Fire Maidens: London Page 4

  But the unicorns simply shrugged or nodded along, as did the giant deer. The Welsh dragons exchanged glances that suggested they’d find a way to turn the situation to their advantage. The lions, meanwhile, practically rubbed their paws — er, hands — together in glee.

  Deep down, Liam knew they all supported a just cause — that of peace and prosperity for shifters and humans alike. But, hell. Did they dare control a woman’s future? Worse, did they really expect him to go along with their outrageous plan?

  “Remember, if we don’t get her first, the Lombardis will,” Augustus added.

  Liam’s blood ran cold, and a murmur went through the crowd.

  “We must act quickly,” Electra agreed. “First, to protect this Fire Maiden, and second, to get her mated to one of our own.” She turned to Liam. “It’s for her own good, you know. If we don’t step in, the Lombardis will. What mercy do you think they will show her? What freedom?” Electra shook her head. “They will use this woman to gain power, whether they attempt to establish themselves here or elsewhere. They must be stopped.”

  “We’ll stop them, madam.” Archibald thumped his own chest.

  He may as well have grabbed his crotch, the way lust glittered in his eyes.

  “That’s the type of loyalty I expect,” Electra gushed, giving Liam a dubious look. “However, Mr. Bennett, by virtue of his dragon blood, has first rights to this Maiden.”

  First rights? Liam wanted to cover his face with his hands.

  “You have seventy-two hours, Mr. Bennett,” Electra declared. “If you do not secure the Fire Maiden by then, the others may stake their claims.”

  And I thought the Guardians of Rome dwelled in medieval times, Sergio muttered into his mind.

  Archie, meanwhile, practically rubbed his hands. So did Daniel, Thomas, and a few others — all young males from families of moderate rank. Mating with a Fire Maiden would be their ticket to the big time, giving them power, money, and prestige.

  “Well, then,” Electra concluded. “Is everyone clear?”

  No, Liam wanted to scream. I want someone to wake me up from this nightmare.

  But everyone nodded. Archie checked his watch and nodded like the race was on.

  “Fine.” Electra studied Sergio briefly. “Mr. Monserratti, you are to patrol the city for any trace of the Lombardi clan. Let’s see if wolves are as good trackers as they say.” Though I doubt it, her tone said. “And you, Mr. Bennett…”

  Liam looked up miserably.

  “Get moving, young man. Claim this Maiden before it is too late.” Then Electra flashed him a dirty little wink that made it all too easy to imagine what kind of sexual games she may have played in her youth. As if Liam’s stomach needed to churn one more time.

  “And who knows?” she summed up. “You may even enjoy yourself.”

  Chapter Four

  “How was the rally?”

  Gemma stared blankly out the window and onto the street.

  “Gemma? The rally?”

  Gemma gave herself a little shake and turned to her boss, Steven. Boy, she really had to get her head out of the clouds. Or out of the gutter, where it had been for the past twenty-plus hours, ever since she’d met Lancelot — er, Liam. She really had to stop thinking of him as her knight in shining armor, and she really, really had to stop fantasizing about what he might be like in bed.

  “It was great,” she mumbled, guessing that would be an accurate way to describe a night with Liam, too.

  And, zoom! Her mind rushed right back to those steamy visions. Dammit, the rally was far more important than a brief — and all-too-chaste — encounter with a hot guy. Where were her values? And, yikes. What was with her hormones these days?

  “Did many people attend?” Steven asked as he sorted through the Decorative Prints section of the map shop he owned in Notting Hill. The tweed-clad man was a friend of her father’s who had offered her a job when she’d arrived in England with no plan other than getting away from Petro.

  She cast a covert look out the window. Those memories and the creepy man in the Underground ought to have made her worry. But somehow, she felt more secure than ever. Watched over, almost.

  “Yes, the organizers were really pleased,” she replied.

