Page 15 of Hit By the Cupid Stick

Looking around, a weightpressed down on him. He would find living here isolating, and itseemed so far afield from Elodie. The real Elodie whom he liked tothink he’d gotten glimpses of from time to time, and even moresince that arrow struck them. Thatwoman was warm, and funny, andteasing.

And lonely.

Anyone who surroundedthemselves in impersonal nothing had to be lonely.

“Let me just swap outpurses,” she was saying as she emerged from her bedroom.

Chance had only ever bumpedinto her out on the prowl in dresses that were classy but clearlypart of the image—body hugging, showing cleavage, abs, legs, orsome combination, hair teased out, and full make up on.

Which meant that Elodiedressed in jeans and a hoodie with sequins and the words “Womenrule the galaxy” was cause for pause. Because damned if minimalmakeup, hair up in a messy bun, slouchy clothes, and conversesneakers wasn’t about the sexiest thing he’d ever seen onher.

“Star Wars or Star Trek?”It just popped out.

She glanced down at her topand smiled. “Both actually. I know that’s a cardinal sin, but I’llfight anyone who tries to put me in a box. I have every right tolove both Yoda and Spock.”

Chance chuckled. His sirenwas a closet geek, and he sort of loved that about her. “Fairenough. I’m all about Star Wars if you’re wondering. Obi Wan is myhero.”

“Killed by his padawan?”she mused as she moved items from her evening purse to a largerbag. “Seems an odd choice.”

“Theman let Vader kill him. For a reason. He’s a bad ass.”

Elodie laughed. “Well, come on, bad ass. Mycontact will be waiting.”

The address she gave thecabbie had Chance raising his eyebrows in question, but it wasn’tsomething to discuss with a human audience. Not until they weredeposited on the steps of a slickly modern building. Havingreplaced whatever had been there before, it was surrounded by fourand five story brick buildings lining the street all the way down.But this one was all glass and light and stuck out like a minotaurin a china shop.

No sign adorned it to indicate what it was.Chance already knew.

“The Covens Syndicate?” heasked in a low voice.

Gods didn’t have much to dowith the witches and warlocks of the world for the most part. Ingeneral, they had little need for the magic wielders’ gifts. Orjudgments. Or very human ways of making things more complicatedthan they needed to be.

“Just the eastern NorthAmerican headquarters,” Elodie murmured back. “My contact’s mateis—”

The door was opened by awoman probably nearing her late sixties who wore her steel-grayhair severely scraped back from her face, not a strand out ofplace. Her face matched the hair. Where had she come from anyway?He should have seen her through the glass walls.

“Ms. Sirenian,” the womanmurmured, and waved them inside.

“Nice to see you, Agnes,”Elodie said as she passed the woman, who didn’t react at all. Not asmile or a nod or any indication she’d heard.

“This way.” Inside, Agnesled them around the foyer desk to a back hallway and finally towhat appeared to be a small, single office.

The second he saw who waswaiting for them, Chance jerked to a halt. Just because gods didn’tinteract much with the wiccan world, didn’t mean they were ignorantof the magical leaders. And this man was the leader.

Elodie’s contact was thehead warlock himself? No wonder he’d gotten her answers far fasterthan any of Chance’s contacts.

Chance received a nod ofgreeting.

“Sorry,” Elodie said.“Chance, I’d like to introduce you to Alasdair Blakesley, head ofthe Covens Syndicate.”

Any person who headed thegroup that governed all mages worldwide at such a young age had tobe incredibly powerful. Early to mid-thirties at most and imposingwith raven-black hair and blue eyes that seemed to stray to thewoman he stood beside more often than not.

“And this is his mate, andmy friend, Delilah.”

Wait. Her contact wasAlasdair Blakesley’s mate?

Chance studied the woman ashe shook her hand. She was dressed in a pristine, deep purplepantsuit, and her black hair was pinned in an elegant chignon atthe nape of her neck. Her demeanor and Alasdair’s position mightcause one to assume she was the less dangerous of the two, but theway the hairs on the back of his neck rose at her touch, ifanything, he got the impression Delilah was the more powerful. Andnot necessarily a witch.

He didn’t ask what she was.That question was considered rude. He just waited.

---