Page 48 of Curses & Keys (Curses & Gods #1)

JAMISON

G atlin sets down his fork and folds his arms across his chest. “We need ammo and more supplies. Mathias needs sustenance. And we need to grab that weapon.”

Phaedra looks around the table. “What weapon?”

Mathias glances up at me, and I nod. “We have one of their magical knives. Like the one that killed Letz. Unfortunately, with Jamison hurt, we only had time to stash it somewhere safe.”

I’d forgotten about it. “If I can study the spell that makes it work, I might be able to reverse it.” And possibly tell which mage made it. “Where is it?”

“A locker at the airport,” Mathias states with a grimace.

“Heathrow?” Phaedra asks with a twist of her lips. “If we’re going to London, we can pick up supplies while we’re there.” She glances at Mathias. “I assume he means blood?” Her cheeks flush with pink.

Gatlin stands and picks up both his and Phaedra’s empty plates. “Yes. I get it from one of my sources so we can make sure it isn’t tainted.”

She stands and picks up a few plates. “I’ll help you with the dishes.”

Mathias scans her pink face. “Does it bother you? That I drink blood.”

“Why would it?” she asks, genuinely perplexed. “I asked because I wasn’t sure if vampires could eat or drink anything else.”

“Because you’re blushing,” Mathias says with a slight smirk.

Phaedra narrows her eyes at him, then bends over the table.

Mathias’ eyes widen as her tank top dips, revealing an expansive amount of cleavage.

“You told me it was pleasurable, so I assumed you preferred to drink directly from the vein. The image of you…” She doesn’t finish the sentence but instead throws him a wink and walks out of the room.

Heat fills his eyes, along with a troubled expression. “I can’t compel her.” His eyes dart to me and Hawthorne, knowing we’ll understand what that means.

I throw up a shield to keep our words from reaching the kitchen. “You’re sure?”

His jaw clenches, and he nods. “I tried twice. I’m positive. She’s my mate.”

Hawthorne frowns. “I’m not so sure. She absorbs magic. I know my empathic abilities didn’t work on her. What if the compulsion doesn’t work either?”

Mathias thinks about it. “Compulsion isn’t magic. For the same reason the enemies’ magical blue weapons don’t work on us. Vampires don’t have magic. Although it doesn’t matter. Even if she wasn’t…” His voice trails off, but it’s apparent that he’s attracted to her.

Hawthorne thrusts a hand through his hair and asks in an incredulous tone, “Damn. The three of us?”

“Does anyone know how Gatlin feels?” I ask before answering him.

“How Gatlin feels about what?” Gatlin asks in a gruff tone as he walks back into the room. Gold eyes study the three of us as he eases into one of the chairs. “What did I miss?”

“Mathias told us Phaedra is his mate,” I tell him, watching his eyes widen. “You know how Hawthorne and I feel about her. What about you?”

He lifts a shoulder. “The usual. Protective. I don’t know if I can feel that way about someone. The Magi didn’t exactly create me with that purpose in mind.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “So, you’re saying you don’t care for her in that way. You’re neutral.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m saying I’ll protect her the same way I’ll protect the three of you. Why are we talking about this?” Irritation coats his every word.

“Because she told me she’s attracted to the four of us, and this isn’t something we can let develop without at least discussing it first,” I reveal to them all. “I’m not thrilled that she likes all of you, but I won’t deny what I feel or step to the side.”

Hawthorne nods. “I agree. I’m in.” He swivels toward Mathias.

Mathias’ voice is terse as he comes to a decision. “I don’t want anyone to tell her about the mate thing. It should be her choice to be with me and not because the fates have decreed it.”

We all agree, then turn toward Gatlin, who shakes his head. “I don’t know.” He stands. “I won’t get in anyone’s way, and if something changes on my end, I’ll let you know.” He gathers the rest of the dishes and heads toward the kitchen.

“He’s already falling and doesn’t even know it,” Hawthorne softly states. “When was the last time he let someone in the kitchen with him?”

We all chuckle.

I nod. “It was important to note everyone’s interest, but for now, we’ll continue the way we are and let things progress or not. Agreed?”

They nod right before Gatlin and Phaedra return to the dining table.

“We need to figure out how we’re going to get in and out of London without being seen,” I tell them. “Obviously we can portal, but to where? There are cameras everywhere.”

