Page 57 of Curses and Casualties
“Good afternoon. How can I help you?”
“We’re here to see Evanora Thorne,” Ryan says. “We were sent here by Magnus Erickson.”
The guard’s expression doesn’t change, but he taps something on a tablet. “Name, please?”
“Ryan Blackwood.”
The guard eyes the rest of us in the overheating car.
“These are my pa— companions,” Ryan finishes.
Another tap. A pause. Then the guard’s smile becomes genuinely warm. “Ms. Thorne will be delighted. Please follow the main road to Building C. Someone will meet you in the lobby to escort you to the penthouse level.”
The gates swing open silently, and we drive into what can only be described as Supernatural Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.
“This is not what I expected,” I mutter, gaping at the perfectly manicured lawns and the woman in yoga pants who’s definitely casting some kind of spell on her prize-winning roses.
“Same,” Ethan agrees. “Where are the bubbling cauldrons?”
“Probably in the basement,” Scarlett says, but she sounds distracted. Her hand drifts to her chest again, and I notice she’s turned slightly in her seat, like she’s trying to look behind us at the closing gates without being too obvious about it. “I feel better.”
I glance behind us too. Whatever’s been following us is locked out now, and Scarlett’s body language has noticeably relaxed.
Building C turns out to be a sleek high-rise that wouldn’t look out of place in downtown Seattle. The lobby is all marble and modern art, with a reception desk that’s expansive and intimidating.
“Mr. Blackwood?” A woman in an expensive-looking business suit approaches us. “I’m Catherine, Ms. Thorne’s assistant. She’s waiting for you upstairs.”
The elevator ride to the penthouse is silent, and I catch Ryan’s eye and mouthwhat the hell?He just shrugs, looking as bewildered as I feel.
The elevator opens directly into what has to be the most gorgeous apartment I’ve ever seen. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the mountains, and the furniture looks like it belongs in a design magazine. But there are subtle signs this isn’t just any rich person’s penthouse—crystals catching the light on floating shelves, plants that seem to glow with their own inner light, and the faint scent of herbs and the vibration of magic in the air.
“Well, well,” says a voice from the living area. “The soul-bonded pair arrives at last.”
The woman who stands to greet us is nothing like the witches I’ve met so far. She’s maybe forty, with short platinum blonde hair and the kind of understated makeup that looks professionally done. Her outfit probably costs as much as my entire wardrobe—designer jeans, cashmere sweater, shoes that are definitely Italian leather.
But then I look into her eyes and... they’re ancient. Deep purple, like amethysts, and far too knowing for her face.
“Evanora Thorne?” Ryan asks.
“The very same.” She glides toward us, moving like she’s floating just slightly above the ground. “And you must be Georgia. Oh, my dear. You’re absolutely luminous. Luna is bonding to you beautifully.”
I feel my cheeks heat. “Um, thank you?”
“Please, sit.” She gestures to the cream-colored sofas. “Catherine, could you bring tea? The good stuff, not the tourist blend.”
As we settle across from her, Evanora crosses her long legs and studies us with those unsettling eyes. “Now then, I assume Magnus sent you because you need help with the curse I so artfully crafted.”
“He did,” Ryan says carefully. “We were hoping?—”
“Hoping I’d just hand over what you need out of the goodness of my heart?” Evanora’s laugh is musical but sharp. “Oh, darling. I may have created that curse, but I’m not running a charity.”
The temperature in the room seems to drop a few degrees. Ryan’s jaw tightens, and I feel his protective instincts flare through our bond.
“What do you want?” I ask directly.
“Straight to the point. I do appreciate that.” Evanora accepts a delicate teacup from Catherine with a nod of thanks. “Sugar? Cream? It’s a special blend—helps with supernatural constitution.”
“What. Do. You. Want?” Ryan repeats, his voice edged with Kane’s growl.
