her composure, but it didn’t help. It only reminded her of Spirit’s surprise when she’d come down wearing the dress. She’d assured him she’d worn the garment because some of the older witches were conservative in matters of dress. He hadn’t said a word, but she could tell he hadn’t believed her. Why should he? She hadn’t believed it herself.
She had dressed for Gideon.
She might not be pretty, but she was proud of her body. She couldn’t help wanting his approval.
Gideon fell silently into step with her, his aspect dark and closed. He dropped her elbow and put his hands in his pockets, but Thalia got the sense that he was on high alert and could spring into action in seconds should the need arise. It was rather like taking a pet leopard for a walk. She scanned the flawless lines of his face under the cover of her lashes.
He turned to her, onyx eyes glinting. Scratch that, Gideon was no one’s pet.
“These houses are beautiful, aren’t they?” she said, following some inner need to banish the heavy quiet that had descended over them. She indicated the string of elegant, well-maintained hundred-year-old houses with her head.
Gideon shrugged, a gleam in his eye. “I don’t care much for new construction.”
A smile spilt Thalia’s face. He was joking. Who knew he had a sense of humor? “Yeah, well, for you the pyramids are probably new construction.” They shared the smile for a moment, and Thalia realized she had never seen him smile. It lightened his face, making him even more stunningly attractive.
Something fluttered in her stomach, butterflies that had nothing to do with nerves. She sucked in a gulp of night air. She had to stop thinking of him in that way. This was just business, and he was just a different kind of consultant. There was no way it could be anything else.
As they climbed the dark green wooden steps that led to the porch, the frosted glass-paneled door opened. A tall man wearing a tan T-shirt and brown khaki shorts stood in the doorway. He was completely bald with a neat, close-trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, mustache, and olive skin. He stepped back, inviting them in. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“Heath Gordon, this is Gideon Damek,” Thalia introduced as they stepped inside.
Heath led them into the front parlor. The centerpiece of the room, a large fireplace with a sculpted marble mantle, was flanked by a loveseat, couch and chair suite in distressed brown leather. “Please have a seat.”
“You know why we’re here?” Thalia settled into the overstuffed armchair. Gideon and Heath still stood. Heath reminded her of a terrier challenging a Doberman. She considered standing, but changed her mind. If there was going to be a fight, she might as well have a good seat.
She fingered the cording that covered the seams of the chair as she waited for Heath’s reply.
“I read the newspaper,” he said at last, his features stiff, his gaze glued to Gideon, as if Gideon would pounce if he turned away. “I don’t know why you’re bothering to interrogate the magic community when it’s clear a vampire is to blame.” He crossed his arms over his stocky chest.
Thalia’s eyes flicked between Heath and Gideon. Heath’s hostility was unexpected. He was one of the most respected mages in the community and their relationship had always been good. He’d also been at the bar that night. “Now, Heath—”
“We’re speaking with anyone who was at the tavern that night. Vampire or witch.” Gideon’s rich voice seemed to fill the small room. Most mortals would have been hard-pressed to maintain their animosity in the face of that heavenly voice, but Heath was apparently made of sterner stuff.
“We prefer mage, or sorcerer. Witch has such a negative connotation.” Heath rocked back on his heels.
Thalia was taken aback by Heath’s sudden pomposity. She never gave a thought to using the word witch.
She sent a mental apology in Gideon’s direction.
There’s no need to apologize. He’s acting out of fear.
As she received Gideon’s response in her head, Thalia let her eyes widen questioningly. You can hear my thoughts? she sent back.
I’d always heard it was impossible to read the thoughts of witches, but I could hear you clearly when the thought was directed toward me. The mage’s thoughts are closed to me. However, I can smell his fear.
Thalia turned her attention back to Heath. “All we want to know is if you saw Lily the night of her murder? Or if you’ve heard anything from someone who