Con & Conjure

Chapter 6

Carnades had tossed down the gauntlet, and I was only too happy to pick it up.

Either I cooperated or my family would pay the price. It wasn’t the first time a Benares had been threatened like that, and the family had several favored forms of retaliation.

I was about to set one of those in motion. I’d be doing what a Benares does best.

Scheme and scam. Or in my case, con and conjure.

Time to find Mago.

Setting up Phaelan and paying Rache to kill Chigaru and Mychael took money. A lot of money. I knew for a fact that Rache wouldn’t kill a fly without being paid, and Carnades’s lackeys wouldn’t go after Phaelan without having their pockets well lined. The best way to stop them would be to stop their money, then see what I could do about taking every coin they already had.

Prince Chigaru hadn’t reserved the entire hotel, but he’d come close. There were goblins at every opening that could even remotely be considered a way in or out. I’d been taught since childhood how to get around virtually any obstacle an opponent could throw at me.

It wasn’t easy, but I got into the hotel without anyone seeing me. No goblin in this hotel knew that Prince Chigaru’s personal banker was a Benares, and there was no reason why I would know Mago Perrone.

So, I snuck in.

Almost as difficult as getting into the hotel undetected was convincing Vegard to wait for me at a bar across the street. In no way could a big, blond Guardian blend in with a hotel full of goblins. I was small and fit through openings Vegard couldn’t get his head into, let alone those shoulders of his. I thought about telling Tam and Imala about my little trick, but decided against it for now. I might need to sneak back in before all this was over.

I couldn’t exactly walk up to the front desk and ask where Mago Perrone’s suite was. I mean I could, but it would be ill-advised. Hotel staff generally wanted to know personal details that are best not shared in my kind of situation, like your name and what business did you have with the hotel guest in question. Then they would oh so politely offer to send a bellboy up with a message. Pretty much everyone knew who I was, and having me connected in any way, shape, or form with Mago would have scuttled our plan before we got a chance to break even one law.

Over the years, we’d worked out a sign in our family for letting another family member know where we were. For an inn or hotel, the tip of a handkerchief discreetly visible in the upper right corner of the door said that a Benares was in residence. To keep me from wandering suspiciously from floor to floor looking for his door merely took a little deductive reasoning. Mago never stayed on the ground floor, to prevent anyone from breaking in. Someone stealing from Mago would be the ultimate irony. My cousin also never stayed on floors too high up to prevent him from easily getting out. Escape was a good option for a Benares. He always carried a ladder woven out of Caesolian silk; it was light, fit neatly in his luggage, and could be pulled down quickly after him. That ladder had seen a lot of use over the years. It would reach three stories, no more. Chigaru was on the fifth floor—naturally the top floor—that would put Mago on the third. He’d want to be close to the prince, but close enough to the ground so that his getaway ladder would reach.

Unlike Prince Chigaru’s floor, there were no guards on Mago’s hall; in fact, there was no one in the hall except for me. The golden glow from recessed lightglobes set into the walls at regular intervals revealed a faint gleam at each end of the hall. Sentry beacons. Sometimes magic was a major inconvenience. Hotel security could see everything going on in every hall. Though one of the first spells I learned as a seeker was for disabling any magical device that let anyone see me when I didn’t want to be seen.

Focus, a touch of will, and a muttered spell later, all the security guard downstairs would see was a lot of empty hall. There would be no record that I’d been here.

I found the tip of a pale blue handkerchief peeking out of the door of the suite closest to the stairs—another prudent Mago precaution. I used the knock that would tell him it was me, and my cousin answered the door a few moments later, drink in hand, color back in his face.

I slipped quickly into the room so Mago could step up to the threshold, look both ways in confusion, shrug, and close the door.

Mago’s hair was still damp from a bath, and he was wearing a dark blue silk lounging robe. Most of a meal was still on a small dining table by the window. I stayed by the door and Mago crossed the room and closed the drapes. Standing on a floor that didn’t pitch and roll definitely agreed with my cousin.

“You’re looking almost lifelike,” I noted.

Mago raised his glass in salute. “You’re a silver-tongued flatterer, as always.”

