Disenchanted (9 page)

A star
–
like object, presumably torn from my ravaged torso, cradled in Jenny’s hands held aloft, then outward, an offering to Royd. Somehow, I know this is the very essence of my Talents, rooted so deeply, my destruction is the only way to remove them.

The shadowy figure of my childhood friend haunts the edge of the scene. Instead of his usual watching, holds his pale hands out toward me.

A horrendous yowling drowns out the laughter and stinging pain that shouldn’t be there—I’m dead, right?—rips across my cheek. I can’t breathe. Believable, considering my chest cavity lay open.

The ear splintering noise continues as the tingle of long unused limbs crawls along arms and legs. Something cold and wet presses against my lips, little puffs of air tickling then something akin to wet sandpaper rakes across my throbbing cheek leaving a damp trail.

I force sleep–crusted eyes open and meet golden green ones, the licking stops. A great ball of grey and white fur rumbles in satisfaction and I wrap my arms around him as I sit up. A dream, just a dream. I crush my savior until tiny pinpricks bite into me and he squirms free, the white fur on his head tinged pink. My cheek stings something awful as salty tears mingle with blood. I can’t be mad. He did what he had to, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting like hel. Thank the Gods C.C. needs me to feed him and clean his litter box.

He sits at the edge of the couch, watching me cry. I can’t help a teary smile as he lays a paw on my leg, his little toes flexing. I stroke his back and he moves onto my lap, reaches up, and pats my unmarked cheek. My throat feels like I swallowed a pincushion as I choke out a thank you and cradle him against me.

Afraid to go to bed, I’d fallen asleep on the couch. The TV unbearably loud as some health nut rambles about the benefits of the exercise machine they’re hawking. Fumbling for the remote, I flip it off. The Captain sits beside me watching for signs of instability.

“That was some nightmare, thanks.” I gently touch my cheek.

His answer tangled up in a yawn, obviously satisfied I’m back to some sort of normality, stretches out closing his eyes. Lucky cat. There’s no way I’ll get back to sleep, might as well get a start on the day.

Coffee brewing, I check out the damage done to my cheek. Not deep, just enough to break the skin, bright blood against white skin. That dream was straight out of the Brothers Grimm. Unlike the modern day interpretations, there was no happy ending. C.C. deserves a special treat today, even if I will have to use a glamour to cover this up at work.

Wavering shades of grey gather around me, reflected in the mirror. Spinning around I find nothing, obviously leftover remnants of my dream. Turning I lean against the sink and stare at myself.

“It was just a dream, brought on by everything that’s been happening. The shadow figure is my imaginary friend from childhood, my subconscious fleeing to a safe place.”

Yeah, right
, answers that little voice of reason as I open the cabinet, grabbing gauze and peroxide. The stinging pain as it touches the scratches is a small price to pay. That’s twice he’s brought me out of a nightmare. Maybe the little pig does care.

Peroxide splashes as my hand jerks. The burning itch of energy tumbles over my skin, signaling an attempted breach of the shields barring the entrance to my living quarters.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I know I turned the deadbolt. Only two people have a key, Dara and I. Neither of us would have set off the alarms.

The blood pulses in my ears. What if whoever it is makes it upstairs past the tangle of wards and spells? Instinct says run and hide in the closet. The inherent need to defend my territory, says barge on down and kick some invader ass.

Whoever is on the other side of that door is possibly strong enough to push through all the safeguards placed on the building. Commonsense says nothing good will come of going down there.

I practically tiptoe into the living room, like that’s going to make a difference. My not–so–friendly visitor probably already knows I’m home.

C.C. has his nose pressed against the crack below the door, rear end wiggling with the beginnings of a pounce. He turns toward me, eyes narrowed, letting out a horrendous yowl before charging, pushing me away from the door.

“Hey.” I take a step back. “Contrary to your beliefs, I’m not stupid, but I do need to find out what’s going on.”

Sidestepping him, I head straight for the knife drawer in the kitchen. My Talents are far from defensive. Grabbing the largest blade, I take a deep breath and head to the door. Bare feet have an advantage; they’re quiet. Clinging to the wall, I make my way down the stairs, one at a time, trying to remember which treads squeak.

The closer I get to the door the stronger the warning pulsating across my flesh, until I’m virtually vibrating. Sounds on the other side grow more violent as the intruder attempts to bash their way through the door. They’re probably counting on the daylight to stop Dara and figure I’m too big of a chicken to interfere.

I swallow back a wave of nausea. Someone has invaded my space. I don’t care why—you would think I would—I just stand there shaking and sweating. Everything is fuzzy, muffled, I feel like I’m reliving the tub incident only this time I’m drowning in fear.

It has to be a thief. Why else would anyone want to break in? For all I know it could have been a disgruntled client, maybe one of those fairy fever–infected idiots wanting revenge for refusing their requests.

I shriek as a hand grips my shoulder and the violence on the other side of the door stops. Spinning around, I stand toe to toe with Dara. Her hand grasps my wrist just before the tip of the blade touches her shoulder, the intruder’s footsteps fading to nothing.

“The alarms woke me.” She looks me up and down.

I’m probably a sight to behold, still in my pj’s, hair standing on end, gash on my cheek, holding a rather large kitchen knife. Unlike Dara, in her silk robe and disheveled hair, looking like she stepped off the set of a photo shoot.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, a little shook up, but not hurt.”

One of those ridiculously perfect brows rises.

“Seriously, I’m fine.” I touch my fingers to the scrape on my cheek. “You can ask C.C. about this later, right now I think I should check the salon.”

“I do not think that is such a good idea.”

