken—”
“By a demon,” he interrupted, scowling.
“I wasn’t going to say that. You are only half demon and I’ve barely seen that side of you. Anyway, I have to go. My feet are bloody killin’ me. Would you thank Antonio for me and tell him good night?”
“If you like,” Lorcan said. Then he cocked his head, listening.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I swear I hear bagpipes.”
“In an Italian restaurant? That’d be strange.”
Lorcan had exceptional hearing—another demon trait. She turned, hearing it now, too. She walked past the tables trying not to pick up on the thoughts and emotions swirling around.
A few couples gazed romantically at one another. A few others stared at their phones. Families talked happily, while other groups were arguing. One table sang “Happy Birthday” to a young woman. Fiona intuitively knew it would be her last. That ability wasn’t something Fiona considered a gift.
She opened the door and looked up and down the street.
Lorcan was right behind her. “You hear it, too?”
She nodded. “I thought it could be a busker or maybe a funeral with a pipe band, but surely not at night.”
Lorcan nodded. “Wonder what the hell that means?”
“Maybe a Scottish spirit,” Fiona suggested. “Scots did settle here even though Boston’s noted for the Irish who immigrated in droves before, during and after the famine. Lots of Scots-Irish, came too. I once read it was estimated two hundred thousand arrived largely in Massachusetts and Pennsylvania during the seventeen hundreds.”
Lorcan scanned the street and parking lot, then held out his hands. “I don’t hear it now. Whoever or whatever it was seems to be gone.”
Lorcan looked back through the open restaurant door, again eyeing the bar. He drank a lot, but alcohol didn’t affect him as it did humans and witches. No matter how much he consumed it didn’t even register on Breathalyzers or blood tests.
He once admitted to her that sex and alcohol alleviated his darker demonic cravings. She tried not to consider what those might be. Just another reason she avoided physical contact with him. No need to see past echoes or future glimpses of his life.
She turned to walk away. “Thanks for the nice wine,” she called over her shoulder.
“I knew you liked Pinot.” He grinned. “Thought I’d get you drunk and finally take you to bed.”
The skin on her face and chest became warmer. She could understand why women fell under his charm.
She shook her head. “Say good night, Lorcan.”
“Good night, Lorcan.” Another grin. Then suddenly he was beside her again. “Hey, wait. I meant to ask, why haven’t you been training at LAMB’s facility?”
She shrugged. “Honestly, I wanted to keep away from Henry and Minerva—all of them after what happened on our last assignment.”
“You’re not working out?” Disbelief sharpened his tone.
“I walk daily and I do laps at the Y,” she protested. “Sometimes I swim at Revere Beach, too, though it’s chilly this time of year.”
“Damn. Your fighting skills will be getting rusty, Boomer!” He smirked.
“I’d still kick your arse, Junior.”
She was startled when he gently grasped her waist and pulled her close. She simultaneously wanted to shove him away and…no, no, no—she wouldn’t let herself feel the attraction. She closed her eyes and used magic to move him back.
“Spoilsport,” he said. “But even if we’re not given an assignment we could go to the cinema. Maybe walk to our little diner. I wouldn’t suggest a run with your dodgy knee.” He winked.
Her knee wasn’t dodgy. True, it gave her trouble if she exercised too hard and when it rained. And the diner was hardly theirs. They’d only been there three times.
“I hope we’ll be given a mission soon,” she said.
“At least let me flag down a taxi for you.”
“I’m perfectly capable. Good night, Lorcan.”
She felt his eyes on her when she walked away. He was undoubtedly making sure she got a taxi. She hailed one and had just opened the door when Lorcan came up behind her again.
“You’re bein’ stalkerish, you know.”
“Dalton just texted. Did he text you?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t bring my phone.”
Lorcan’s forehead creased disapprovingly. “Suppose we got a pressing assignment? What if you were in trouble, Fiona?”
He only called her by name when he was being serious or was pissed off.
“I have a black belt. And if it was that urgent, Henry would find me.”
The cab driver was staring, so she switched to telepathy.
“LAMB does employ psychics. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re like Big Brother and track us 24/7.”
“True,” Lorcan agreed.
“So what’d Henry’s text say?”
“That he needed to talk right away. Come with me.” Lorcan gestured to his truck. “We’ll go to LAMB’s headquarters.”