I nodded toward the table. “Still can’t keep anything down?”

“I ordered more than I wanted.” Mago smiled. “I knew either you or Phaelan would put in an appearance and would be ravenous from one nefarious activity or another.” He raised a flawless eyebrow. “And what sort of trouble have you escaped this afternoon?”

I glanced down at myself. No blood that I could see. “What makes you think I’m in trouble?”

“I don’t think anything. I know you.”

I grinned. “Touché.”

“Quite so. Would you care for dinner? The poached salmon is excellent.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.” I sat down and fell to.

I was sure that Phaelan would put in an appearance later in the evening, but he would be more interested in refreshment of a liquid variety while he and Mago regaled each other with stories of monetary acquisition that, if heard by an officer of the city watch, would land them both in jail. Naturally, the stories would embellish reality to an obscene degree, but it was the telling of the stories and the drinking until neither of them could find the door that was more important, not that trifling thing known as the truth.

I regaled Mago with a story of my own, first about Carnades’s threats against Phaelan unless I surrendered myself to the elves, and then about the pending goblin invasion unless I gave myself up to the goblins.

By the time I’d finished, Mago had drained his glass and was at the suite’s bar pouring himself another.

“Don’t worry about Carnades,” Mago assured me. “This isn’t the first time someone came up with the bright idea to sell my little brother to the highest bidder.” He laughed. “One time, I was the winning bidder.”

I was incredulous. “You actually paid someone for Phaelan? You’re slipping, cousin.”

Mago raised a finger. “Ah, there’s a big difference between ‘bought’ and ‘paid for.’ I made the purchase, acquired the merchandise, and double-crossed the seller, leaving her with no Phaelan and no gold. I think the entire operation went exceedingly well.”

“Her?”

Mago nodded. “Phaelan protested that I purchased him far too soon. He was about to make headway of an intimate nature with the lady in question.”

I blinked. “He was going to boff his own kidnapper?”

“Phaelan considered the bidding process a novel kind of foreplay.”

“I don’t think I need to hear any more.”

“It’s a very entertaining story. You should really let me tell it to you when you have a few hours.” He gave me a reassuring smile. “Raine, don’t worry about Phaelan. He’ll be coming here later tonight and I’ll tell him.”

“Can you also keep him from doing anything stupid?”

He laughed. “I’m incredibly good, but I have yet to work an actual miracle.”

“Then do what you can.”

“That much I can promise.”

“Okay, back to the goblin part of my problem. You can siphon all the money out of Taltek Balmorlan’s account into one to fund Prince Chigaru, but it’ll be too late to help anyone if Nukpana gets that Gate built.”

“Due to the prince’s injury, my meeting with him has been postponed until breakfast tomorrow. King Sathrik keeps an absurdly large amount of imperial goblin gold on deposit at our bank, but he rarely makes withdrawals from it, only deposits.”

“How much is in there?”

“The last time I checked, it was in the area of thirty million kugarats.”

I whistled.

“The goblin army is doing most of the manual labor on the Gate?” Mago asked.

“As far as I know.”

“Do you know how the goblin army is paid and from what source?”

“No, but I could find out. Or better yet, you could ask Tam—and tell him precisely who you are. That’d make me coming to visit you a lot simpler.”

Mago looked like he’d swallowed a bug. “You’re quite serious, aren’t you?”

“Deadly serious. After what happened this morning, we don’t have time for your prim-and-proper banker act. If necessary, keep it going for the prince, but Tam needs to know the truth.”

“And you know Chancellor Nathrach how well?”

“Very well.” I proceeded to give Mago the shortened version of meeting Tam two years ago in Mermeia, up to sharing an umi’atsu bond with him until a month ago. The only person who knew Tam better than me was Imala Kalis and Tam himself.

“And having been chief mage to the goblin queen for five years, Tam would know where Sathrik gets his money right down to the pocket change he keeps on the royal nightstand.”

“Men—even disciplined soldiers—will work only so fast if their pockets are empty,” Mago said. “It won’t matter what psychotic goblin mage is cracking the whip. But first I need to know where the king keeps the money that he uses to pay his army. No doubt he pays them from the palace treasury, but he has to replenish that from somewhere.”

