In a weird way, that was like real life. People who succeeded at anything persisted because it meant everything to them. Magic sounded similar. “You said the ‘big stuff ’ comes later. What does that mean? Doesn’t everyone have the same power?”
“No. Think of it this way: when you were in school, some kids were good at math, others good in sports, and yet others excelled at, say…dancing. Some kids might have been good at more than one skill, even, right?”
“Sure. Dancing and sports, I’m there. Math…not so much.”
Bram laughed. “Magic is the same way. Some people have magic of the heart, like my aunt Millie. My sister, Sabelle, is good at many things. Manipulating people comes to mind,” he groused good-naturedly. “She has good magical battle skills for a female. She’s a walking Internet of magical knowledge. But she also possesses domestic magic. Food is always perfect. The house is always spotless. She can make anything, repair anything. Very handy.”
“Marrok says I will transition at twenty-five. So I have to wait until then to know what kind of magic I have?”
“I’m afraid so. But after that you will learn the special magic you were born to wield.”
“What’s yours?”
He cleared his throat. “That’s actually not a polite question in magical circles. Your special magic can often be your last line of defense if you’re attacked. People confide only in those close, never someone they don’t trust and never before the other has proven themselves. Asking someone about their particular magic is a bit like asking how much money one makes in the nonmagical world.”
Magickind was a new and different place. She’d have to adapt.
“What will transition be like?”
“Arduous, overwhelming, possibly dangerous. You’ll spend a hellish few days absorbing your full powers.”
Olivia still had a tough time believing it all. Where was the laugh track? Certainly, it would sound at any moment…
Her thoughts must have shown on her face because Bram added, “Don’t worry. Marrok will be with you.”
Why would he think that? She and Marrok were having a…Well, it was more than a fling on her part. But that didn’t mean those feelings were a two-way street. She was with a man who hadn’t had a relationship ever. And the man wanted to die, for heaven’s sake. He wasn’t a good risk. And once he’d gone, she would hurt like hell.
As Bram escorted her across the room with Marrok in tow, they passed small groups of people, presumably all magical, who stared.
Bram paused when they reached a laughing couple. Scratch that. A gorgeous laughing couple. The man was striking, with the bronzed skin of an outdoorsman, sleek dark hair that brushed the tips of his shoulders, and blue, blue eyes. She was petite with a head full of golden curls that brushed baby-smooth cheeks and a centerfold’s breasts. They held hands like teenagers, looking totally smitten with each other.
A bolt of envy pierced Olivia.
Next to them stood a goddess. There was no other way to describe her. The only thing average about her was her height. After that…the woman was all sumptuous and golden. Her shining hair fell in soft waves to her waist. Her blue eyes danced with humor and intelligence. Good genes had also blessed her with dimples, grace that would make ballerinas cry, and a damn near perfect body. Even her sparkling sheath dress was Cosmo-ready. Was it any wonder that virtually every man in the room was giving her the visual twice-over?
Next to her, Olivia felt like the old hag from Snow White, nose wart and all.
“Olivia, Marrok, these are my good friends Lucan MacTavish and his…wife, Anka.” Bram gestured to the couple.
Lucan smiled and extended his hand. Marrok shook it as Anka greeted her.
“Do I need to brew you a remembrance potion, dear brother?” the goddess chimed in.
Bram laughed. “As if anyone could forget you. This is my sister, Sabelle.”
“Oh! You’ve been manning my shop. I can’t thank you enough. How has business been?”
Olivia missed A Touch of Magic, but with Sabelle watching the place for the past two days, she had no worries. After a phone conversation, Olivia knew the witch was more than qualified. Amazing how expansive nearly a hundred years’ knowledge could be. If she had half of Bram’s charm, there would be hordes of customers clamoring at the gallery’s door.
“A small, fledgling gallery? Not anymore. Word of Marrok’s carvings has spread like mad. People adore them.”
Marrok shrugged his massive shoulders as if the compliment didn’t matter. But Olivia caught a little flash of pride on his face and grabbed his hand.
“He’s incredibly talented,” she added.
“He is! Just today, I sold over thirty pieces,” Sabelle added.
“Thirty?” She grabbed Marrok’s sleeve. “I told you! I knew they would sell.” She turned back to Sabelle. “I’m planning to come back in a day or two.”
“A week or two,” Marrok cut in.
Olivia elbowed him.
Tinkling laughter spilled from Sabelle. Gosh, even her laughter shimmered. “I’ve had a great time running the gallery. I love art and people. It’s been so refreshing. Everything is fine at the shop. Really. Take as much time as you need.”
“I’m not imposing?”
“Please. You’re saving me from spending all day under his thumb.” She pointed at Bram. “I should be paying you!”
“Very funny, little sister.”
After quick nods and good-byes, Bram led them deeper into the crowd. Two men, opposites in every way, stood in the corner arguing in low tones.
“If this is some sort of outcast outreach program, you can sod off,” grated out a scruffy giant.
“I merely suggested that in these troubled times, perhaps—”
Bram cleared his throat. The conversation stopped and the two men turned identical heavy stares—on Olivia.
Goody. Isn’t this awkward?
The man on her right was smooth, urbane. Every pore of his unblemished skin and every thread in his clothing shouted money. Old money. A lot of it. He was incredibly good-looking in the male model sort of way, with his dark hair styled in some carefully artless, £200 haircut that accented his sophisticated charm. Not staring at the man was impossible.
“Your Grace, this is Miss Olivia Gray and Marrok of Cadbury.” Bram’s lips twitched as he spoke. “Olivia, Simon Northam, the Duke of Hurstgrove.”
