Mercy's Magic (10 page)

Mercy cleared her mind of all negative and paranoid thoughts and focused on catching this man’s attention in a way he didn’t find threatening as she walked slowly up the long drive to the main entrance. A hawk flew overhead, and she could hear the call of a mockingbird; a bird that never made the same song twice, ever.

Calm yourself, Mercy
, she murmured.
This is your chance. For Javier, for yourself
.

As Mercy approached the front door she once again heard whisperings in her mind. He knew she was here. She was about to lift the heavy cast-iron clapper, that hung just below the whimsical gargoyle door-knocker, when the door opened.

* * *

Ariel felt her approaching long before she parked. He knew she was coming for the one named Javier. He might have let her have him, he surmised, if she hadn’t ruined everything and made him move his plant.

She had guts, he thought to himself as he spied her walking up to his door. To come to his home, alone, and plead whatever logic she thought necessary. He didn’t feel threatened; in fact he was impressed by her...her moxie. She hadn’t brought police or FBI with her. She was on her own this time.
Finally, some common sense.

He smiled as he peered through his drapes. She’d dressed for the occasion. Or so she thought. He whispered into her ears, coaxing her along. It had been a while since anyone dared come to him so blatantly, so boldly. Yes, Ariel thought to himself, this woman, despite the trouble she had caused, was a breath of fresh air; a definite change from most others who became pitifully frightened in his presence. He was looking forward to this encounter. So he watched her approach, his smile spreading into a broad grin. This would be fun.

He opened the door wide and bowed slightly. “Miss Cruz…none of your friends this time? I’m very happy to finally meet you, and to, ah, discuss our objectives, just the two of us. I am Ariel. Please come in.”

Mercy stepped through the wide-arched doorway and entered his home, once again commanding herself to be calm.

“Please, call me Mercedes. Or Mercy, as my friends call me.” She smiled and held out her hand.

As she stepped inside, she was forced to stare up at the tall man. Imposition did not strike her at first glance, instead, it was difficult not to think he was devilishly handsome. Surprisingly, he raised her hands to his lips, and she knew right then and there he was a charmer. But she wouldn’t let herself be fooled. Ariel had already showed her what he was capable of when he felt threatened.

“Pleased to meet you,” Mercy said, smiling into his eyes.

Ariel chuckled. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. We haven’t formally met.” He waved his hand, inviting her into the living room. As she took the two steps down into the beautiful room he continued, “I almost regret our previous...encounter.”

“It was unfortunate, but it’s in the past, now.” Mercy held her head high as she sat on the sofa. “I do understand you a little more, though.”

He sat across from her on a white-leather throne. “You’re wiser than I expected,” he said with a grin. “Not that I didn’t think you weren’t capable of such thought and mental flexibility. No offense,” he finished with a twinkle in his eye.

“No offense taken, Ariel,” Mercy said, waving her hand. “It’s not like this world is conducive toward our nature.”

Mercy was certain he knew why she was here. He wasn’t stupid. They would get down to business, but not quite yet. She glanced about the room at the various artwork and antiques. “You have quite a place here,” she remarked. “A beautiful home.”

“I’ve carefully handpicked everything you see. Taste is such an intimate and personal thing to prune, that when one hears validation, a certain amount of euphoria ensues. Thank you. Would you care for a drink?”

Mercy thought fast. She took a quick look at the bar, and noticed one particular bottle that looked more used than the others, filled with clear, light brown liquidity.

“Scotch…on the rocks, please.”

“Ah. My poison as well.” He rose and crossed to the bar. Arial lifted a pair of whiskey glasses using his index and middle fingers and placed them on the counter. As he poured he continued, “This particular Scotch was made by a former client of mine whom I did work for in Paisley. He told me while pouring my first glass, just as I am for you that the word Warlock originates from Scotland, and here’s the kicker...are you ready?”

Mercy nodded and watched his large hands caress the glasses.

“It means,
cunning man.”

Mercy scrutinized Ariel’s movements even further after revealing such an anecdote. “Interesting.”

“Ever since my conversation with the Scottish gentleman, Scotch has been my favorite drink. Quality Scotch, of course.”

Think, Mercy, think.
He was pouring two glasses, and Mercy didn’t have much time. Then it came.