“If you don’t know about it, chances are it’s not from your bank.”

Mago took a sip and smiled like a man with a secret, the fun kind. “I have friends, in banks all over the world, who would be only too glad to help a colleague in need. In fact, they might even be willing to help with our noble cause.” He winked. “Especially if there was something in it for them.”

I knew I shouldn’t be surprised, but I had to ask. “Does everyone in this business need their palms greased?”

“Only if you need something from them in return.”

I pushed the now empty plate away from me and sat back in the plush chair with a satisfied sigh. I’d been hungrier than I’d thought. “I need to know the details of your plan for Taltek Balmorlan and Carnades Silvanus. Intercepting Sathrik’s payroll is critical, but I need Carnades’s wings clipped. Now.”

“I take it from that vindictive gleam in your eyes that the trouble you encountered this afternoon involved Silvanus’s colleague Inquisitor Balmorlan?”

“Correct.” Though at the thought of who Balmorlan had been hiding and paying, my face did a little wince and cringe. Mago most definitely knew about Rache Kai. They had been friends and Mago had been the one who introduced us. He’d never forgiven himself for that—or Rache. I hadn’t been the only one Rache had fooled. Mago swore that no one would ever fool him again, and no one ever had.

Mago sat perfectly still, the firelight glinting on his spectacles. “What is it?”

I told him.

You don’t usually think of bankers as being the types to cuss a blue streak, but there weren’t that many bankers with the last name Benares, either.

Let’s just say that Mago did the family name proud.

“You think Balmorlan hired Rache?” he asked.

“I don’t have proof, but Rache’s trail went cold on Embassy Row. Both the elves and goblins had defensive wards up and at full power, but I can’t see Imala’s people taking out a hit on the prince.”

“Unless she has some double agents in her midst,” Mago countered. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but why would Balmorlan want the prince dead?”

“Simple. Balmorlan and Carnades want war; Chigaru in power means peace.”

Mago set his glass aside and stood up. “Well, let’s see what we can do to put Inquisitor Balmorlan up to his eyebrows in hot water.”

“More beautiful words were never spoken. And if you can pull it off, consider it my birthday present for the next ten years.”

“The satisfaction of a sting well done and no shopping for ten years.” Mago smiled broadly. “How can any man refuse such an offer?”

I grinned. “That’s my offer, now what is your plan for after you’ve drained Balmorlan’s account?”

“I opted not to pursue that option.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Opted not—”

“Never commit yourself to one course of action when a better one may have just come available.”

“May have.”

Mago held up a hand. “Hear me out, cousin. I don’t do anything without a reason—or at least a hunch I can hang my hat on.” He sat down in the chair next to mine. “Phaelan tells me that you have an impeccable glamour.”

Oh crap. “Not impeccable, just decent.”

“From what he told me, you could fool anyone, anytime.” Mago had a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Including a man’s wife.”

“I’d really rather not glamour myself into a man again.”

“You want Taltek Balmorlan to hoist himself on his own petard?”

“Of course I do, but—”

“But nothing.”

He was right. I didn’t like it, but he was right. When I said I’d do anything to put Balmorlan out of commission, I’d meant it. It just didn’t occur to me that would involve acquiring dangly bits again.

“Any chance I could do this glamoured as a woman?”

“None. Two weeks ago, Taltek Balmorlan requested a meeting with a D’Mai banker. An obnoxious little worm named Symon Wiggs.”

“Sounds like someone Balmorlan would want for a banker.”

Mago smiled. “True, except Symon isn’t his banker. Like myself, Symon Wiggs has various profitable outside interests. In Symon’s case, he represents a Nebian criminal cartel. When these men need money handled, shall we say ‘cleanly,’ Symon is their go-to man.”

“So what does this have to do with Balmorlan?”

“Balmorlan wants to make the cartel an offer, something he seems to think they would be salivating to acquire.”

I didn’t like where this was going. “What is it?”

“I don’t know; but I do know that for him to contact Symon and request a meeting in person, there’s a great deal of money involved. In fact, Symon would have been on the same ship as me.”