“Oh come on Dara, we scared off whoever it was. Why would they hang around?” I know the tremor in my voice isn’t convincing her, or me that I’m past the fear of some shadowy figure lurking around the corner. Even if it is just the corner of my mind, gods know there are plenty of shadowy figures hanging out there lately.

“Can you wait until the sun goes down so that I can go with you?”

I shake my head, the look on her face admitting she already knew the answer. I have to keep telling myself it was just a botched robbery, not something foreshadowed by my dream. Going into the salon would help justify this little fantasy. Da Nile ain’t just a river in Egypt.

***

Dara refuses to let me go alone, even though she can’t enter the salon, too much sunlight.

The frame around the door held, barely. Splinters of wood push outward and the door itself sits at an odd angle in the frame.

Dara grabs me. “Do not touch anything.”

“Want to tell me how in hel I’m supposed to get in then?”

“You are not. You should wait until dark.”

“That’s not happening.” I snag the spare key secured behind the small light outside the door. “Let’s hope they didn’t screw up the lock so badly this won’t work, or I’ll be going around to the street entrance.”

The key slips in and with a little extra jiggling I finally hear the lock click.

“Are you still set on doing this right now?”

I nod, not really set, but not willing to flip on my back and let my yellow belly show. I step over the threshold. This is the point in the movie where everyone cringes at the sacrificial babe’s stupidity and screams at the screen, ‘Don’t go in there!’ Does she listen? Hel no, the big boobied blonde gets it, but not before she can pull the classic scream scene. Hands held in front of a teary face as she begs the monster not to ax her. If it all goes south, I hope I can live up to the image, minus the big boobs. That’s something I’ll never achieve.

Swallowing my fear, I take a step and then another until I’m standing in front of the open door between the break room and cutting floor. Another threshold crossed and I’m in the main salon. Even with the afternoon sun, it’s still dim and shadowy. I’m feeling a little stupid for not flipping on the lights. Any other day it would have been the first thing I’d do.

Nothing looks out of place. One of my vanity drawers is ajar, but that could have been my bad. I highly doubt a thief would be interested in combs and brushes.

I head for the front door and give it a push. Sure enough the door is open. Letting it glide closed, my feet and brain argue, while something cold and ugly twirls in my stomach.

“Did you find anything?” calls Dara, clinging to the shadows of the break room.

Fanning a hand at the fire in my cheeks, hoping the tunnel vision will dissipate. “Yeah, the door is open, they used a key as far as I can tell.”

That explains how they got past the wards guarding the salon. I flip the deadbolt and head to the desk.

No sign of tampering with the register. The appointment book is another story. Flipping through it, I find pages missing. What in Hel’s Realm? If this was one of those dorky made–for–TV movies it would be my competition trying to steal clients, but that’s just beyond stupid.

“Check the storeroom while you’re back there, Dara.”

“Done, someone has attempted to pry the new lock.”

Grabbing the book, I head back. “Obviously it wasn’t quick cash they were after. Whoever it was didn’t bother with the register. The fact that someone tampered with the lock confirms my suspicions that someone stole that bag of hair.”

I hand her the appointment book. “Along with the missing pages in this.”

***

Having decided to keep the break
–
in to ourselves, it
’
s business as usual. I don’t want to think about any of my employees being capable of something like this, but I have to face facts. Our intruder used a key, there are only six in existence and two of them are mine.

I know I didn’t do it and there is no way Dara could have made it outside, or across the salon in broad daylight to open the door. She’s one of those vamps who can’t tolerate sunlight, unlike my pretty stalker. That leaves three.

Nyssa, my bubbly little shampoo girl slash manicurist, Rey—who, if history is correct—is quite the trickster, both of whom have been with me at least six years. Then there’s my multi–personalitied receptionist, Jenny. Who at the present appears to be completely clueless about the missing pages, along with the rest of us. If it’s an act, it’s a good one on all three counts.

Observations are set aside in the deluge of patrons. Busy doesn’t begin to touch on a description of tonight. The place is packed. Maybe it has something to do with that article in the paper. I’m ecstatic because it means the salon is doing well. On the other hand, it keeps me from watching for clues.

The rap on the door of the facial room sets me off. When the door is closed, it stays closed. No disturbances short of a fire, or natural disaster allowed. I ignore it, continuing with the treatment, a firm believer that the client in your chair deserves your full attention. Besides, one small slip in manipulating the dead skin cells and the couple of zits she came in with could end up a case of full–blown acne.

I’m about ready to blow when Jenny pokes her head inside. “Sorry, Keely, I tried to tell them.”

The magic in my fingertips fizzles and I shake my hands, wincing in pain, when she’s shoved aside. Talk about it not being my night. Nancy, face slathered in green goo, sits up, giving a little shriek as two men in black push their way into the room.

Yep, just like the movie and neither of them look as good as
J
in those suits and glasses. One, all brawn and no brain—obviously a berserker—barely fits in the doorframe. The scrawny one actually sniffs the air like a therian. Great, a tracker. Even if I wanted to run, I wouldn’t be able to hide.

Never in my wildest nightmares imagined an NTF team visiting me. Any crimes involving Enchants are turned over to the Numinous Task Force, or NTF for short, a sort of magical police. The tracker says something about taking me downtown while the berserker grasps my arm. I instruct Jenny to get someone to take over Nancy’s treatment and not to charge her. The others may not be able to finish what I started, but they can at least get the goo off her face.

A low buzz fills the salon as Frick and Frack escort me through the main floor. No cuffs, but that doesn’t stop gawkers on the street, or those inside from assuming I’m under arrest. Even though they didn’t say,
you’re under arrest
, I make the assumption also.

Am I scared? No, more like terrified. Hel, I’ve never even had a traffic ticket, let alone been taken downtown. Guess I should have read my horoscope. It probably says get out of town. Fast.