  It had been a good rally, though progress in terms of effecting social change was slow. But someday, she would look back in pride at being part of an important movement. A little like a student who protested in the 1960s could, she supposed.

  Still, she felt guilty about spending most of the rally — and the previous night — thinking about Liam. She’d even picked up her phone and stared at his number a few times, compelled to get in touch. It was a need, an itch. As if some outside force was trying to tell her something.

  But that was crazy, and there were enough loony people in her family as it was. She had to be the reasonable one. So, she hadn’t called, but she hadn’t deleted Liam’s number either.

  The bell chimed over the front door, and a customer stepped in. The type that looked like a born scam artist, perfectly happy to post pictures of Steven’s maps on eBay.

  Sure enough, the guy took out his phone and aimed it at a 1789 chart of Batavia.

  “No pictures, please,” she said, pointing to the sign.

  Click. The bastard took one anyway. “No harm, right, honey?”

  She stuck her hands on her hips. She was not his honey, and a rule was a rule. “No pictures.”

  The man put away his phone and spent the next few minutes pretending to browse. But then he snuck his phone out of his pocket and—

  Gemma jumped between him and the map. “What part of ‘No pictures, please’ did you fail to comprehend?”

  He grinned as if he really thought she’d fall for his nonexistent charms. “Sorry. I forgot.”

  She pointed to the pair of antique swords hung on the wall. “I know how to use those, you know.” Then she scowled — really scowled, giving him the evil eye.

  His eyes went wide, and his cheeks paled slightly. Then he hurried to the door, muttering under his breath.

  Steven popped his head up. “Well done, Gemma. Can I hire you full time?”

  She frowned, because it had happened again — one of those episodes in which she’d grown so angry, her eyes burned. Really burned, sending people scurrying away. Then she sighed. Why couldn’t she summon that trick with stalker types?

  “Sorry. Part time is perfect for me.”

  “More time for social justice?” Steven looked around and sighed. “I suppose that is more important than old maps.”

  She smiled. Her degree was in sociology, but that minor in geography was finally proving useful.

  “A little of both is perfect for me.”

  Over the next hour, she did the usual — sorting through new stock, helping customers, and checking for online sales. The job wouldn’t make her rich, but it paid the bills, and she loved working with maps. Each of them was a treasure. One of her favorites was the historic map of Wales on the wall. Just one look, and she could dream herself right back to her favorite view in the Brecon Beacons — the one with all the mountains, a lake, and that castle she’d always loved.

  Then the bell chimed again, and her father entered with his walking stick and slobbery bulldog.

  “Hi, Dad. Hi, Winston.” She stooped to pet the dog on the head.

  Her father closed the shop door, yanked the curtain across the glass, and peeked back out onto the street.

  Gemma sighed. Her father’s brow was furrowed in worry, his features drawn.

  “How are you, Dad?”

  “The question is, how are you?” He took her by both shoulders. “I had a dream last night.”

  “Another one, huh?” She nudged the curtain open and went back to sorting charts of the Pacific.

  Her dad was brilliant, and on most days, relatively normal. But other times, he’d fall under the spell of the fantasies that played out in his head. The ones that had made her mother leave him when Gemma was four
. Ever since then, Gemma had shuttled between two continents, walking a tightrope between cultures — and between her parents.

  “Nothing bad happened yesterday? This morning?” her father asked.

  “Nope. Not a thing,” she fibbed. There was no use encouraging her father’s delusions, right?

  He leaned in and whispered, “No dragons?”

  Nope, just a creepy guy on the subway. But Lancelot took care of him, she nearly said.

  “Not even one. But there were several vampires hanging around the rally,” she threw in to test how nutty her father was at that moment.

  He made a face. “Don’t be silly. Most vampires are in Paris these days.”

  Gemma sighed.

  He called to Steven. “Would this be a good time for an old man to take his daughter to lunch?”

  “I had lunch, Dad.”

  “A cup of tea, then. Steven?”