“Let me guess, something came up at the last moment and he couldn’t make it.”

“Just me intercepting the invitation. After reading it, I arranged for Symon to do an audit at our Jebas branch.” Mago lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “A vice president there owes me a favor, and I called it in.”

“Clever.” I gave him a tired smile. “Thank you, Mago. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate—”

Mago actually blushed a little then waved me off. “You would have done the same for me.”

“Except I don’t have bank vice president friends in tropical resorts.”

“I’m sure you could come up with something equally creative and effective if I needed it.” Mago reached forward and selected a chocolate from the dessert tray. “And after the audit, my friend will reward Symon with a week in the Jebas’s most notorious pleasure palace and casino.” Mago popped the chocolate in his mouth. “He’ll be calling in a few favors to make that happen.”

“So you’re going to owe him even more.”

Mago sat back with a satisfied sigh. “No, that’s the simple beauty of the plan. My friend will be arranging for Symon’s nocturnal activities to be captured on a scrying crystal for future viewing. My friend’s colleague is brokering a deal that Symon has to sign off on but is known to be opposed to. My friend thinks Symon will be more agreeable to signing the papers if he knows that his wife will discover that his business trip wasn’t all business. So when you think of it that way, by putting Symon Wiggs into my friend’s clutches I’m actually doing him a favor.” Mago gave me a pleased little smile. “He says he owes me.”

I think my mouth may have fallen open. “You’re better at this than a goblin.”

“Why, thank you, Raine. What a lovely compliment.”

“I’m not sure I meant it as one, but I’m glad you’re on my side. So I take it I’ll be glamouring myself as an obnoxious little banker?”

Mago arched a brow.

“Hey, you called him obnoxious; I didn’t.”

“True. Yes, you will.”

“Do you have a scrying crystal with you to show me what he looks and sounds like?”

“Naturally.” Mago went to a suitcase on a stand in the corner of the room, peeled back a small section to reveal a padded and hidden compartment. He extracted a small box that would easily fit in my palm.

“I’ve never seen a crystal that small.”

“The advances in spy magic are indeed wondrous.” Mago handed it to me. “Take it with you and study it. You’ll be having a late lunch with him tomorrow at the Swan Song. Balmorlan had initially wanted to meet in the elven embassy, but I knew you weren’t about to set foot in that place again.”

I closed the box on the scrying crystal. “I’d really rather not. I’d also really rather not have to perform in front of the hoity-toity crowd at the Swan Song.”

Every high-ranking mage and Conclave bureaucrat had a favorite table at the Swan Song. If you were even going to try to make a reservation, you’d better have made sure the chief waiter recognized you and your name, otherwise there would mysteriously be no tables available at any time you wanted to dine. The Swan Song was all windows along the street side on Mid’s major thoroughfare. The owners wanted anyone passing by to see only the crème de la crème of magical society at their tables.

“Not to mention, I can look and sound like Symon Wiggs, but that doesn’t give me any knowledge of a criminal cartel, their money, or any banking knowledge, period.”

“Don’t worry, cousin. You have the perfect coach right here.”

“Uh, I’m a quick learner, but I don’t think—”

Mago’s dark eyes sparkled. “You don’t honestly believe I would let you have all the fun?”

“You’re going with me?” I asked hopefully.

“Of course. Balmorlan has never met Symon Wiggs in person. Plus, it’s perfectly normal for men such as Symon to bring along a colleague as a witness—or protection—when dealing with less than savory characters. Besides, I wouldn’t miss seeing you out in public with . . .” He wiggled his fingers downward. “Now, what did Phaelan say you called them?”

“Dangly bits.”

“Oh yeah, dangly bits. I wouldn’t miss that for the world. No worries, Raine. After my incomparable tutoring, that meeting will be the most fun you’ve ever had with your clothes on.”

That night, I had the most fun I could have with my clothes off.

When I’d told Mychael that I’d be meeting with Mago and Taltek Balmorlan the next day, he hadn’t reacted quite the way that I’d expected.

I nestled against his bare chest and smiled. Actually all of him was bare.

