Personal Demon

LUCAS: 3

I WAS IN BED, waiting for the alarm to ring. Paige lay on her side, facing me, the blankets pushed down to her waist. She’d been naked when we’d gone to bed last night, but must have risen at some point, putting on a short nightgown to go downstairs. Now the nightgown was twisted, and one breast peeked from the curtain of long curls, straining to be free, thwarted only by that last half-inch over her nipple. It needed only a tweak of the silk folds to finish its escape. Most mornings I would have completed the rescue, then turned off the alarm and found a less jarring way to wake her. But last night we’d worked on a new spell, and while that might not seem the obvious excuse for my hesitation, Paige’s methods of spell practice are far from obvious.

Paige is as voracious a student of the art of spellcasting as I am. But that doesn’t stop her from livening it up with an extra twist. Last night’s added attraction had been a personal favorite of mine: strip spellcasting. Fail to cast the spell, lose an item of clothing. Given that it was a new and difficult spell, that first stage hadn’t lasted long, leading us-naked-to the second, in which at any sign of a successful cast, the “winner” receives a service from the “loser.” By the time we felt confident in our ability to cast the spell, we were exhausted, barely able to find our way to bed, and six hours later, I still wouldn’t consider myself fully recovered. That did not, however, keep me from enjoying the sight of Paige and even feel the first twinges to suggest I wasn’t as tired as I’d imagined.

She rolled onto her back, covers twisting until she was nearly free of them. The hem of her gown rode up one thigh, granting me a peek at the red lace panties beneath. The bodice had pulled even tighter, her breast now straining all the more to be free, her nipple poking against the fabric and making me decide that, indeed, I was quite recovered.

A gentle tug and the trapped breast was free, full and firm, the nipple still erect, begging for attention. First, though, I tugged the other side of the skirt up, until it was around her belly, the bright red panties on full display. I took a minute to enjoy the view.

My wife has a body worthy of the attention. Full, soft and generously rounded everywhere a woman should be rounded. I’m not usually aware of such things, but even on our first meeting, I’d noticed. At the time, if a fortune-teller had told me that one day I’d waken to this sight every morning, I’d have demanded my money back. So I can be forgiven if I do, now and then, like to wallow in my good luck.

I saw the clock preparing to flip to six and tapped off the alarm. Then I leaned down, tongue tickling over that waiting nipple. Her response was instantaneous, a low moan of pleasure. I took her nipple between my teeth, my tongue-

My cell phone blared so loud we both jerked up…fortunately without injury.

“Ignore it,” I said, pulling her back.

“No.” She reached over me, breast brushing my lips, then handed me my phone. “You answer. I’ll keep things going.”

With a grin, she kissed my chest, then moved lower. An order was an order, so I answered.

“Lucas? It’s Karl. We have a problem.”

Paige heard and stopped, scant inches from her destination. She glanced up at me, a question in her eyes that I really didn’t want to answer. I considered accidentally hitting the disconnect button. She read my mind and gave a soft laugh, kissed my stomach, then rolled from bed with a mouthed “later.”

I cursed Karl Marsten, sat up and gave him my almost complete attention.

I WAS STILL on the phone when a cup of steaming coffee appeared by my hand, slid discreetly across the desk. I’d moved into the tiny office adjoining our bedroom and was jotting down notes as Karl talked. I motioned for Paige to stay, but she gestured something I couldn’t decipher, and slipped from the room.

“Jasper Davidyan?” I said. “That’s D-a-v-i-d-y-a-n?”

“Yes, but Hope suspects the surname is phony, and I’d agree. It comes from the license in his wallet, which is definitely a forgery.”

“You said he goes by Jaz. Is that one z? Two? Or an s?”

A snort, clearly contemptuous of the moniker in general and not about to speculate on the specifics.

I continued. “So Hope found no sign of chaos at the apartment, and you discovered no extraneous trails or blood-”

“No, I said I told her that.”

“Ah.” I sipped my coffee and waited. It took a few moments, but he finally went on.

“There was blood under an armchair that, judging by the marks in the carpet, had been moved to cover it. And there was a bloody rag in the bushes below the balcony.”

“But you kept this from Hope?”

His tone frosted. “It was spatter under the chair. Just enough to make a mess and there wasn’t much more on the rag, meaning no one’s dead or seriously injured. If Hope knew, she’d worry and she’s already worrying enough.”

I took the rest of the details, then signed off.

I was jotting down a list of steps to pursue when Paige appeared, this time bearing toasted and buttered English muffins for two, and a coffee for herself. I took the plate and mug and filled her in.

“I don’t think your father’s involved,” she said finally.

That was, as she knew, my first question and the one I least trusted myself to answer.

“I’m not discounting the possibility-” she said.

“Always wise,” I murmured.

“-but, unless I’m missing an angle, I can’t see the advantage for him. He hired Hope to infiltrate the gang. Granted, he’s also hoping to woo her to the dark side, but he’s a practical man, and he’ll want value from the job, so there’s no sense sending her in if he plans to squash any whiff of rebellion three days after she starts.”

“Agreed.”

“Has she spoken to your dad since?”

“She was supposed to check in this morning, but Karl turned off her alarm and made the call himself. Probably wise. He’s better equipped to gauge my father’s reaction.”

She nodded. “When it comes to bullshit detecting, Karl’s a natural.”

“He told my father that Hope had been on a job with the gang the night before and was still sleeping and, according to Karl, my father gave no indication that this was a surprise or that he was expecting anything else. He told Karl she could call later if she wished, or wait until tomorrow’s check-in.”

“Any chance these guys took off?”

I tore a piece of my muffin. “Hope says they were happy with the gang, even after being beaten and robbed. And Karl concurs. They weren’t going anywhere from what he could see.”

“So what are their theories?”

“Hope suspects rogue elements in the Cabal.”

“Like what happened to her.”

“Precisely. Karl is looking at an inside job, specifically the gang leader. He wants me to investigate him.”

“The leader has a beef with the Cortezes so he takes out his own guys and blames the Cabal? Devious. Not surprised Karl came up with that one. What does Hope think?”

“He hasn’t mentioned it to her. He’s also not telling her about the blood, which, admittedly, I don’t understand. Hope’s hardly the sort to fly into histrionics at the supposition that these young men met with violence.”

“She’s involved with one of them.”

I frowned.

“Hope’s involved with one of the guys. Probably this Jaz.” She set down her coffee cup. “Karl doesn’t want to tell her about the blood, meaning she’s more attached to them-or one of them-than a casual acquaintance would imply. Karl doesn’t know them, but he’s certain they didn’t up and leave town. And, from the way Karl spoke of them, he has some issues with this Jaz. Why would Karl have a problem with a young man whose disappearance has Hope so worried? One word. Sex.” She picked up her coffee and sipped, considering. “Or, at least, sexual jealousy. There was a relationship or the threat of one.”

“I missed that completely.”

“I could be wrong. But if I’m not, then we have to consider another suspect.”

“Karl.”