  Her boss laughed. “As long as you bring her back. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  Gemma shot him a grateful look. Steven had helped her father after her parents’ divorce — and dozens of other crises, most involving figments of his imagination. Dragons, fairies, werewolves — they had all featured in her father’s visions over the years.

  She pulled on a windbreaker and followed her father to the door, bumping into him when he stopped abruptly. “Dad…”

  “Oh dear,” he muttered, eyeing a delivery man.

  Gemma sighed. Oh dear was never a good sign when it came to her father.

  “Dad,” she barked, making a move for the door.

  “Just checking. They were after your mother too, you know.”

  Gemma refrained from rolling her eyes. That was another of her father’s delusions — and the principal factor contributing to the divorce. Alastair Archer was kind and smart, but his imagination had a way of tipping to the dark side.

  She hooked her elbow through his as they walked down Portobello Road, hoping to anchor him in reality.

  “Tell me about your latest case. Another pro bono?”

  Her father had always been passionate about the cases he took on as a retired lawyer, but he didn’t take the bait.

  “Our court date is months away. Anyway, how is your mother?”

  Gemma pursed her lips. He meant if her mother was safe, but she wasn’t going to humor him on that one. “She’s fine. They found a new sponsor for the reclaimed swamp project.”

  Her father patted her hand, but his eyes were still on the sky, as if a dragon might appear at any moment and spout fire.

  “Look. Isn’t this nice?” She extended her arm to show off her latest treasure, a bronze-tinted bracelet. “Doesn’t it look real?”

  The five embedded rubies glinted in the daylight, and the intricate filigree winding around them shone gold.

  “Very nice.” Her father barely turned his head.

  Gemma heaved another sigh. When she’d found the bracelet, she could have sworn it had called to her from all the way down the street. She hadn’t been shopping, but out of nowhere, the urge to track down that special something had come over her. She’d hunted it down, stall by stall, and when she finally found the piece, it had taken her breath away. The gold, bronze, and rubies couldn’t be real. Not for the five pounds she’d paid, and definitely not with the disinterested way the stall keeper had all but tossed it to her. But, still. They looked so real.

  “It’s just like grandma’s,” she added, showing him the matching one she’d worn for years.

  Her father didn’t even glance over. “Lovely.”

  It was lovely, dammit, even if no one else noticed. Gemma shook out her sleeve, covering it again in case a thief with a discriminating eye noticed.

  No one did, of course, and despite her father’s fears, no dragons swooped out of the sky during the five-minute walk either. Together, she and her father passed the first three houses on his street — pastel yellow, pastel blue, and pastel pink, respectively, each with white trim. Then he unlocked the door to his house — pastel green — and they stepped in. Bright colors were one of the things she loved about Notting Hill, and she loved her father’s house most of all. Every inch of the place was covered in books, maps, and ancient manuscripts.

  “I’ll put the tea on,” he said as Winston flopped onto his dog bed, panting from the short walk.

  Gemma wandered around her father’s office, revisiting all the familiar things. The photo he kept on his mantelpiece, showing her beaming mother holding a bundle — baby Gemma. Dozens of black-and-white photos hung on the walls — even one of Gemma’s great-grandmother in traditional Chinese garb from back before she’d moved to the West. Then came her father’s framed degree from Oxford, with thank you notes stuck into the edges from the pro bono cases he had devoted much of his career — and all of his retirement — to.

  She looked up at a higher shelf, where he kept the trophies and ribbons she’d won in fencing tournaments. Nothing big, really. Just a fun hobby she’d pursued through college.

  A good skill. You never know, her father had always said.

  She could have snorted. It was the twenty-first century. No one used swords any more.

  “That looks great,” she said when her father came in with a tray of tea, cream, and biscuits.

  He set down the tray, poured the tea, and settled in his worn leather chair. “Now, about that dream I had.”

  Gemma suppressed a groan. “People dream all the time, Dad. It doesn’t have to mean anything. I once had a dream about getting stuck on an elevator.”