“What is it?” Mychael murmured.

He must have felt me smile. His words rumbled in his chest and against my ear. Nice.

I snuggled closer. “You took my meeting better than I thought you would. I should have more meetings.” I raised my head so I could see his eyes. “Is this the way you’re going to react every time I do something dangerous?”

Mychael smiled sleepily. “You didn’t like it?”

“Oh, I liked it; I just don’t understand it.”

“I don’t want to lose you.” He gently pushed the hair back from my face, his fingers lingering on my throat. “So anytime you do something where you might get hurt, I’m going to do this beforehand.”

“Send me off to my doom with a big grin on my face?”

Mychael’s hands did some delicious things under the covers. “Something like that.”

The sparkle in his eyes told me he wanted to do it all again. I started to say something, but Mychael closed his lips on mine and I suddenly had no idea what I’d been about to say.

“Sneaky tactics,” I said when he let me come up for air.

“I never claimed to play nice.”

I ran my fingers lightly down his taut stomach, and Mychael’s breath caught in response. “I noticed that,” I murmured, “and I want to say that your behavior has my complete approval.” My hand moved up to his chest and stopped. “So, what do you think of Mago and me meeting Balmorlan at the Swan Song?”

Mychael gave me a level look. “It doesn’t matter because what I think won’t change your mind.”

“No, it won’t. It can’t. Believe me I’m not chomping at the bit to sit across a table from Taltek Balmorlan unless I get to stick a piece of cutlery in him. Mago’s got a good plan; better still, it lets me play a big part in taking Balmorlan down—even though I have to glamour myself as a man.” I smiled up at him. “Will you still love me when I’m a short, scrawny, pompous jerk?”

Mychael made entirely too much of a show of thinking it over. I took a pillow and let him have it. He wrestled the pillow away from me and let me have it. Wrestling, tickling, and giggling followed. I was the giggler; Mychael was the tickler. Mostly. I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his head down to mine, capturing his lips and taking my sweet time with a long, deep kiss. That put a stop to the tickling.

“I’ll know it’s you underneath that pompous banker exterior,” Mychael said when I let him up for air, his voice husky. “So I might not be able to control myself.” His lips curled in a slow, wicked grin. “I might just have to kiss you right in the Swan Song.”

“Oooo, I’ve never been kissed there before.”

“Then I’ll have to change that.”

I looked up into his eyes. “You’re going to be there, aren’t you?”

His lips were on my throat. “Closer than you ever imagined.”

“You’re as good with a glamour as I am. Nothing you’d show up as would surprise me.”

“Not nearly as good. I have to stay the same sex that I was born as.”

“And I can’t tell you how glad that makes me.”

Mychael laughed. “I think you just did.”

“You did say your walls are soundproof, right?”

“They’ve never been tested to your extent.”

My eyes widened. “Then the Guardians outside your door could be—”

“Envious as hell,” Mychael finished for me.

Crap.

“How many of your ‘envious as hell’ Guardians will be at the Swan Song tomorrow?”

“Enough.”

“Enough for . . .”

“Whatever trouble you manage to kick up.”

“And if everything goes perfectly to plan?”

“Then they’ll be envious and stunned.”

“Here’s hoping for stunned.”

I piled the pillows on my side of the bed against the headboard and sat up against it, pulling the sheet up with me. Talking about tomorrow had made me think about Mago, which led me to my family, which made me think about criminals, which led to Rache Kai. Thinking about Rache effectively pulled the plug on my playfulness.

Mychael didn’t know the landing place for all my mental gymnastics; he just saw that I’d covered up all of my toys. He got the hint that playtime was over, or at least suspended for the time being, and sat up in bed next to me. The seconds ticked by and neither one of us said a word. Mychael probably knew what was wrong. I definitely knew what was wrong. I also wasn’t about to be the one to bring it up. I didn’t want to talk about it, argue, or analyze it—all I wanted was for it, namely Rache, to go away. Preferably without killing anyone.

The knowledge that Rache was on Mid and Mychael knew that he’d once been engaged to me was kind of like a dragon hulking in the middle of the room. You could try to ignore it, but that didn’t change the fact that it was there, it was big, and it wasn’t going anywhere.

