Charmed & Ready (5 page)

He pointed a finger at Zane. "You cannot save him. His soul is ours." With that he threw his cloak in front of his face as if he were about to disappear. No way was this jerk getting away.

I tossed a larger fireball, twice the size of the one before, and it hit right in the center of his hood. Poof! Seconds later all that was in the spot were ashes.

I turned to the PM and Zane, who were smiling like crazy men.

"Did you fucking see that? Christ. She caught that—and then—woosh they were all like, 'hot, hot,' wow. Bloody awesome." Zane didn't seem capable of shutting up.

"Zane, did you by chance sell your soul to the devil or a demon?"

He looked taken aback.

"Of course not. I don't like that evil bullshit. It's nasty. And trust me, I've seen the movies. It never works out like the devil promises."

I shook my head. "I'm serious. Back before you became a rock god, did you do something stupid? Make any promises you can't keep?"

He held up both hands. "I swear to you, I've never done anything like that."

"Well, that seals it. I guess we'll be going to London." Damn. I really wanted to go home and feel Sam's arms wrapped around me and sniff that patchouli and sandalwood he always wears. Just the thought of him made me hot.

Zane reached out and hugged me. "Thank you. Thank you for saving my life tonight."

I laughed again. The prime minister noticed our driver was in a bit of shock. I drove us back to the hotel, and we got the man some medical attention. It's not every day that regular folks see a witch go up against a gang of stupid warlocks.

The worst part of today was calling Sam.

"Hey babe, can't wait for you to get home," he said when he picked up the phone. He sounded cheerful for the first time since, damn, I can't remember when.

"Man, I can't wait either. I really need to wrap myself around you."

We both laughed.

I cleared my throat. "But there's been a bit of a hiccup. A small one."

He sighed. "You can't come home for a couple of weeks because Azir needs you to rush off on some grand adventure." I heard the hurt in his voice.

Okay. So it would be one of those kinds of conversations. Stop it. He's tired and still doesn't feel well. Don't make it worse. See, my instinct is to fight back, but I'm trying to learn to stay calm. If I want this to work, and I do, I have to see it from his perspective.

"Actually, Azir's off doing his own thing. It's the PM that needs me to go to London. Um, to help a friend."

"And? Come on Bron, just tell me who the friend is and let's get this over with." Anger tinged his voice.

"Well, you know I can't tell you specifics, but it involves Zane. There's someone, well really a bunch of idiot warlocks are after him, and I can't just… Sam, it's my job to protect people. I can't let them go off and get killed."

There was a long silence.

He cleared his throat and blew out a big breath. "Sorry, I'm being an ass. I just miss you. Really. You do what you have to. I'll try not to be such a jealous butthead and you get home as soon as you can."

I laughed.

The sudden change of attitude was shocking but welcome. "Trust me, I wouldn't be so understanding if the tables were turned. All you need to know is I love you more than anything, and there's no place I'd rather be than in your arms."

"Oh Bron, that was almost romantic." He made silly kissing noises. "By the way, did you have the dream about the sundae? I put down my shields just for you."

I chuckled so hard I couldn't breathe. "You bad, bad boy. And yes I did. You make sure to run to the Piggly Wiggly so that we have both of our houses stocked with plenty of chocolate syrup."

He fake moaned. "Crap Bron, do you know what you're doing to me?"

I was feeling a little breathless myself. "Yeah, well I'm feeling it too, big guy, trust me. Soon. We'll be together soon. Let me go catch the bad boys then we'll spend a whole weekend eating junk food off of one another."

"Sounds like a plan." I heard the smile in his voice. I love Sam's smile, just thinking of it makes my heart go ba-boomp.

So here I sit on a white fur-covered couch waiting for Zane's private jet to take off. There's fur everywhere. Thank goodness it's fake. I'm not some big PETA person, but I don't like the idea that some fox gave his life for a pillow. It seems so sad.

The PM's taking his own jet. I'm not sure how I ended up alone with Zane. Well, there's his assistant, Georgette, but she's got her head stuck in her laptop and it doesn't look like she's coming up any time soon.

It wouldn't be so bad, but he's so damn touchy-feely and he makes me drink champagne. I've had two glasses and we're still on the tarmac. My poor jet is not far from here. I can't wait to get her up in the air and fly home.

But that will be awhile. For now I have to figure out a way to tell Zane to back off, in a nice way. That whole let's-be-friends speech that we all love so much.

Damn, are those Godivas he has in his hands? Bastard.

Saturday, or is it Sunday? 11 P. M. (I'm in time zone hell again. Have no idea what day it is.)

Bournemouth, England

Spells: 4

Charms: 3

Impressed witches: 1

What is it about men and their castles? On the way out of the airport, Zane decided we wouldn't be staying in London.

Instead we're heading out to his country home in Bournemouth. It's supposed to be some kind of seaside resort town.

It feels like we rode in the limo for hours, but I think that's because I'm so tired from fending off Zane's advances. Oh, he's never really forward about it. There's a touch on the knee there, a brushing back of the hair here. Geez. The man is too touchy-feely for me.

We drove by the sea, I smelled the freshness of it, but it was too dark to see anything.

Zane's "country house" is a friggin' castle. It sits on the edge of a cliff. Again it was dark, but the outline of the house seemed to go on for miles when we drove up. The inside is the antithesis of his jet, which is over-the-top opulent.

His home is lavish but in a very homey English way. There's lots of chintz, and flower patterns mixed with suits of armor. But it all works in a weird way.

