He eyed the crystal. “What are you going to do?”
Raya smiled faintly without taking her concentration from the wand. “Have some fun.”
Strands of red light snaked from the wand like electricity escaping from a novelty glass globe. The light wound around Raya and twisted behind her back, tracing a wing-shaped outline before filling in the open space with an airy filigree of crimson light.
A light sweat shone on Raya’s brow. “What do you think?”
“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” He extended his wings as well as he could in the cramped space, mirroring her illusionary wings with his own.
“Your turn.” She looked up from the crystal and let the illusion dissipate, its magic winking out in the darkness.
“What are the fashionably dressed dark princes wearing these days?” Phoenix held a finger to his jaw, as if giving the question great consideration. He snapped his fingers and altered his outfit to a particularly well-tailored example of a black three-piece suit.
“Do you even need to snap your fingers?”
“No, but it’s fun.”
She assessed his ensemble with a long look. “Not very practical for crawling around caves.”
“You can’t be satisfied, can you?”
Raya laughed. “No, I like it! It reminds me of what you were wearing the night we met—but go ahead and try something else.”
He snapped his fingers again. This time, he appeared in black satin knee breeches, an elegant white shirt with lace trim, and a fine black overcoat with gold buttons.
“Oh, now you’re just teasing me.” Raya came up to him and took one lapel in her fingers. “You know this isn’t appropriate for a quarry.” She smoothed the fabric and released it.
Phoenix snapped his fingers and reverted to his usual appearance.
“There’s the Phoenix I know. Ridiculous leather jacket and all.”
“May I remind you, witch, that you insisted on acquiring a rather similar one for yourself?”
“Did I?” Raya looked away and fiddled with her wand. “I don’t recall.”
“You—”
They both froze as another light pierced the darkness of the cave.
24
Aman walked into the room from a second entrance, his headlamp sweeping a blinding glare across the room.
Raya shielded her eyes.
“Bonjour.” His French accent was rough as gravel, but warm as cognac. His workmanlike clothing puffed clouds of cave dust as he took a seat on a stone.
“Bonjour, friend.” Phoenix positioned himself casually between the newcomer and Raya.
“Friend?” He switched off his headlamp, displaying the thick muscles of his forearms. “An Englishman in the caves, eh? And an Englishwoman?” He glanced at Raya.
“American,” said Raya, who couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him.
“The colonies. Of course.” He nodded to himself and smoothed a thick hand over his bald head.
Phoenix compared the man before him to his memory of Justinian. Hadn’t Justinian sported waves of billowing hair? Immaculate white robes? Ridiculously over-the-top gladiator sandals? The man perched on the stone showed no glimmers of magic, angelic or otherwise—but then, angels were known for their ability to go unnoticed.
However, they weren’t very good at lying.