“Not in the Harlequin,” Phaedra says, sitting down beside me. “Well, except for their own. No CCTV, though. Nothing the council can tap into.”

“They have weapons and ammo,” Gatlin adds, picking up a pad and paper. “I’ll get started on a list.”

Phaedra picks up her phone. “I’ll text Mercer. Let her know we have an order along with a special request. It will go over smoother if we purchase something and portal into a designated area instead of asking to use their underground network as a way station.”

“How do we get to the airport locker? We have allies, but none I would trust with that weapon,” I ask, mentally walking through everyone I trust. It’s a fucking short list.

“I’ll get it,” Phaedra volunteers. When we all begin to shake our heads, she holds up a hand. “Hear me out. I’m the most logical person. The magic doesn’t work on me, and by the time our enemy realizes I’m back in London, I’ll already be on my way out.”

Logic be damned. “No. How will you protect yourself? You can’t carry a gun in the airport without setting off a million alarms.”

She flashes me an amused smile. “If I don’t get a gun, neither does the enemy. I can safeguard the knife with a curse. We will drive up, get our package, and drive off. Simple.”

“Who’s driving?” I ask her and watch her lift a nonchalant shoulder. Knowing there is no way in hell I’m going to let her go alone, I clench my jaw and give in. “I’ll drive.”

Gatlin glares at me. “You know I don’t like it when we split up.”

He’s damn good at strategy. I wait for him to sift through all the options and come to the same conclusion.

“Damn it.” He rests his hands on the chair in front of him.

“I have to meet my contact and get Mathias’ blood.

We need Hawthorne and Mathias to pick up the supplies from Mercer.

That leaves you and Phaedra to pick up the knife. ”

This was a hell of a lot easier when we weren’t worried about Phaedra. We probably took too many chances, but somehow, we always made it through. Four soldiers dedicated to the job. Now, we’re being hounded on all sides, and the enemy is circling, getting closer and closer.

“All the usual contingencies,” I order Mathias. “But I want to take burners into the field and toss them after the mission.” I tap my watch. “It’s midnight in London. If we move now, there’s less of a chance we’ll be spotted. Plain street clothes. Handguns only.”

In five-inch heels and a fitted suit, Mercer eyes the five of us when we emerge from the portal.

I shake her hand, surprised to see she’s a Fae.

Her straight pink hair and turquoise eyes suggest a fun side, but it’s window dressing, likely fools people into underestimating her.

The hard expression on her face is the true indication of her nature.

It’s odd, though. Fae typically don’t sell weapons and supplies.

Most of them choose to be a healer or work in a safe profession like business.

Uneasy with the number of mages in her guards, I keep my hand on the few potions in my pocket.

Deadly in nature, I often carry them when using magic isn’t an option.

Phaedra warned me that our portal would open in a room that nullifies all magic.

Dread crawls around the base of my spine.

With no access to my magic, I itch to palm a gun or knife.

Mercer waves a hand toward the crates along the wall. “Everything is there. Feel free to check.” Hawthorne and Mathias walk over with list in hand.

She turns to me. “A car is waiting for you outside.” She chucks the keys at me, and I snatch them out of the air. “It’s been spelled to evade the cameras.”

Interesting. They’ve somehow been able to permanently apply the spell to the vehicle. “Thank you.”

She raises a single eyebrow. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, de Vere.”

I pause. There’s a tone to her voice that I don’t like. Phaedra explained Harlequin’s aversion to the council, but this feels more personal. I walk over to Mathias. “Leave before the last crate is loaded.”

His black eyes carefully slide past me to Mercer. “Will do.” He takes a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. “Be safe.”

He doesn’t turn in Phaedra’s direction, but I know he’s dying to. “Text when you’re done.” I turn on my heel and stride toward Phaedra and Gatlin. We’ll drop him off along the way. He’ll rendezvous with Mathias and Hawthorne later.

A white Porsche Taycan Turbo idles at the curb outside, and I almost whistle. The guard beside it dips his chin when we get in, then disappears. “Harlequin certainly provides the best.” Instead of taking off like I want, I carefully ease into traffic.

Gatlin pokes his head between the front seats. “Drop me off at the next corner.” He turns to Phaedra. “I added a knife to your bag that can do a hell of a lot of damage. Remember, kill first.”

