Dead Man’s Deal. Jocelynn DrakeЧитать онлайн книгу.

      2

      “TWO MONTHS,” GIDEON muttered, shoving his wand back up his sleeve. “You couldn’t go two full months before I had to track you down again.”

      “I missed you too,” I said with a nervous smile. Mocking and irritating Gideon was something that I specialized in. However, he had never approached me before when others were around—the world wasn’t supposed to know what I was. With Gideon’s attention now on me, the surviving guard ran into the house and slammed the door shut, leaving us alone with the pissed-off warlock.

      “Gage?” Bronx said softly.

      I moved in front of the troll, not that my smaller body offered much protection. I didn’t have a wand on me, which made any type of magical protection shaky at best, but I’d protect Bronx from Gideon the same way the troll had intended to protect me from the gun.

      “It’ll be okay. I’ve got this.”

      Gideon stopped in his pacing and arched one eyebrow at me. I didn’t mean it to sound so challenging, but I needed to try to reassure my friend. Gritting my teeth, I tried to think of some way to placate Gideon. It was as if I was standing in quicksand, the earth slipping away from my feet the more I spoke. A smart man would keep his mouth shut. I wasn’t always a smart man.

      “This is a surprise,” I started again, trying desperately to think of a way to defuse some of Gideon’s anger. His mouth firmed into a hard line, proving that I was failing miserably. Warlocks and witches were a testy lot in the best of times. Gideon had proven that he was a good guy, or at least as much as a warlock could be, but he hadn’t batted an eye at killing that fix producer. I didn’t know whether it was because the dealer pulled a gun or because Gideon had been annoyed by the man’s screams. Either way, dead was dead and I wasn’t about to let that happen to Bronx.

      “Two months, Gage,” Gideon said, picking up his earlier thread of conversation, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Bronx and I were standing there waiting to see if our lives were about to come to a messy end. I watched, barely breathing, as he tugged on the cuffs of his blue, collared shirt within the dark gray business jacket he was wearing. He could have been a banker by all appearances, with his shiny shoes, Rolex, and blue-and-gray-striped tie. The only thing missing was the wedding band on his left hand, but then warlocks and witches weren’t permitted to marry. I wondered if the missing ring bothered him, or his hidden wife.

      “I seem to have fallen into a bit of trouble,” I admitted.

      Gideon’s gaze drifted over to the house I had protected, his face expressionless. The occasional pixie slipped from its hiding place in the eaves to the nearest tree, thick with leaves that were only now starting to show the colors of autumn. “So I gathered. Your new job involves freeing pixies?”

      “Not quite.”

      “I gathered that as well,” he muttered, turning to walk toward Bronx’s Jeep. “Come along. I’m not going to kill you or your troll.”

      I sighed, my shoulders slumping. Motioning for Bronx to accompany me, I walked over to where Gideon was standing beside the Jeep. It was somewhat larger than many of the vehicles people drove simply because it was one of several styles that had been enlarged to accommodate large creatures like trolls and ogres. The warlock peered into the passenger-side window, seeming curious about the interior.

      “This is the one that works with you?” he said, straightening to look over my shoulder at Bronx. His expression was the same as when he was looking over the car, only mild interest but largely dismissive.

      “Yes, he’s a good friend,” I bit out, but I stifled my irritation. The fact that he had deigned to notice Bronx at all was a compliment. In general, warlocks and witches considered any creature as beneath their notice. All the same, his manner was insulting.

      “My name is Bronx,” my companion said in a smooth, even tone, betraying neither fear nor anger.

      Gideon said nothing, so I spoke for him. “And this is Gideon, a dear friend. You’ll have to excuse him—the Ivory Towers don’t teach manners.”

      “That would explain a lot,” Bronx replied, earning a shocking, surprised bark of harsh laughter from Gideon. I turned to find that the troll was looking straight at me, the butt of the joke. Ha. Ha. Ha.

      “You … you seem very protective of Gage despite what he is,” Gideon said stiffly. “Are you worried about your job?”

      I could hear the shrug in Bronx’s voice when he spoke. “Jobs come and jobs go. There will always be others. Gage is my friend and there won’t be others like him. I would prefer to keep him alive.”

      “He’s a warlock.”

      “And I’m a troll. He’s my friend not because of what he is, but because of who he is.”

      Gideon’s tone grew hard, intent on pushing him. “He’s going to get you killed.”

      Bronx smiled as he looked down at me. “Better him than cholesterol.”

      To my shock, Gideon was smiling when I turned back to him, but there was a sad look in his eyes. “He reminds me of Ellen,” he whispered. “She says she’d rather die because of her association with me than because of boredom.”

      My smile died before it could rise on my lips. Ellen was Gideon’s secret wife. He had shown me a picture of a pretty blond woman and their daughter, Bridgette, two months ago. If the Ivory Towers found out about Ellen or Bridgette, all three were dead, but Gideon would be killed only after he had watched his family ruthlessly tortured to death.

      “Are they all right?” I demanded. Gideon’s eyes snapped to my face, as if he were waking from a dream. “Has something happened to them?”

      Gideon wasn’t someone I would dare to call a friend. We had similar goals and ideas and we had both been brought up in the Ivory Towers, but that was where the similarities ended. Gideon had been a thorn in my side for years, a shadow chasing my every step. Even so, I couldn’t help but feel something for the man. Particularly since I had discovered that he had been protecting me.

      “No, they’re both fine.”

      “Safe?”

      “Yes.”

      “Hidden?”

      “Not unless you drop it,” he growled.

      I breathed a soft sigh of relief. “Then what are you doing here?”

      “You mean other than because of your display?” he said, waving one hand at the house we had just left. Honestly, I had almost forgotten where we were and why we were even there. But then a pissed warlock standing in front of you made you forget about everything else.

      “Well, you usually pop in, smack me around, threaten me, and then leave. This is an extended visit.”

      “I came to warn you.”

      And with that, all the joking was pushed aside.

      Gideon was my main source of information on what was happening in the Ivory Towers. I may have left years ago, but I soon learned that