Witches for Hire (Odd Jobs #1)(19)
DESPITE HIS theatrics, Desmond wasted not a shred of magic during the performance. Every action was precise, and Clive’s backstage access made it hard to turn away from the man. Explosions of power harmlessly fell over the audience’s heads, but while to mortal sight they dissipated, to a mage’s eyes, they coalesced into swirls of light that gathered into the beginnings of five other tricks the assistants were preparing. It was like Desmond was putting on two shows at once. No wonder Clive had thought the magician was an otherworlder. His control was beyond most humans’ abilities, and the man carried himself like an exotic bird. He was graceful, yet at the same time his movements were unpredictable. When the lights dimmed and the curtains closed, Clive clapped along with the audience.
“Good work, everyone. I expect you to work your asses off the next show.” Smiling broadly, Desmond climbed down the steps and stopped in front of Clive. “Hello. I assume that’s Michael’s badge you altered to your appearance.”
“Yes, but I had nothing to do with his demise.”
Black hair almost touched Clive’s neck as Desmond whispered in Clive’s ear, “That’s why you’re in front of me and not dead.” He pulled away. “Would you like a cup of tea while I get to know the wizard who’s causing a stir?”
“I believe a conversation is beneficial to both our needs. I accept.”
“My suite is on the top floor, where we can have privacy.” On the way, Desmond greeted several fans and crew who congratulated him on another wonderful show, and a few reporters asked for a response. He gave each of them a bit of his time before exclaiming that he wanted to talk shop with a fellow practitioner.
Clive followed the magician into a private elevator. Desmond placed a card key in a slot, and a dark circle on the panel lit up for the penthouse apartment. “How much of your power do you actually reveal?”
“All of it,” Desmond said.
“That’s brave of you.” And probably a lie. No witch would be dumb enough to exhibit all their skills on television. Unless his arrogance delved into foolishness. “Do you know what your assistant was up to in the alley?”
“He thought there was a security risk and investigated it. I considered it a minor problem, or I would have settled it on my own.”
“So you didn’t knowingly send your man to die?”
“Just like you didn’t knowingly send your people after a murderer. The only difference between our actions is that you had an Amazon on your payroll. Anyone else, and they would have been just as dead.”
The elevator stopped, and the doors opened to simple opulence. Cream walls with gold flower patterns guided them to a wooden door. With every step, the brass handle loomed larger. Clive rubbed his eyes. Though their destination seemed closer, sweat formed down the side of his face, and lifting his legs suddenly took all of his strength. No obvious magic pulled at him in the hallway, and he saw no triggered wards. Clive squinted at the walls. The tiniest of breaks appeared in the gold blooms, and more appeared the longer he stared. Every shape was constructed of words that formed figures of sweeping calligraphy. Graceful, arrogant, and extravagant. Desmond must have created the diagram himself. Clive might make it to the door without speaking the words to break the spell, but it would take his strength, and he couldn’t afford weakness in front of the man. He gritted his teeth and stood as straight as he could against his legs’ wishes. “May I please come inside?”
“Hm? How silly of me to leave my security on.” Desmond clutched his hand to his chest in embarrassment, but he took his sweet time delivering him permission to pass. “You may come in.”
The weight on Clive’s body vanished, and so did any question that Desmond was hiding a great deal of his power. The painstaking writing required months of concentration and an obsessively steady hand. If it had been constructed by magic alone, Clive could pass through it feeling the pressure of a gnat. While he now possessed an idea of Desmond’s knowledge, his pride had given the magician a peek at his own power. A smart mage would have asked permission to enter as soon as he stepped off the elevator, but the consequences of knighthood meant Clive was too proud. They entered the magician’s home and were met by floor-to-ceiling marble. “I grossly underestimated how much you make.” A man positioned near the door took Desmond’s coat. When he raised his hand for Clive’s, Clive shook his head.
“He’s very serious about his job. You’ll hurt his feelings.” Desmond deposited his jacket into the servant’s grasp.
“I’m not staying long.”
“Your two witches miss you already? For a fellow Brit, your male witch irritates me whenever he opens his mouth. The female one is more pleasant. She has an earnestness about her that’s rare in your profession.”
I hope those two expected to be eavesdropped upon and didn’t speak of anything too sensitive, Clive thought. “You don’t like letting anyone else control the situation, do you?”
“No.” Desmond sprawled on a white couch with pearls dotting its skirt, his dark charcoal-gray coat and shirt contrasting with the white sitting area. It was a testament that even when surrounded only by furniture, the man hungered to be the center of attention. He beckoned for Clive to sit in an accompanying chair.
The seat didn’t buck and toss him on the floor, so perhaps the childish displays of power were over. Clive intertwined his hands. “What threat did your assistant suspect was aimed at you?”