“Well, your forearm is pressed againstmyass,” Slate shot back.
“I'd love to move it around El's waist butyourforearm is in the way.”
I rubbed my breast against Slate's forearm and his hand—gripping my thigh—relaxed to gently caress me.
Slate cleared his throat. “My forearm stays.”
“Then so does mine,” Gage declared and wriggled against me again.
The elevator dinged open. The rest of our group stood there, waiting for us.
Cerberus cocked his head and lifted a brow. “Having fun are we?”
The men around me stepped out, some more stiffly than others.
Gage grinned unabashedly. “You're damn straight. I nearly pushed the emergency stop button.”
“By all means, pile back into the elevator and have at it,” Odin snapped. “Orwe could take care of the matter of a dirty witch leader. What shall it be?”
Gage seemed to give this some thought, then took my hand and pressed the elevator button.
“Gage,” I chided.
He laughed. “I'm just teasing. Lead on, Odin.”
“I'm so glad that you find this amusing,” Odin growled. “One of my oldest and dearest friends has just tried to murder me, but go ahead and laugh it up.”
Gage went serious. “You're right. I'm sorry, Odin.”
Odin, mollified, turned and started leading us down the hallway. Gage winked at me before following, my hand still firmly held in his. I glanced over and caught Verin watching us—jaw clenched and icy eyes twitching. I looked away.
We didn't have far to go; a gilded door stood at the end of the short corridor. Odin knocked on it crisply. After a few minutes, the door swung open to reveal Glinda, dressed in a silk robe trimmed in marabou feathers, and with her red hair swept up in an effortless chignon that made the pale column of her throat seem even more delicate. She made the ridiculous robe look perfectly appropriate and downright sexy, the white silk clinging to her curves and sliding open just enough to give a glimpse of leg and cleavage.
“Odin?” Glinda frowned and glanced past him. “What's this about?”
“We're sorry to disturb you so late but we have an urgent matter to discuss,” Odin said. “Osamu should be here shortly. May we come in?”
“Of course.” Glinda glided gracefully away from the door, leading us through a useless marble foyer and into her living room.
Odin's and even Vivian's rooms were simple compared to the grandeur of Glinda's suite. Walking into her living quarters was like stepping onto a movie set from the Golden Age of Hollywood. We're talking fur rugs, chaise lounges, art nouveau décor, and balcony doors that were never closed, no matter what the weather was like.
Cool night air flowed in through those balcony doors, carrying the scent of the sea. Only a single floor lamp was on, spotlighting a pink chaise lounge. A book lay turned over upon its tufted surface, flattened to mark the page. Glinda flicked on a switch and light flooded the space but it was soft and warm, the type that enhances complexions. I glanced up at the enormous crystal chandelier above us; it had those light bulbs that mimic candle flames.
“Would anyone care for a drink?” Glinda asked graciously.
“No, it's okay,” Odin said. “We're fine, thank you.”
We settled on the feminine furniture, the men looking even more out of place than they had in the elevator. That is, everyone but Slate, who could look right at home anywhere. He hung an arm over the gilded back of the couch and leaned into the corner as if he sat there every day—a wealthy man visiting his mistress. Verin might have looked at ease too if he hadn't been holding himself so rigidly—back straight and hands clenched on his knees.
Before Glinda could flutter down into a seat herself, a knock came at her door. She twirled away in a swirl of feathers and silk and returned with Osamu. The Witch Leader of Fire was dressed sensibly in a pair of tailored pants and a long-sleeved shirt. He even had polished loafers on despite the hour. His short, dark hair was slicked back and his eyes—in a shade that matched his hair—focused sharply on our group. He came forward, looking like Glinda's antithesis, and stood at the edge of the sitting area, surveying us.
“Interesting,” Osamu murmured. “A late-night meeting with a Spellsinger, her family and friends, and us. What can we do for you now, Elaria? And know that I ask that with every hope of helping you.”
Osamu had been one of the witches who screwed me over. He'd been trying to make it up to me ever since. I appreciated that but I still didn't like him.
“Sit down, Osamu,” Odin said heavily. “This might take awhile.”
Luckily, Glinda loved to entertain so her living room had an abundance of seating—more than enough to accommodate all of us. Osamu chose a chair and sat, casting a curious look at Glinda, who only shrugged daintily and floated down into her own elaborate seat. Once everyone was settled, Odin launched right into it.
