Binding the Shadows (Arcadia Bell #3)(46)

“Butler,” he said enthusiastically as some obnoxious Top Forty club music filled the air. “How the hell are you?”

“Not as good as you, apparently.”

Mr. Little looked me up and down. A slow, lecherous grin spread across his face. “Please, come on in and join the party.” He closed the door behind me and locked it. “I’m Peter, by the way.”

“Cady,” I replied, looking around. His condo had blinding white-on-white walls, furniture, rugs, floor, occasionally broken up by a startling accent color, a shade of turquoise blue that matched both his halo and his too-blue eyes.

“Don’t even think about it or I’ll f*cking punch your teeth in.”

I twisted around to look at Lon. His eyes were narrowed to slits. A proprietary grip on my wrist tugged me closer to his side.

Peter held up his hands. “Whoa, calm down. I wasn’t—” He glanced at me, then gave Lon a sheepish smile. “Okay, I was, but . . . Dammit, Butler. I forgot how much I hate your knack.”

Feminine voices tinkled from another room.

Peter glanced over his shoulder and shrugged. “I’ve got my hands full anyway.” He shouted over the music at the girl in the bikini. When she came over, he whispered something into her ear. She looked at Lon and smiled, then nodded at Peter and meandered off somewhere. What the hell was that all about? I glanced at Lon for guidance, but he had a funny look on his face. That better not have been that hobag, Megan Pierce.

“You two heading out or coming from somewhere?” Peter asked, gesturing for us to come farther inside. The volume of the thumpy dance music lowered.

“David Merrimoth’s funeral,” Lon answered as we followed Peter into a sunken living room capped by a wide, white fireplace. Sunlight spilled through long windows. How in the world he lived in a sterile place like this was beyond me. But when I looked closer, I noticed a lot of clothes scattered around. Mostly women’s clothes.

“Oh, the funeral. That was today?” Peter said, flopping down on a sofa. His shirt fell open a few more inches. Four empty wine glasses sat on a glass coffee table next to a wine bottle. Where was the party? I briefly saw a figure move through a hallway at the back of the room, and thought I heard talking in what seemed to be the kitchen, but I didn’t see anyone.

Peter sniffled and wiped his nose. “I meant to attend, but . . .”

Lon perched on white leather loveseat across from him. “I guess I’d forget too if I’d just won fifty million dollars.”

An enormous shit-eating grin lit up Peter’s face. “I still can’t believe it.” He puckered his lips and exhaled a long, slow breath. “They don’t give you the money right away, you know. Have to deal with lawyers and accountants. More red tape than I ever saw on city council.”

“Rumor has it that this is your third win.”

Peter dialed down his smile. “Wishing you could trade knacks with me?”

“No, just wondering why you haven’t won the lottery before.”

He shrugged. “Never really tried.”

“You have a luck knack and never played the lottery before?” I said. “That would probably be the first thing I did.” I was sitting on something. Rising up slightly, I pulled out a pair of purple panties from beneath my ass. And immediately chucked them on the floor. God only knows whose crack they’d been up.

Peter didn’t seem to notice. “Maybe I played it a few times when I was younger. Won bits here and there, I don’t know.”

“But suddenly you win three times in a month?” Lon said.

Peter sank back in to the sofa and crossed his ankles. “I’ll be fifty this year. Guess I thought why not? You only live once.”

“Bullshit.”

Tiny lines filled Peter’s forehead as he raised his brows. “What are you implying, Lon?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m telling you, I know something’s changed.”

“Like what?”

“You tell me. What are you doing to increase your knack?” Lon’s tone was unfriendly and accusatory.

I tried to smooth things over. “Because if you’ve stumbled on something good? Boy, we definitely want in on it,” I said, smiling my best flirty smile.

“ ‘We?’ ” Peter said. “I thought people like you used magick to get everything they want.”

A quick anger flickered inside my chest. “And just how many magicians do you know?”

He curled his thumb and index finger into an 0. “Unless I count you.”

“You don’t,” Lon said.

“So protective.” Peter reached for the wine bottle and tried to pour a drink, but nothing came out. “If you ever get tired of Killjoy over here”—he pointed the bottle at Lon—“give me a call. I could use a little magic in my life.”

A long silence fell. I could practically feel Lon’s blood pressure rising. Or maybe that was mine.

“Let’s cut the shit,” I said. “We know you’re using a bionic drug. We just want the name of your dealer.”

Peter’s face twitched in about fifty different places. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A long moment passed. We all stared at each other. Strange noises floated nearby. Sounded like someone was in pain.