A Wolf at the Door

Bobby stepped back to let the newcomer in, affording me a good look at the guy’s face when he passed through my newly placed ward. If I hadn’t been watching for it, I’d have missed it entirely.

Reggie stepped over the threshold and there was a slight hesitation in his stride. Not a stumble, really, but a hiccup when he should have put his foot down. In fact he tapped the floor twice with his foot, as if feeling for the floor beneath him uncertainly. Once he had his bearings again, he glanced behind him, and when he turned back, his eyes landed on me with a thoughtful look. “And this must be Mr. Dawson.”

“Yessir.” I stood, offering my hand, but he had to cross the floor to take it. As he reached for my hand, I kept a close eye on his other arm. Nope, no black, wriggling tattoos. If he was demon-sworn, he hid it better than anyone I’d ever seen. “And you’re Reggie.”

“Yes.” His grip was warm and firm, and when he let go, he produced a business card for me. As I examined it, he nodded toward the door. “You come highly recommended by certain parties. I see that you more than live up to your reputation.” So he had sensed the ward. And more than that, he knew what it was, and that I’d set it. Our Reggie was turning out to be a rather interesting fellow.

“Well, I try not to make liars out of people. I’m just glad I can help.” I might have said more—dunno what, really—but Her Highness chose that moment to make her reappearance.

“Reggie!” A far cry from the cold orders she’d snapped earlier, Gretchen now sounded as joyful as a child, all but bounding from her sanctuary to throw her arms around the agent’s neck. And oh look, she had clothes on now. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. Julianne is being positively horrid about tonight. She wants to send a Town Car instead of a limousine!”

The sandy-haired man chuckled and untangled himself from his enthusiastic client. “All right, princess, let’s see what I can do with Julianne, hm?” He patted her head like a fond papa.

Gretchen gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks. She likes you better than me anyway.”

As Reggie disappeared into Gretchen’s room, she fixed her gaze on her bodyguards. “We’re going to Purgatory tonight. Black.” Almost as an afterthought, she noticed me standing there too. One elegantly sculpted brow rose in disdain as she looked me up and down. “I suppose you’re going too.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

She sniffed, the wrinkle to her nose letting me know exactly what she thought I was there for. “Dress in all black, if you can find something that isn’t too disgusting.” With a whirl, she vanished into her tiny little kingdom again.

Tai snorted a laugh. “Hell, she likes you.”

I raised a brow at him. “How can you tell?”

“She’s letting you come, for one thing,” Bobby chimed in. “And she didn’t order you to wear a suit she knows damn well you don’t have.”

“I could have a suit.” I didn’t, but I also didn’t think anyone had had a chance to rifle through my luggage. Yet.

“You might, but not up to her standards, I promise. If she really wanted to make trouble for you, she’d have asked for the impossible.”

Tai nodded his agreement, grinning. His tattoos gave it a slightly manic appearance. “See? Told you she liked you.”

8

Now, I wouldn’t say I’m movie-star-level handsome, but I haven’t been kicked out of bed for eating crackers. Yet. I mean, I do clean up okay. A quick shower and shave, and I’m almost presentable in civilized company.

But next to Tai and Bobby, I felt like that little cartoon Chihuahua, bouncing along at the feet of the much bigger dogs.

Decked out in their evening attire—black slacks, black T-shirts, black tailored jackets—both men managed to look suave and businesslike all at the same time. Tai had confined his hair into a short ponytail, not unlike mine, and if you could ignore the facial tattoos, he could have been heading to any boardroom meeting. And with Bobby’s stiff military-trained posture, I couldn’t see how he could look anything but professional.

And then you had me. A pair of black jeans, never worn, a plain black T-shirt and a pair of ratty combat boots. Not to mention that both bodyguards looked like they could bench-press me without breaking a sweat. One of these things is not like the other…I felt scrawny, extremely conspicuous, and without some pithy slogan emblazoned across my chest, I felt practically naked.

Gretchen emerged from her bedroom as I was checking the wards on her doors one more time, and gave me the old up-and-down. “You’ll do, I guess.”

Well well, I had the queen’s approval. La-de-freakin’-da.