Wycke. Jess called him wicked. When had the man slipped the card into Piers’ pocket?
Oh. It must’ve been when they danced. Piers winced.
He turned the card over in his hand. Should he call? No. Too pathetic. Right now, Wycke probably lay entwined with someone else. Or worse, slept.
Fuck.
Piers tossed the card onto the coffee table, covered Jess with a blanket from the closet, and went to his room. A few boxes lay on the floor, as yet unpacked. The bulletin board he’d hung first, displaying some of his art.
He crossed the room in three long strides, ripping a pencil drawing from the cork surface. Thumbtacks flew in all directions. There in his hand, a picture he’d drawn while in his teens, never quite finishing. Enough of the face shape existed, the curve of the eyes and nose. The long hair. He ran his fingers over the image, heart racing. How the hell had he drawn the stranger’s face years ago?
Only for him to show up tonight. Piers wanted to see him again, to get answers if for no other reason.
The card lay on the nightstand. What the hell?
He plopped down on the bed, rubbing his hands over his face. Damn, he must be tired if he’d forgotten putting the card there. Before he could talk sense into himself, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed the number.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Every time I think I’m about to figure something out, poof!” Wycke shook his head, spreading his thumb and forefinger apart one inch. “This close, and the thought goes away.” He glared at the familiar. “Why the hell am I talking to a cat?”
“Shall I change form? Spider? Rat? Basilisk?” Chynne replied, in disdainfully bored tones from the nest he’d built on the pull-out bed with every pillow available.
Oh, yeah, right. Chynne already wore his least scary persona. “Cat works.” Wycke flopped back onto the enormous bed in the beautiful bedroom.
Shared with a cat.
Piers. The bartender’s name. Piers. Sounded like… Once more, Wycke’s thoughts disjoined, skittering away. Piers hadn’t fawned over Wycke or tossed himself in Wycke’s path because of title, connections, reputation, or looks.
No. Piers said no. Showed no interest whatsoever. Or no more than a few glances when he thought Wycke wasn’t looking.
Black and chestnut hair accentuated with blue highlights; eyes carved from moonstone. The ogre said he’d noticed magic too. Ogres didn’t lie. Many of the magical races didn’t. Not from a sense of honor, but because lies served no practical purpose.
Humans never learned that lesson.
Saris would laugh and tell Wycke rejection had bruised his ego. Yet, he swore he knew Piers but couldn’t grasp how. A dream image returned to him, slithering away to wherever his other thoughts involving Piers went.
So confusing.
“So, you’ve found no traces of Queen Saris’s friend and the child?”
Wycke let out a long breath. “Sir Lyvianne is dead. No one has heard anything about the child, so he must’ve died too.” There his evasive thoughts went again…
“Then shouldn’t you return to Dhugach and tell your sister?”
“You’ve met her. Would you be in a hurry to deliver bad news?” Something deep inside said Wycke’s work here wasn’t done. Besides the child, there was an abundance of magicals. Did King Broen know? Could the migration harm Tirra Neu?
“I suppose you do have a point.” Chynne scratched his chin, a far too human gesture for a cat. “I’ve not been able to detect him either, in this realm. I was so certain my master was here.” Chynne looked positively… dejected. Not used to being wrong? Or not used to admitting being wrong?
Then again… “How could you be able to if you’ve never met him?”
Chynne rolled his eyes. “He is my master. I would know, I think. I cannot believe he is dead. If he were, I’d be free.” More to himself than Wycke, he mumbled, “Shouldn’t I?”
Chirping closed both their mouths. They each whipped their heads around to stare at the device by the bed. The chirping came again. What…
Oh. A telephone. Another danger of staying away too long—Wycke’s memory sometimes lost essential facts, like a telephone ringing. He placed the receiver to his ear. He’d initially seen these devices on human television, used to shriek at someone or order a delicacy called pizza.
He recalled the official greeting. “Hello.”
