Page 17 of Mochas and Minotaurs

I let Gigi in, and Declan backed out into the main area of the gym.

“We weren’t sure it was really you,” Declan explained.

“I’m going to go on a limb and say that Declan is the other person who knows, considering you’re in your glamor.”

“Yes. I guess I don’t need it anymore.” I reached up, rubbed the earring, and said the silly words again, sending Declan into another laughing fit. Just because he was the type to get straight A’s when he was in school didn’t mean he wasn’t also a total clown at heart.

“It’s best you were careful. Someone’s been trying to knock down my wards all afternoon. That’s why I’m here. I tried to contact you. I didn’t have the phone number, so I called the gym, but it went straight to voicemail, saying you guys are closed for the next two weeks.”

“Oops.” Declan fished the gym cell phone out of his pocket. “I had it on silent.”

We exchanged our personal numbers, something we should have done before, and sat down in the office area. It was one of the few walls I’d left up. People would have to go through the office to access the stairwell leading to my home. The door to the other stairwell was kept locked.

“Who do you think is trying to mess with your magic?” I asked. “The land development company? Or the dragon?”

She looked pensive. “I’m not sure. But I just realized that you’ve only ever called him ‘the dragon.’ Does this dragon have a name?”

“Not that I know of. At least I’ve never been told his name. But Maman always referred to the dragon as ‘him.’ I hate that I don’t know more about the whole situation. It almost feels like Elise kept it from me on purpose.”

“Perhaps it’s all she knew as well. Elise. That sounds French, especially the way you say it. And you call her Maman, which I’m guessing is also French.”

“It is.” I hesitated momentarily before saying, “I was raised in Paris.”

“You don’t have an accent. At least not until you started talking about your mother. And ‘Pair-ee.’ Aside from these instances, I would’ve pegged you as American, born and raised.”

“Thank you.” I beamed. “I worked hard to make myself sound as American as I could. I’m glad it paid off.”

“That’s why you said she wouldn’t recognize your voice.”

“Yep. Because this is how I used to speak English,” I said, letting the French accent come out.

Even I couldn’t recognize myself anymore. I was so used to hearing an all-American accent when I spoke.

“Yeah.” Gigi rubbed the back of her neck. “Nothing against French accents, and I’m sure tons of people find them sexy. But it’s weird coming from you when I’m used to the other one.”

“It could be Arcane,” Declan said. “They did lose their planted spy today.”

“You mean our Faux Hobo?” Gigi asked.

“That’s right.” It came out rather smugly, as if Declan couldn’t keep his victory in.

“One of my employees said she saw a honey badger launch a wasp nest through the car’s windshield.”

Declan barely kept a straight face. “A honey badger? In this part of the world? Nah. The guy shouldn’t park under wasp nests. They’re dangerous.”

Declan lived his life as a plain human, and if I hadn’t already known what he was, I would’ve believed it. Unlike other shifters, he kept his animal side well hidden. I suspect it was easier because his honey badger, though tough, was smaller than his human.

Or maybe it was because he didn’t smell anything like a wolf or a bear, the most common shifters in these parts. No one recognized the smell of a honey badger. Honey badger shifters, in general, aren’t very well known, even in the old world. They preferred to stay hidden, and the lack of a pack structure meant they didn’t have pack lands or large territories. They were happy to just hide amongst the humans in towns and cities.

“It could be Arcane. But those were some strong pokes I felt into my wards. Do land development companies normally keep wizards or witches on hand?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

Gigi rubbed the back of her neck. “I might have done a little bit of searching on your behalf online last night and at the library today. The reason I asked if the name was French is because I came across a certain Comtesse du Taureau.”

I raised my brow. “Countess of the Bull?”

“She wrote an unknown erotic fantasy in the late Victorian era titled—and I’m sorry if I butcher the pronunciation—Rencontre Avec un Minotaur.”

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