He brought the glasses over along with the decanter, set it on the coffee table and handed her one. “What shall we drink to, Mercedes?” He asked as he sat back down.

She lifted the heavy whiskey glass. “How about to new beginnings?”

“Excellent! To new beginnings, then.” He drank. Mercy downed her generous portion, then shuddered, frowning slightly.

“Is it not to your liking?” he asked. “This is the finest whiskey money can buy.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Mercy answered. “I guess I’m just a little nervous. And I forgot to ask...never mind.”

“Please. Anything you’d like. I pride myself on being a gracious host.”

“Well, I usually have it with a twist of lime,” she said shyly. “But I wouldn’t want to inconvenience yourself.”

“Not at all! Make yourself comfortable.” He downed his drink in a flash. “I’ll return shortly.” He got up and headed for the hallway, to the kitchen she presumed. “Feel free to look around,” he called over his shoulder.

Whatever Mercy was expecting, it wasn’t this. It was too easy. Actually, she could just give him the potion...but no. He was certainly too smart for that. It was, after all, a trick as old as time itself. Just like offering a potential rival a free look around the house while the host disappears briefly into another room. Mercy’s head darted around the room.
He’s got cameras, doesn’t he?
she thought.
Strange...I don’t feel his eyes peering at me either.

“Did you say something, Mercy?” Ariel’s muffled voice asked as it traveled through the kitchen door.

Mercy froze and responded, nervously, “No...no, I didn’t say anything.” Her spooked eyes fixated on one of Ariel’s paintings. She stood still and kept her mind clear.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ariel’s smile was gone the instant he left the living room. He knew Mercy
was up to something and almost wished he’d had a guard in the room, but didn’t want to intimidate her. Not yet. She probably thought he’d take his sweet time slicing lime wedges in the kitchen. Better just grab the whole lime from the crisper and slice away on the bar counter.

Mercy swallowed hard and slinked away toward the drink. She drew the black vial out of her bag, trying to steady her hands as she poured its mixed contents into the intricately chiseled decanter. She picked it up with a napkin and swirled it gently.

She waited for the liquid to settle, placed it back down on the table and ran back to where she stood. Ariel came in just as she made it back, pretending she’d admired his Goya the entire time he was in the kitchen. It was an odd painting to say the least, as it featured a humanoid goat, most likely a depiction of Satan, surrounded by an eclectic coven of witches. Her back faced him. She wiped the few sweat beads that had gathered on her forehead, and hoped Ariel didn’t sense her unease as she caught herself obsessively rubbing her thumb and index finger like a cricket’s leg to its thorax.

“Ah, you’re looking at one of my favorites,” he said, congenially, as he entered. “That is a uniquely terrifying painting to some.
The Witches’ Sabbath
, by Francisco Goya, 1798. At least to you and me, I’d say it’s quite beautiful, wouldn’t you agree?”

She faced him and smiled. “It is,” she agreed. “You’ve got quite a collection here. The artwork and furnishings in this room look like they’re worth a king’s ransom. I’m surprised you’re so light with your security.”

“Nobody comes here,” he said, cutting the lime and setting it in a small bowl. “Unless I invite them, of course.”

“You didn’t invite me,” Mercy commented. “I came of my own free will.”

Ariel smiled and was about to fill their glasses once again, but stopped. “I think we need fresh glasses, don’t you? A fresh glass is always nice.” He looked deep into her brown eyes.
Now the games begin,
he declared in his mind.

Mercy feigned a little discomfort for his benefit.
She hoped he thought she’d poisoned his drink and not the Scotch in the decanter. “Um, of course,” she answered doubtfully. “Why should I mind?”

“If idle Scotch is exposed to the air for too long, it tends to sweeten,” Ariel said as he exchanged the glasses. He returned with two more containing ice. Poured for both of them, and Mercy took a twist of lime, curled it to let the juices out for her glass.

“Now, Mercy, what shall we drink to next?”

“Well, I usually don’t drink this much, but what the hell...” She would drink with him, of course, and all she had to do was somehow drink the antidote. “How about we drink to a win-win for both of us?”

“If you like,” he responded casually. They clinked glasses and drank. Mercy began to wonder whether this was a good idea as Lily’s sour face flashed her mind. She really didn’t drink hard liquor either, and the first glass had made her a little tipsy already.