“You’re really just going to ditch Melissa?” she whispered.
Lorcan snorted. “She kinda ditched me. Besides, you left Mario without a farewell.”
“Antonio often has business to attend to during our dinners. He isn’t always around when I leave. He’ll know I’m tired.”
“I want to get to LAMB headquarters right away.” Lorcan rubbed his hands together. “I’m itching to finally go on assignment.”
It was peculiar going from hearing his voice in her head then with her ears.
She passed the patient cabby a ten and he drove off.
“It’s still a bit rude leaving your date.”
“I was up-front with Melissa. She knew tonight would be the last time we went out. Neither of us are looking for commitment. We’re not Boomers who think sleeping together means we’re connected till the end of fucking time.”
Fiona narrowed her eyes at that dig. He was aware she believed sex should be a meaningful experience between two people who cared about one another and not just temporary pleasure.
“Still, letting her find her own way home is…”
“Look,” he cut her off. “I’m not taking advice from someone who doesn’t want love, romance, or even sex.”
“Whatever!” Fiona said walking away. “Your datin’ etiquette doesn’t affect me.”
He scowled. “You think it’s acceptable to let Antonio take you to the theatre, buy your meal, then just leave? Double standard, Boomer.”
“We’re friends. Besides, I take him to dinner sometimes, too. I suppose you think I’m obliged to pay him back with sex?”
“I didn’t bloody say that.” He looked down and began texting. “There. I explained I’ve been called to work. If Melissa doesn’t go home in Mario’s limo—which would please her to no damn end by the way—I’ll reimburse her for a cab. Gentlemanly enough, Boomer?”
Fiona nodded. “I’ll call Antonio tomorrow.”
“Great, we’re all settled.”
They walked to Lorcan’s restored vintage blue Ford truck.
“Melissa and Mario will probably think you’re so turned on by me in this tux that we’re off having mad sex.” Lorcan snickered.
She groaned. “I’m sure that’s the conclusion they’d draw,” she said sarcastically.
God, would they?
He opened the door and offered his arm so she could step up into his truck. He’d just gotten in when his phone made an unusual sound. He pulled it from his vest pocket, looking surprised.
“Huh! Dalton’s requesting a video chat. He’s such a dinosaur I didn’t think he’d know how.”
“Maybe he pocket-dialed you.”
Lorcan hit the accept button and Henry Dalton’s weathered face appeared on the screen.
“Hey, Boss,” Lorcan said.
“Good evening, Mr. Wright.” He spoke curtly. “I haven’t been able to reach Ms. Maguire.”
Lorcan glanced at Fiona. “She’s with me.”
“With you?” Dalton looked closer, probably observing Lorcan’s fancy tux.
He passed his phone to Fiona. She nearly laughed at the older man’s startled expression.
“Hello, Henry.”
“Ms. Maguire, you’re looking…lovely tonight. You and Mr. Wright were out together? Why don’t you have your phone?”
He made it sound like she’d have to call for help.
“We were at a theatre production and went to dinner with friends,” Fiona replied.
When nervous, she tended to overexplain.
Lorcan leaned back against the seat. “What did you need to talk to us about?”
“You must come in straightaway.” He cleared his throat. “I needed to see that you’re ready for another assignment…after last time. It appears that you are.”
Fiona frowned. “Last time? You mean, when LAMB put us in danger just to determine if we’d be compatible partners? Oh, and then nearly messed up Ireland’s entire history? That time, Henry?”
Lorcan leaned closer, obviously wanting to see Henry’s expression. She caught the scent of light cologne, and his natural masculine smell. It sent a shiver through her. Why had she drunk so much damn wine?
Henry looked away. “Although I didn’t fully approve, LAMB had to ensure your compatibility. We test all agent partnerships.”
Fiona took a breath. The whole situation still infuriated her.
“Couldn’t whatever this is wait till mornin’, Henry?”
“Well…no…it’s rather urgent that you come now.” He looked behind him and a haunting sound began.
“Bagpipes?” Lorcan said. “Is there a Scottish piper there?”
“There are several,” Henry whispered. His face paled and the call abruptly ended.
“That’s…peculiar,” Fiona said.
Lorcan tucked his phone back in his pocket, started the engine, and sped out of the parking lot.