That Old Black Magic - By Michelle Rowen Page 0,32

access to on his office computer. Eden didn’t think the access came courtesy of the government itself, but through some talent Andy had for hacking into places he shouldn’t be. Eden didn’t ask for details. She really didn’t want to know. “All right, I’ve found one hit on that name here in the GTA.”

“But what about what it says underneath?” Darrak asked. “I’m no Magnum, P.I., but I’m thinking that’s a clue.”

“You’re right. My guess is it says 55 Bloor Street West, which is the Manulife Centre, but no Brendan Franks came up there. But maybe it’s where he works.”

Eden blinked. “You guessed that?”

“I’m killer at Hangman. You have no idea.”

“I’m impressed.” She nervously played with the silver bracelet in her pocket. It remained cold as ice, not warming to her body temperature—one of the signs of its supernatural qualities.

Lucas wanted her to put this bracelet on Brendan Franks so they could have a conversation. Sounded so easy. Too easy.

She knew that likely meant it wouldn’t be.

And Darrak was right, she did prefer to call him Lucas even knowing exactly who he really was. What did that say about her? Was she ignoring reality?

As much as humanly possible, thank you very much. But it didn’t mean she wasn’t still painfully aware of it.

“How are you feeling today, Andy?” she asked, exchanging a glance with Darrak.

“I’m just fine and dandy. Never better. Why do you ask?” At her pointed look, he held up his hand. “Don’t you start with the werewolf thing again.”

“Andy—”

“No, Eden, I’m serious. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Frustration welled within her. “Denying it isn’t going to change anything. You’re the one who’s going to change. Tonight. Don’t be a fool.”

Andy pointed at the door. “You’re fired!”

Eden almost laughed, but managed to repress it. “You’re not my boss. We’re partners.”

He slumped forward on his desk. “Why must you torment me about this? I’m not a damned werewolf.”

“So prove it,” Darrak said.

Andy tensed. “What?”

“Prove it. Tonight at dusk.”

“And how am I going to do that?”

“Let us lock you up right here,” Eden said, glancing around at their one-room office. “If you don’t change into a wolf, then you’re right and I’ll eat my words and apologize profusely every day for the rest of my life. But if I’m right, then you’ll be safely contained in here and you won’t hurt anyone.”

He made a face. “Contained? I could easily bust down that door with a well-placed kick.”

Darrak shook his head. “Normally I’d agree with you, Chuck Norris, but we happen to have a spell that will, allegedly”—he glanced at Eden and she saw the doubt about Maksim in his eyes. After what happened this morning she couldn’t really blame him there—“seal this place up nice and tight. Also, no one walking by will be able to see anything hairy going on in here. Literally.”

“Here,” Andy said skeptically.

“Yup.”

He sighed, and it sounded shaky. “How long do I need to be locked up before you two realize this lycanthropy thing doesn’t apply to me?”

“An hour,” Eden said.

“An hour. That’s it?”

“Yes.” She held her breath, hoping he wasn’t going to keep arguing with them. She had enough on her plate today already without this discussion going around in endless circles.

Andy reached into his desk drawer and pulled out his silver flask, unscrewed the cap, and took a long drink from it before putting it back. “Fine.”

Eden raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes, really. You have my permission to lock me in here at sunset tonight for exactly sixty minutes and not one second longer. That’s it. That’s all. And then we can finally move on from this ridiculous topic of conversation. Agreed?”

“I think we can agree with that,” Darrak said. “And, FYI, it’s really not all that ridiculous.”

“It is.”

“It isn’t.”

“It is!”

Eden sighed. “We’re not arguing with you. It’s impossible.”

“You’re impossible,” Andy countered.

“Good comeback.”

Andy grabbed the printout from his Brendan Franks search and glanced at it. “Who is this guy, anyway?”

Eden took hold of the list of two addresses from him. “Just somebody I need to find.”

“For who? A client?”

“No.” She hesitated. “Actually, it’s for . . . Lucifer.”

Andy let the paper go so abruptly she staggered back a step. “Do I even want to know anything more about this?”

“Probably not”

“Then I won’t ask.”

“Good idea. We’ll be back later.” She looked at him sternly. “And don’t even think about leaving after work. You need to stay right here.”

He saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

That was what you got when you tried to help people out these days.