  He shot upright. “You were stuck on an elevator?”

  “No! That’s the point. Our brains make up weird things.”

  He shook his head sadly. “That’s what you’ve been taught to believe. In reality…”

  And off he rambled, describing all the supernatural beings that populated the world.

  “Dragons…werewolves…werebears…”

  Gemma’s eyes drifted to the photo of her mother. No wonder the marriage hadn’t lasted. Then she took in the leather-bound volumes on his shelves. Somehow her father’s mind took all those old legends — “research” as he liked to call it — and turned them into reality.

  “I dreamed there was a new dragon in the city. An evil one…”

  “Riding a double-decker bus, I suppose?” she joked.

  Her father frowned. “No, he was flying. But I suppose a shapeshifter could ride a bus when he changed to human form.”

  Gemma dropped her face into her hands. What an imagination.

  “Then the dream changed, and I saw him riding the Underground,” her father went on. “You were there too.”

  Gemma looked up, startled. Then she dismissed any connection. Just because she’d encountered a creepy man didn’t mean she’d spotted a dragon.

  “He was following you…”

  She set down her tea with a bang. “Would you stop that? You’ll make me paranoid too.”

  “I just want you to be safe. Are you sure you didn’t see anything?”

  “I’m sure. Nothing.”

  She looked into her teacup. It wasn’t that she enjoyed lying to her father. It was simply a necessity. The man worried about so much, and half of it wasn’t even real.

  A truly lovely man, but off his rocker, her mother still sighed about the decades-older man who’d once wooed her.

  “Are you being careful, though?” her father persisted.

  She mulled that one over. With the stalker, yes. With Liam, well… She had resisted the urge to share any details, like her phone number, address, or where he could find her naked that night. But damn, it had been close. If it hadn’t been for that urgent phone call he’d received, who knew? He might even have come to the rally, and they would have had a chance to get to know each other.

  A pang of regret hit her — a feeling so intense, she winced. It was as if she’d allowed an incredible opportunity to slip through her fingers. An adventure. A future. A life-altering encounter broken off with a
polite goodbye. Why?

  Then she caught herself. In real life, there was no love at first sight. People didn’t bump into future partners on the subway or on plane rides or in crowds. They got to know each other gradually before racing into decisions they might regret for the rest of their lives.

  Like letting him go? part of her cried.

  She stood quickly. “I ought to get back to work. I promise to be careful, all right?”

  She bent to kiss her father’s cheek then gave Winston a little pat.

  “You could stay here, you know,” her father offered.

  She took a deep breath. Much as she loved her old bedroom, no. She was almost thirty, for goodness’ sake.

  “Thanks, but I like the place I’m renting. I’ll see you soon, though.”

  Her father walked her to the door, peering out between the curtains before letting her go. “All right. You take care.”

  She hugged her poor, delusional father then stepped outside. “You take care, too.”

  He watched her go just the way he had when she’d been five, ten, or fourteen. Then, finally, she turned a corner, and—

  “Sorry,” she murmured to the person she crashed into.

  “My fault,” the man replied.

  Then they both stood and stared.

  “Liam?” Her cheeks flushed.

  “Gemma.” He broke into a huge, innocent grin, as if bumping into her was a dream come true.

  She stared a moment longer. Wow. It really was Liam. And, whoa. Her cheeks weren’t the only part of her body heating up at the sight of him.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked when her overjoyed nerves settled back into place.

  Liam’s smile slowly morphed to a slightly pained look, and he stuck his hands into his pockets.

  Gemma tilted her head. “What?”

  He considered for a moment, and she swore his eyes brightened to a glow, then faded slightly, only to brighten again.

  “How are you?” he asked out of the blue.

  Changing the subject. Why? And, damn. Did he have to have such a great smile?

  “I’m fine. And you?”

  “I’m well, thank you. How was the rally?”

  “The rally was fine. How was your…your…” She motioned vaguely.