The Curse (Belador #3)(52)
“Never mind. Double-lock the doors.” He handed her a business card that displayed a phone number. Nothing else. “Call me immediately if you need me.”
“Yes, yes. I know how to get help. Go and be careful.” She lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed Quinn’s cheek. “Do not let something happen to you. I would be lost without you.”
He patted her head. “I’ll be fine.”
She told him good-bye and turned to walk away, knowing he would not leave until she was inside. Dangerous trolls were in Atlanta. The world was lucky to have men such as Quinn who protected humans from bloodthirsty creatures.
After reaching the suite and depositing her suitcase, she ordered food and felt much better, then left a note for Quinn. Before riding back down in the elevator, she experimented with cloaking herself. Last night she had disappeared completely, but now only the top half of her body vanished before she gave up. Majik was much trouble some days.
Once she found Kell and Kardos, she would get the location of the strange trolls’ headquarters and give that to Quinn when he returned to the hotel.
Quinn would worry if he knew what she was up to, but she had fought a troll in Transylvania last year.
That one had no special marks, but a troll was a troll.
She only needed help with evil wizards.
SIXTEEN
Asking Isak Nyght for a weapon that killed nonhumans would open a door Evalle might never be able to shut. She grabbed a towel to dry her hair, needing to head out soon even if the meet point was close to her underground apartment in downtown Atlanta.
Isak had to know she wanted a weapon after she’d sent a text asking to borrow something. What else would she want to borrow from a man who created custom weapons just to kill beings with supernatural power?
Could she avoid telling him why? Not an easy task when she had yet to give Isak a straight answer about why she sometimes ran into nonhumans. At least he wouldn’t remember that he’d discovered she was an Alterant three weeks ago.
Nope, she wasn’t worried about Isak … as long as he didn’t kiss her.
He’d kissed her only a couple times, unexpectedly. The man had a nice mouth, more than nice.
But then Storm had kissed her.
She stopped rubbing her hair and tossed the towel over a hook. Thinking of Storm and Isak at the same time gave her a headache.
No kissing tonight. She’d treat this as business. One goal—get the weapon. But she couldn’t tell Isak about the trolls. That meant she had to play up her fear of something nonhuman.
She’d rather spend a day off with Sen than act afraid of anything.
Take one for the team. Tzader and Quinn sure as the devil couldn’t pull off looking frightened of anything.
She finished dressing and went out to the kitchen, where her two-foot-tall gargoyle, Feenix, sat on the island counter playing with his pile of lug nuts. The leathery skin on his wide forehead wrinkled with how hard he concentrated to place the silver half-inch circles on top of each other with his pudgy hands, especially while having to reach around his potbelly.
“Whatcha doing, baby?” she asked on her way to snag a power drink from the fridge.
“Cathel.”
Took her a minute of studying the wall and tower structure he’d built to understand he meant castle. “Fun. Did you see a castle on TV?”
“No-o.” He answered her as if he expected her to know the right answer.
Where had he seen a castle? She’d found Feenix during a mission to locate and stop a mad sorcerer who’d been creating an army of vicious creatures that killed on command. Feenix had been left in a cell with a note marking him as a flawed creation to be used for food. The best she could tell, the poor little guy had failed as a killer. Easy to understand with all the other creatures towering over ten feet tall and Feenix so much smaller and with a sweet disposition.
Quinn would argue that Feenix could blow a hole in the wall with a blast of fire if something frightened him.
True, but he knew he was safe with her. “Who lives in the castle, baby?”
Feenix angled his head to look up at her. Bright orange eyes flashed with intelligence when he smiled. Two small fangs poked down on each side of his overbite, glowing against his brownish-green skin covered in dark green scales. “Printheth.”
“A princess, huh?” Oh, that’s right! She’d watched The Princess Bride with him the other night. “That’s a great castle. Is it for Princess Buttercup?”
“No-o.” He shook his head and his batlike wings flapped gently. The chortling sound he made usually meant he was proud of something he’d figured out. “For Printheth Evalle.”
Her heart thumped. She’d never celebrated a birthday or received a wrapped gift, but moments with Feenix had become as cherished as any package in shiny paper. “Thank you, baby.”
He pointed at another lug nut. “Demon.” Then he picked up that lug nut and tossed it into his mouth, chomping on the steel and clapping his hands.
“Attaboy.” She smiled. “I’ll be back in a while. Don’t eat my pots and pans, okay?”
Feenix quieted and dropped a hand to his bent knee, which he patted slowly as if saying, That again? “Accthident. Member?”
“Yes, I remember, but I wanted to make sure you didn’t forget.” It wasn’t as though she did a lot of cooking, but she would like to keep the last two pots she had. She hadn’t figured out if he had short-term memory loss sometimes or if he just did things out of pure mischief.