A real live duke? Holy hell! She hated being so American about these things. What was the proper greeting here?
“How do you do?” He nodded at her, shook Marrok’s hand, then turned to Bram. “Dispense with the formalities. You know I dislike them.”
He sounded even more British than the average Londoner.
“Just call me Duke,” Northam told her. “To me, it’s a joke, not a title.”
Olivia didn’t get the joke, but whatever.
“Amazing.” He stared as if she were a priceless work of art. “A walking, breathing le Fay. I had no idea—”
She gasped. “How can you tell?”
Duke shot her a startled stare. “Your magical signature, of course.”
Before she could ask what that was, the leather-clad man on his left tried to sneak away. Bram caught the guy by his tattooed arm.
He looked like a cross between a biker and a marine, built and big. A khaki vest strained against mammoth shoulders. His biceps were ringed with various tattooed designs. His inky-dark hair hung to his shoulders. She had no idea what color his eyes were behind his black shades.
“You don’t want to be rude to our guests, Shock,” Bram chided the man.
“Why the hell not?”
Bram sighed. “Is ‘polite’ in your vocabulary?”
“No, but ‘fuck yourself ’ is.”
Then he tried to bolt again. Bram held tight.
Olivia wished he wouldn’t force Shock to stay. The biker/ marine clearly didn’t want to be here, and it was somewhat embarrassing to have Bram push her on the guy.
Suddenly, Shock snarled, “You’re making her uncomfortable and she thinks you should shove off.”
Bram raised a golden brow. “How would you know that?”
“Besides the fact she’s no poker player? She’s blaring her thoughts.”
Seriously? Olivia dropped her gaze.
“I’m finished socializing,” Shock snarled at Bram. “I came to bounce Anarki, not make friends.”
After yanking his arm free, Shock stalked to the other side of the room and propped up the wall with his sizable back. Even behind those sunglasses, his watchful stare could have burned a hole in her.
“Well, that went swimmingly.” No one could possibly miss Duke’s sarcasm.
“Indeed.” Bram sighed. “Let’s move on.”
“It was nice to meet you,” Olivia tossed back to Duke as Bram led her even deeper into the room.
“Enough.” Marrok wrapped his arm around her to stop them and leaned toward Bram. “I came about the diary. Tell me what you know.”
“First, there’s someone else Olivia should meet. Come with me.”
Bram took her hand and extracted her from Marrok’s embrace, then placed it on the crook of his elbow, drawing her near. He looked down at her with a calculating glance. There was something in this for him.
She wasn’t at all unhappy when Marrok took her by the shoulders and nudged her to the side, inserting himself between her and Bram.
“Do not touch Olivia again, or I will tear off every protruding part of your body.”
Despite the bloodthirsty warning, Marrok’s possessive tone warmed her. She should pull back. He’d had centuries to experience romance—and had chosen to avoid it. Comparatively, she’d had ten minutes and didn’t know jack. But she adored his protectiveness. He made her feel special. How was she supposed to ignore that?
Bram smiled. “I had no intention of stealing her from you. I merely intended to steady her. She may need it.”
Suddenly, Bram stopped before a door and turned back to her with a dramatic pause. “You’ve been looking for someone…”
He opened the door to reveal a stranger. Yet his eyes told her he wasn’t a stranger at all. She recognized his face; it matched the painting of the man in Regency dress.
“Richard Gray?” she asked softly.
Salt-and-pepper hair dusted his temples. He dressed sleek, retro European. Very GQ. Besides violet eyes, they shared very fair skin and black hair. In fact, looking at him was like looking at a masculine version of herself in thirty years.
“I guess it’s too soon for Dad.” He sent her a smile of regret.
Oh. My. God. “It really is you?”
At his nod, elation bubbled inside her. Finally, the father she’d been waiting a lifetime to meet was here. With her! She tried not to tear up, but when everything turned blurry, she realized she’d failed miserably. She desperately wanted to hug him, but what kind of reception would she receive? Her own mother had never touched her willingly. She’d always hoped her dad would, but who knew? His rejection now would crush her.
“I’m happy to meet you.” She held out her hand.
Richard grabbed it and pulled her in for a tight hug. Joy warmed every corner of her heart. Her search was finally over. This was her father, and he was holding her for the first time ever.
“How did you find him?” Marrok asked Bram, frowning.
“A few months past, I put the word out that I sought Richard on Olivia’s behalf, but heard nothing, until tonight. He dropped in an hour ago.”
“You might have warned us,” Marrok growled.
“No time,” Bram whispered.
Olivia frowned at the side conversation and turned back to her father. “I’ve been searching for you. I even moved to London to find you.”
His eyes were tight with regret as he caressed her shoulder. “I’m so glad. I loved you from a distance for years and wanted so badly to see you. But your mother…”
Having a magical father probably explained why her mom had been antiparanormal. “I saw a letter you wrote to her, asking about me.”
“She received it?”
Olivia nodded. “But she didn’t open it, just stashed it in the back of her dresser. I never knew until she died.”
“Her death saddened me very much. I’m sorry.”
It seemed odd that this man she’d never met had been intimately acquainted with her mother. She wondered how he’d found out about her mother’s death. Maybe it was a magic thing.
“Thank you. We weren’t very close, actually.”
Richard frowned at Marrok hovering near, then settled his gaze on her again. “You must have exhibited magic early. Barbara would have disliked that.”
Olivia shook her head. “We just didn’t…click.”
“But you have abilities. Under the Gray name, we’re le Fays. This blood comes with amazing magic. I had early tendencies. Certainly you’ve had something manifest.”