She regarded the cards curiously, her hand lingering over the deck. “How will I know which one to pick?”
He smiled at her, catching those bright blue eyes once more, losing himself in their summertime glory. “You’ll feel it,” he said softly. “I told you. It’s magic. You can’t explain it. When you know... You know.”
She paused, considering his words. Her face softened, and she licked her lips again. It was a tell of hers, Tom realised. A sign of interest. A physical reaction to a moment of thought.
“Magic,” she repeated, her voice almost a whisper. “But I already told you, I don’t believe in magic.”
There was an intensity to her eyes that made him swallow. Instinctively, he knew something was brimming under the surface here, something good and wonderful, and something he desperately wanted, even though he couldn’t have put a name to it if he tried.
“Give me a chance,” he replied softly. “Just give me a chance, and I’ll show you magic is real.”
She smiled at that before raising her hands to the cards. He watched her long, delicate fingers as they deliberated over the pack, before she chewed down on her lip, pointing to a card. She pulled it from the deck, glancing at it surreptitiously, before sliding it back to him.
“All right then,” she said, in her beautiful British voice. “Do your trick, magician man.”
He grinned at her, before shuffling the cards in his hands. “This one is too easy,” he told her smoothly. “You chose a queen.”
Her mouth gaped open, and she stared at him. “How did you...”
“Of course, you chose a queen,” he shrugged. “Look at you. You’re like a queen yourself.”
She blushed but didn’t meet his eyes, refusing to be won over immediately by his praise. He liked that. Liked how hard-won her blushes and smiles had been. The more he had to work for them, the more he felt rewarded by her shy smile, or that delightful tinge of pink to her cheeks.
“Which queen?” she pressed him, waiting to see if he failed.
“You picked the best one.” He smiled warmly. “The queen of spades.”
She gaped at him again, before sitting back, staring at him hard. “You must have cheated. There’s no way you could have known which card I chose.”
He shrugged at her. “It’s an old party trick.” He began shuffling the cards again.
“Who taught you?”
“My father.” He shook his head, refusing to be drawn on that topic. “You chose a good card.”
He watched as she considered his words. “You said she was the best queen? The spades?”
He nodded.
“I thought she was the unlucky queen. The worst of the deck. Surely the queen of diamonds, or hearts, would be a more fortuitous choice?”
He shook his head. “Do you know in early card decks that the queen of spades represented Pallas Athene, the Greek goddess of wisdom? She’s tricky, the queen of spades. Beautiful, wise, serene... But tricky. There are entire games dedicated just toher. Games where people spend their time chasing her, seeking her, searching her out. The queen of hearts... the queen of diamonds... even the queen of clubs, in her way... They’re all worth points. They’re good cards to keep to hand. But the queen of spades? She’s something special. Something different. She’s my favourite.”
He watched that amazing blush spreading over her cheeks again. Without pausing, he pulled a card from the deck, sliding it back to her. “See? Best of the deck.”
He looked on, amused, as she glanced at the card in her hand, delighted by the amazement that crossed her face when she saw the queen of spades, who smiled serenely up at her. Sitting back, chewing on her lip once more, she stared at him, as though weighing up her next move.
“I’m keeping this.” She slipped the playing card into her bag. “Now you can’t trick any other women at empty airports into playing games with you.”
Tom sat back, dropping the deck of cards and taking her in once more. Blue eyes. A wide smile. Long fair hair. Something in his stomach stirred, and his heart picked up tempo once more.
“Keep it.” He smiled at her softly. “I think I’m done playing games with other women. When you find your queen... you just know.”
Chapter 1: Smoke
Eight Years Later
The ground was wet beneath her feet, the forest floor sodden with mud and fallen leaves. An earthy smell of damp was in the air, moist and rich with decay. It was a grey day, the sky the colour of slate. What little light there was struggled to break through the overhanging canopy of trees. Leaning back against an old birch tree, Ari Lightowler took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts.