I’d never been good with tension, so it didn’t take much longer for the dam of words building inside of me to break. “Yes, falling in love with Rache was stupid. I was stupid. I should have known better, known he was lying to me, making a fool—”

“Raine.”

“—out of me. I was blind as a bat, and—”

“Raine.”

“—he didn’t even—”

Mychael reached over and hauled me, sheets and all, across the bed to him. His lips closed on mine in a long, deep kiss that made me stop thinking about Rache or criminals. Eventually the contact from his lips lightened into small, teasing nibbles.

“What was that for?” Air was suddenly in short supply. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“It’s the only way I can get a word in, and because I wanted to.” He gazed down at me, his sea blue eyes searching my face, reading me. “Raine, being involved with a criminal doesn’t make you one.”

“It’s not that.”

“And I don’t love you any less because of it. How could I?”

It was kind of that. Okay, it was mostly that.

“He’s an assassin,” I said, “and you’re . . . most definitely not.”

“Raine, you were young and in love with the man you thought he was. That’s nothing to be ashamed of. So you fell for a guy because he was good-looking, a smooth talker, and treated you like a princess.”

“But he was a—”

“And you didn’t know. You also don’t have any reason to worry about us now. I love you, and your ex-fiancé trying to puncture a goblin prince isn’t going to change that.”

“And you.”

His brow creased in puzzlement. “And me, what?”

“He’s trying to puncture you, too.”

“My plan is to arrest him before he gets another chance.” Mychael lightly ran a finger down my cheek. “His lies hurt you then and he may want to physically hurt you now. I’m going to keep both from happening.”

“How?”

“Not all of my Guardians are based in the citadel and in uniform. In fact, a few of them get arrested on a regular basis by the city watch to keep up appearances. They’ll find Rache. In the meantime, I want you to start wearing a mail shirt under your clothes.”

I laughed. “You mean you’re not going to try to lock me up in your bedroom?”

His eyes glittered. “Tempting, but unfortunately impossible right now.”

“We have elves to con and an assassin to catch,” I said. “Which brings up another question. You said Rache has never seen your real face. Is there any other way he could have found out who and what you used to be?”

Mychael didn’t respond immediately.

Damn.

“If you have to think about it then it’s possible,” I said.

“It’s highly unlikely.”

“Pardon me if I ignore the ‘highly’ part of your ‘unlikely.’ If Rache even suspects that you’re the same man who kept gold out of his pockets by snatching hits out from underneath his nose, he’ll perch on every building in this city to take you out. That’s probably why he’s trying to kill you.”

“I’ve always had a target on me, and a few of those times have been from Rache Kai. Incoming bolts and blades come with the job.”

“That was before the Saghred was part of your job—and me.”

Mychael made a sound that was something between a sigh and wry chuckle. “We’ve been over this before. Anything that happens to me is not your fault.”

He pulled the sheet down far enough to plant a light kiss between my breasts. I let out a little gasp.

“It’s your job,” I managed.

“Absolutely.” Mychael kissed my stomach.

“And you enjoy your work.”

“Most satisfying.” He kissed my belly button.

“And getting to kick Rache Kai’s ass is—”

“A welcome bonus.” The tip of his tongue swirled a hot trail around my belly button.

“But if it hadn’t been for the rock—”

Mychael looked up at me. “If it hadn’t been for you tricking Sarad Nukpana into touching the Saghred that night in Mermeia, he would have the rock and I’d probably be dead.”

Along with some of the other people I loved most in the world.

“It’s been three months since you found the Saghred.”

I nodded once. “Seems like longer.”

“Three months is enough time for Sarad Nukpana to have done everything he wanted to do. So all this being your fault turns into you’ve saved every man, woman, and child Sarad Nukpana would have sacrificed, slaughtered, or enslaved if he’d had the Saghred during those three months.” Mychael’s smile was slow and wicked as his fingers traced the still tingling trail of his kisses. “So if you ask me, everyone in the seven kingdoms owes you a big thank you.”

His kisses went lower. “I’ll thank you now.”