Playing With Fire - Katie MacAlister [9]
‘‘Agathos daimon,’’ I groaned, slumping in the chair when I realized why that name sounded so familiar. I wanted to ask him why he would send me to steal something from an archimage, leader of the committee that ruled the L’au-delà (Otherworld), when he knew the repercussions would be heavy, but the answer was all too clear—Magoth considered the end result worth the risk.
‘‘Yes. It would seem that you have made a very dangerous enemy.’’ His gaze turned calculating. ‘‘The price he put on your head was a high one.’’
I swallowed down a lump in my throat. ‘‘Money?’’
‘‘Some. A few million dollars,’’ he answered, waving a dismissive hand at the thought of something so mundane. ‘‘Along with a benefaction.’’
My heart sank, my tongue turning to lead as I stammered, ‘‘A . . . a benefaction?’’
‘‘Yes. Evidently Dr. Kostich doesn’t take kindly to people stealing his valuables. He’s called out the thief takers, in addition to which he has promised not only a monetary reward, but his services, as well.’’
Oh, dear goddess. A benefaction—people have died for mages’ benefactions. Wars have been fought, lives have been forfeited, countries have changed hands, all at the intercession of a benefaction. And here was this mage—no, archimage, the highest of the high— offering not only a couple of million dollars for my capture, but also what amounted to a magic genie willing to grant any wish. ‘‘I am so dead,’’ I murmured, my forehead in my hands.
‘‘Fortunately, that is not the case. It does make one wonder, however. . . .’’ Magoth’s eyes narrowed on me as he flicked cigarette ash onto the top part of a skull that had been inverted and turned into an ashtray. ‘‘Why would Kostich be quite so upset at the loss of Liquor Hepatis?’’
I tried very hard not to fidget, and met his piercing gaze with one I prayed showed nothing but serenity. ‘‘I thought Liquor Hepatis was valuable.’’
He took another deep drag on his cigarette. ‘‘It is, my darling, it is. Especially that which Kostich possessed—it was the purest form, the arcanum of the soul. Only a master alchemist can make it, and it takes many years to cure it to the clarity of the liquid I assume you now possess.’’
There was both a question and a demand in his lightly spoken comment. Silently, I removed the bottle from my inner pocket and rose to give it to him. He took the bottle but, before I could withdraw, grabbed my hand, pulling me onto his lap.
‘‘Stop struggling; your virtue is safe from me. For the moment,’’ he added with a leer before turning over my hand so he could examine my palm.
I shivered at the chill that seemed to seep from his flesh to mine.
‘‘You are hiding something from me,’’ he said in a low, soft voice that would have been beautiful but for the very real undertone of threat.
‘‘I couldn’t do that,’’ I answered, trying not to squirm nervously on him. ‘‘I’m bound to you. I must follow your orders.’’
His forefinger traced a curlicue over my left breast. ‘‘I can hear your heart racing, sweet May. What is it you fear I will learn?’’
‘‘I don’t like being held by you,’’ I said, praying the truth of that statement would satisfy him.
‘‘Hmm.’’ His finger brushed along my lips. I turned my head away and tried to escape his hold. To my surprise, he didn’t fight to hold me.
‘‘This deception I sense in you is new and fascinating, but I’m afraid I cannot allow it to continue,’’ he said calmly as I shakily gathered up my purse.
‘‘If I had the power to disobey you, do you think I’d be here now?’’
A slight smile played about his lips, his eyes half-closed. ‘‘You are hiding something from me, May Northcott.’’
I backed up a step at the use of my full name, the hairs on my arms rising as my brain screamed a warning. Unable to speak another denial, I simply shook my head.
He got to his feet with languid grace, strolling toward me with an expression that might seem pleasant, but which scared the crap out of me. He stroked the curve of my cheek with one finger. ‘‘Such a lovely face. You offer such temptation, and yet I believe you truly do not understand what