We stop, and he maneuvers his massive body out of the car and taps the hood. The cameras will pick him up for a second, but he’ll be gone by the time they realize it.

Merging back into traffic, I head toward the outskirts and Heathrow. Phaedra unzips the bag on her chest and pulls out a serrated knife. She lifts a piece of paper and slices right through it with one stroke.

“Damn. I might have to ask Gatlin for one of those.”

She grins. “He definitely knows the way to my heart.” Her face flushes. “I mean. Not that. He hasn’t. Never mind.” She grips the handle. “It’s perfectly balanced too.”

The airport comes into view. “Which terminal?”

“Five,” she replies.

I pull up to the curb. “If you see anything suspicious, leave. We’ll try again later.” She waves a hand and moves to get out, but I grab her arm. “Keep your head down and hat on. Don’t look up. The lockers are next to the luggage carousels. Down one floor.”

Her bright blue eyes dart to me. “Stop worrying. You’ll get grey hair.” Or a heart attack , she mutters as she steps out of the car and slams the door.

The wait is interminable. Minutes tick by. The airport police come by twice to ask me to move, but I flash a badge at them. I impatiently tap my fingers against the steering wheel. Why the hell did I let her talk me into this? What if something has gone wrong? I open the car door and get out.

She comes staggering up, and I quickly get back into the driver’s seat.

“Hurry,” she sputters, lifting a bloody hand from her side while she stashes the wrapped item under the seat. “I need sutures. Head back to London. A friend of mine, Greta, can do them. I’ll guide you once we get there.” She closes her eyes.

I reach over and try to infuse a little healing into the wound, but nothing happens. “It’s not healing. Damn it. Don’t go to sleep on me.”

She shakes her head but doesn’t open her eyes.

“If you don’t wake up, I’m going to pull this car into the nearest hospital and turn us both in.” Open your beautiful eyes. That’s it. Come on.

Blue eyes, full of pain, slide toward me.

She chuckles, but it’s weak. “You’re not much of a nursemaid. Good thing Hawthorne had me and not you.” Her head lolls on the headrest. “Take this exit. 1122 Hartly.” She slurs the last few words.

I order the voice assistant to navigate to the address using the quickest route.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I bang my hand on the steering wheel.

She doesn’t move. I ignore stop signs and push the car to its limits to get to the address.

Screeching to a halt, I run around and pick her up, then rush to the door of the small, attached house.

A stooped, grey-haired lady answers the door. She takes one glance at Phaedra and ushers us into her kitchen. “Lay her down on the table. I’ll get my kit.”

The table is pristine. I carefully set her down on it and whip off my jacket to place under her head. Brushing the smooth dark strands back from her face, I stare down at her pinched expression. Even unconscious, she is hurting.

“I’m Greta,” the lady announces when she comes back into the kitchen. Setting a silver tray on the counter, she quickly cuts away Phaedra’s shirt until she can see the wound. “Oooh, that’s a nasty one. Not made with a regular blade. A jambiya made that cut.”

My brows come together. “What?”

“A curved dagger, typically made of silver or gold,” she says without looking at me. Her entire focus is on the cut. “She usually heals faster than this.” She bends down and sniffs. “What do you smell?”

I bend closer to the wound and wrinkle my nose. “Licorice?”

“Very good,” she replies, moving to a nearby cabinet. “I’m guessing they coated the blade with anise oil. It causes temporary paralysis. Or at least, temporary for her. It can be quite lethal to others. Like us.” She grabs a brown bottle from the second shelf and returns to Phaedra.

“This is going to sting,” she tells me. “Hold her down.”

I place my hands on Phaedra’s shoulders, and the woman tips the bottle over the open wound, pouring a dime size amount into the flayed skin. Phaedra’s body arches, but thankfully, she doesn’t wake.

“Done,” the woman states matter-of-factly. “It will take a few hours, but she’ll be right as rain. That will be two thousand pounds.” She thrusts her hand out, palm up.

Damn it. We only have the burners with us. “I don’t suppose you take credit, do you?” She doesn’t blink. “Rolex?” I point to my watch, and a spark of interest appears.

“Deal,” she says, holding out her arm for me to snap the watch on it. “Magic will help her heal faster. Ok, now get out.”

Startled, I realize she’s not going to let us stay here. “Thank you for helping her.” I pick Phaedra up and carry her out to the car. We have a safe house close to here. It will have to do.