Page 63 of Magic of the Damned

Without giving her a chance to respond, I walked back into the room and slid a chair in front of the door. I had given Dominic the Trapsen, not the knife. Helena would feel the blade if she came in.

CHAPTER 19

It took a while to take in the spacious living room from the entryway where the elevator had deposited us. To my disappointment, our destination from the Underworld didn’t put us in the alleyway of Books and Brew. I wanted to see the end results of their cleanup work. And Emoni’s five texts asking me to call her and checking in on me didn’t ease my concerns despite Dominic’s assurance that everything had been handled. His version of “handled” differed greatly from mine.

“I’m fine,” I texted. “You?”

“Have you heard about the store?”

Throughout the day, I had gone over how I’d handle this if asked, but now faced with lying to my best friend, it was more difficult than expected. I’m protecting her, I reminded myself.

“Yes, Cameron left a message. Store vandalized.” I added an angry emoji. “Sometimes I hate people.”

“Me too.”

I was about to send a message when Emoni’s ringtone sounded. Her calling set off alarms. She definitely preferred texts or video calls.

“Luna,” she rushed out as soon as I answered.

Dominic appeared to be busying himself, straightening up things in an already immaculate kitchen. He managed to change the spice rack from one side of the stove to the other. The kitchen looked like it had never been used and the spices were for staging purposes only.

“Are you okay?” she asked, concern drenching her voice.

“Yeah, why?”

“Your ex”—the word held the same level of disdain as if she’d said “jackass”—“was in the coffee shop today, urging me to talk to you.” Knowing how Emoni felt about him, Jackson approaching her probably made the situation seem dire.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you with Dominic?” Calling him by name and not referring to him as the handsome man from the coffee shop meant that Jackson had done more than just urge. He probably gave her a Jackson version of the encounter with Dominic and the events of yesterday, if the Dark Caster or the Conventicle crew hadn’t spelled him to forget.

“No.” That lie hurt. “But I’ve hung out with him several times. He’s—” I looked Dominic straight in his face, because he’d given up pretending he wasn’t listening to the call and was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a crisp, tailored olive-green shirt that complemented his eyes. Making me aware of his enviable long lashes. Perhaps I’d purposely ignored them in my effort to dismiss his allure. Why force people into the Underworld? I was sure he could just entice them into following.

“He’s not as strange as I imagined. Rather interesting, and of course anything Jackson has to say about him is fueled by jealousy.”

Silence.

“Do you have plans today?” she asked.

Yep, I’m getting magic, undoing a spell so I can recapture prisoners from the supernatural prison in the Underworld. Then I plan to sit in front of my TV, watch the lightest, funniest show available while shoving chips and M&Ms in my mouth, and mainline margaritas while devouring tacos. What about you?

“Nothing much, why?”

“Can you stop by the coffee shop for a few minutes? I… I… I’d like to see you. Please.”

It was a strange request, but the anxiety and urgency in her voice made me want to do whatever was necessary to ease it.

“Of course. I’ll see you in an hour,” I told her when Dominic mouthed a time.

“Great.” Relief flooded her voice.

After I disconnected, Dominic was expressionless. The peach glow from the sun through the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up one wall of the apartment created a halation backdrop against his figure.

Pulling my eyes from his, I took in the curved white leather art deco chairs that wouldn’t look out of place in a museum. They were for looks, not function. The clean lines of the wood coffee table. The large artworks hanging on the neutral walls. The rug was the only thing in the living room that looked comfortable. I leaned down to touch the soft material. I could see a sitting room to my right that was just as pristine.

“Helena and I share it. The bedrooms look more lived in,” he admitted.

I looked at him suspiciously, not missing the invitation in his statement.

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