I don't know why people have to name the rooms in their houses, but I'm in the Daisy Suite. I know, I know. The name brings about visions of bright flowered wallpaper. But in truth the only daisies were in a vase on the bedside table. The room is a soft shade of blue and it's monochromatic, except for the crisp white sheets. The bathroom is a bit over the top with blue and white marbled walls and gold fixtures, but hey. There's lots of vanilla bubble bath so it's not all bad.

I tried to call Sam, but my cell phone isn't getting a good connection here. I'll have to try again tomorrow.

For now, I'm going to catch some z's.

Monday, noon

I've been left to my own devices this morning, which of course means I've done nothing but think of Sam. I've been wondering what he's doing today. And I dreamed about him again last night. This time we were up against a wall and I had my legs around his waist. He had my hands above my head. Oh, yeah baby.

I was so disappointed when I woke up and realized he wasn't there.

Zane's working in his studio, located in the east wing of the house. I hung out there for a bit, while he worked with some of his bandmates on a new song. They were busy and I didn't see any way he could get into trouble.

So, I've decided to take a walk on the beach. The weather's warm, and I could use a bit of nature to recharge.

Oh, while I was trying to find my way back to my room from the studio, I snagged a small table to use as a workstation. I've loaded it with the necessities to track down the people behind Zane's troubles. I've also plugged in my laptop to do some searches. I'm going to look at news stories covering his concerts to see if there are any similarities he may have missed.

I had e-mails from my favorite wizard, Garnout. He's going to be out of contact for a few days. He owns a magical store in Manhattan, but it was closed while I was there. He's says he's checking into a situation. That's his code for "something really nasty is coming down the pike and he's gearing up for a war." I sent him a note that if he needs me I'll be there.

But for now, I'm going outside to gather up some good old Mother Nature and hold her close. After a week in Manhattan, I really need some fresh air and trees.

Tuesday, 1 A. M.

I can't believe how late it is. My body clock is way off the mark. I guess it's okay. Zane keeps rock star hours for the most part. He usually wakes somewhere between 2 and 4 P. M. I've been doing research for the past several hours and just had dinner in my room.

He dined downstairs with the band. Last night they were a rowdy crowd, and though I had fun, I need to get going on Zane's problem.

I've researched some of the articles regarding Zane's concerts and other than the strange sickness, there hasn't been much out of the ordinary. The details of the bodyguard's death were gruesome. The article intimated that drugs were involved, but I don't think it's true. The newspapers here tend to do much more sensational stories than what we have at home. Oh sure, we have some tabloids that do that too, but all of them here seem to be really celebrity-heavy.

And the funniest thing. When I did a search on Zane, two million sites came up. No exaggeration. I clicked on a few and they were shrines to the rock star. Photos, articles, favorite Zane phrases.

But the most interesting and sad thing I found was a story about Zane's brother. The brother and wife were killed in a fiery car crash involving a slick road and a cliff, not too far from this house. Zane had made no comments to the press, but I wondered if there might be some kind of connection.

It only happened a few months ago and I wondered why Zane hadn't said anything. The saddest part is they left a little girl behind, Zoë. I'm curious what happened to her.

Oops, door.

2 A. M.

Spells: 1

That was Zane. He'd spied the light on under the door and decided to see what was up. His room is at the other end of the house, but I didn't bring that up. He acted like he just needed to talk.

"So luv, busy, busy, I see." He made himself comfortable in the squishy chair by the fireplace.

"Kind of. I've been doing some research on you." I pointed to the laptop. "I think your name must be up there in the top two of Internet searches. Right there with porn."

He coughed and laughed at the same time. "Look a little closer, dear, and you may see me in some of those lusty pictures. I had some pretty desperate times in the early days."

"Oh really. Hmmmm. So just how desperate?" I crossed my arms against my chest and waited for an answer. This might be good.

"Well, I had this manager at the time, Roger Harris, who insisted I do every single interview. I was barely eighteen and didn't know better. So when the editor of
Glow
wanted me naked in bed with three women, I did it. Unfortunately, I forgot that there were cameras involved, and the women, well, were quite proficient and things got very wicked, very fast.

"Of course, once I made some money I bought those negatives for a hefty sum, but they still end up on the Internet every once in a while."

I have to admit I fanned my face at the idea of Zane getting it on with three women. I mean who the hell wouldn't?

"So, we can add porn star to your list of credits. Lovely."

We both laughed.

"Well, there are things I've done that I'm not so proud of." He shook his head. "But I never sold my soul to a demon or anyone else, for that matter. I promise. Don't look at me that way."

I must have been frowning, but it wasn't because of what he'd said. I needed to ask him something important. "I wasn't thinking that. It's just well, look… there's no easy way to ask this. I read about your brother's death." I paused.

Zane's smile melted off his face. His blue eyes looked haunted.

I wanted to reach out to him, but couldn't. I needed the truth. "It can't be easy to talk about, but I need to know what happened. That's the only way I can decipher if the accident had anything to do with your current troubles."

Zane leaned his elbow on the edge of his chair and put his forehead in his hand. "There's no way the two incidents are related. My brother didn't have anything to do with my career. He's—he was a banker. His wife was in advertising. They were on the way to the house when the car spun out of control. It could have been an animal, or just that the roads were wet. The police say the car made several circles as my brother tried to regain control. They could tell from the marks on the road, but he couldn't get it back."

His voice was quiet, somber. I knew he didn't want to talk about it. I also knew he felt responsible, for some reason.

"Zane, why do you feel so guilty? You had nothing to do with it."

He leaned back and stared at me. "I'd insisted we all meet out here to get away from the paparazzi. In the city I can't take a shit without it being front-page news. They didn't really want to come, but it was my birthday, and…"