Page 16 of Discovered Magic
The dealer’s gulp was audible.
“This is a friendly game, Cabbot. If you cannot keep a civil tongue, I’d advise you to walk away,” Draven said in his heavy French-accented drawl.
Jonas wanted to bang his head on the bar. No way would Clive not view the rebuke as anything but an insult. And they didn’t have time for an altercation. Somewhere out on the plains, a magical disturbance had just taken place. Already, a handful of townspeople were speculating about the colorful burst seen from this distance away.
Draven’s job, as a potential Guardian assigned by the Goddess Isis and the Fates, was to monitor supernatural events and ensure the mortal world never got wind of them. Powers like theirs were too advanced for the average individual’s comprehension. But the man was rebellious at best, refusing to do as he was told.
Fifteen minutes had passed since the event. Sure, Jonas could go it alone, but magical mishaps weren’t supposed to be his responsibility.
They were Draven’s.
Town sheriff was his.
Jonas considered conjuring a winning hand for Clive, but he despised the bastard. The entire town feared the man’s temper whenever he was in his cups, and as far as Jonas was concerned, everyone would sleep better if the guy took up residence in the local cemetery.
But then again, someone else would take his place. Perdition Ridge was a hotbed of thieves and prostitutes. No one was who they appeared to be. A preacher who drank too much and failed to quote the good book as it was written, a sexy-as-hell eye-patch-wearing madam with secrets, and a jail that hasn’t locked properly in years. Locals say if you stay in this godforsaken place long enough, you’d either die, go insane, or vanish when the moon turns red.
Jonas tended to agree. He was halfway to mad himself.
“You’re a filthy cheater!” Clive slurred, his hand heading south for his revolver.
“For the love of the Goddess,” Jonas muttered.
There was little point in catching Draven’s eye. His young friend’s attention was all reserved for the surly outlaw. His smirk dared the man to act, assuring Clive that if he did, he’d be a dead man before he cleared his holster. Of course, the Guardian had time manipulation on his side if he chose to use it, so he wasn’t required to be faster with a gun.
Jonas rested his fingers loosely on his belt. Forty-plus years of kicking around the world had taught him to stay calm but be lethal when needed.
Movement on the second-floor landing caught his eye.
Then she appeared.
Roxanne Vale, affectionately known to him as Red.
The woman in emerald silk moved through the shadows like she owned them. Her body was a sensual ripple in a world full of grit. An off-the-shoulder dress skimmed the floor, the slit useful for either freedom or seduction. Her corset wasn’t boned, and Jonas couldn’t fathom how it stayed up—clearly, it had to be magic—but it displayed creamy breasts to spellbinding perfection. Light caught the green threads, setting them aglow as she glided down the stairs of her establishment.
She ran both sides of this business, the saloon and the attached house of secrets and sin, The Velvet Ember. With deceptive ease, she could wrap the patrons around her little finger. And right now, she had all eyes in the place focused on her, with the exception of Clive, the dealer, and Draven.
Strolling among the tables as if the world bent to her will, Red touched the shoulders of a working girl here or there, positioned to show their wares to full advantage. Whether to offer silent support or remind them to keep their clients leashed, Jonas didn’t know, but she was a master of manipulation.
Red paused beside Draven, resting her hip against his broad shoulder as she peered at his cards. Her exquisite face was emotionless as she categorized his hand and lifted her gaze to meet Jonas’s. Though a black leather patch covered her left eye, the glittering amber of her right one pierced his soul. Such was the impact of a single look from her.
Without breaking her hold over him, she addressed Clive. “Mr. Cabbot, I’ve known Mr. Masters for a few years now. He’s aboveboard and skilled enough not to swindle other players.” Finally, she fixed her attention on the troublemaker. “I realize you’ve indulged more than you usually do, but it’s no reason to lose your temper. Is it?”
Clive was no match for her warm smile, however fake, and melted into a surly schoolboy from the outraged outlaw he’d been mere moments ago. “No, ma’am.”
“Excellent. Mr. Masters will be kind enough to buy your next bottle, and for being a fine upstanding patron of my establishment, Ginger will see to your needs for the next two hours.”
“Thank ya, ma’am. That’s more than kind.”
“My pleasure.” She’d taken only two steps before turning back and gracing him with a schoolmarm glare. “And other than worn out from a rowdy round of pleasure seeking, Ginger is to remain unharmed as per house rules. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes’m.”
“Excellent,” Red purred. “I knew I could count on you, Clive. Ginger will be upstairs with fresh water for your bath.”
“Bath?” he hollered. “I don’t—” He gulped as her expression turned downright frigid. “It’s just that bathin’ leads to sickness, Miss Vale. Everybody knows that.”
Without looking his way, Red called out to Jonas. “Sheriff Thorne, would you say you’re a healthy specimen?”