But she met his dark eyes and took a swig. He did the same, satisfied and tranquil.

Mercy would’ve preferred a scenario where she hadn’t drank the spiked liquor, but she was afraid not to, as she knew this was the only guaranteed way Ariel could have ingested Lily’s potion. So she took a healthy swig and leaned back, doing her best to appear relaxed and at ease.

Ariel held his glass between both hands, watching Mercy intently. “So, you came here of your own free will, Mercedes Cruz,” Ariel said, fighting back a chuckle. “And after such a vicious first encounter. I admire that.”

“Thank you,” Mercy answered. “I do my best. My work, you see.”

“And your work is what brings you here.”

“I’m a private investigator.”

“Ah, I should have guessed. Thus your desire to bargain. You’ve caused me great difficulties, Mercedes.”

“I know, and I apologize for that,” Mercy said, taking another sip of the amorous Scotch. “But business is business. And I tried, once before, to find my man.”

“And you always get what you want? You’re one of
those
, am I correct?”

She took a burpy breath and started feeling a bit woozy. “I always satisfy my clients. That’s why I was hired.”

“And after that...debacle, after all the work and headaches you caused me, you actually think you can come to my home and bargain for this man you’ve been hired to find?”

“I do,” Mercy said, casting him a wicked pair of smiling eyes, followed by another awkward breath, this time closer to a hiccup. She fished around in her purse and came up with a wad of cash. “Ten thousand dollars if you let him come with me now. And I’ll be out of your life forever,
Señor
Caliban,” she over-enunciated, flirtatiously.

Ariel’s chuckle broke into steady laughter. Mercy maintained her smile as he wiped tears from his eyes, taking a few seconds to finally settle down. “My apologies,” he said, giving a final chuckle. “But really? Ten thousand dollars? For one man? After what you’ve done and after snitching on my operation? Mercedes, my dear, do you understand how far out of your league you are?”

“I know I am. I get it. I’m just a speck of dust compared to the almighty Ariel,” she said, trying to keep her bearings. “But this man is like family to me. I would have helped him whether I was hired to or not.”

“And who hired you?”

“I can’t disclose that information,” Mercy said. She glanced down at the cheese and crackers on the coffee table. “May I?”

“Of course, oh but...please try the Gruyere,” Ariel said, excitedly as he waved a hand. “It is divine...but back to the matter at hand,” he continued, clearing his throat. “All I can say is, you must be mad...totally
loca...
yes,
loca...
hmmm, I sometimes prefer a tinge of craziness,
you know?” He took another drink. Mercy noticed the skin on his cheeks redden. She needed something to coat her stomach, and she hoped to God he hadn’t done anything to the food. She placed a slice of Gruyere on a wheat cracker and took a bite.

“Well,” Mercy said, “I can’t leave here without Javier. This is all I have. It’s my entire savings; not one dime came from my client. I’m hoping we can come to some sort of agreement; I feel this more than enough to cover the cost of the loss of labor.”

Mercy felt a little flushed, herself. She needed to regain her focus and rose from the sofa and began to pace. Thinking the circulation would help her composure, all it did was speed up the effects of the potion.

“You see, I know your powers. They are strong, very strong.” Mercy found herself saying, as she playfully squeezed Ariel’s biceps. “And understand me when I say this...I have firsthand experience when it comes to your strength.”

“Yeah? Oh yes, of course, I remember. I was a bit rough, wasn’t I?” Ariel’s voice was becoming a little husky. He loosened his shirt. “I understand you’re a magical woman who’s on the cusp of discovering her own powers, and who has no idea what she’s gotten herself into. I hold all the leverage, Miss Cruz.”

Mercy found herself beginning to sweat again. “Now that’s where you’re wrong, Ariel. I do believe we can come to an agreement—a bargain. I mean, what’s one drone to you? Nothing. You can have anything you want.”

Ariel stood up as well and faced her, not forcefully though, more like a stumble. His voice lowered, enticing, and Mercy agreed. Ariel’s baritone inflections were almost musical. He looked into her eyes with a passion that took her breath away. “That is true, Mercy. I, too, always get what I want.”