He laughed. "For a living you find things that shouldn't be found, and have apparently taken up chasing specter-possessed naked men through bordellos as a hobby. Since when do you play it safe?"

Chapter 11.

The mechanics of doing a glamour are easy. The thoughts of all that could go wrong are hard.

A couple years ago, I'd seen someone get stuck halfway through their transformation. It wasn't pretty. It also tossed a bucket of cold water on any inclination I might have had about trying it myself. I'd done it once to rescue Piaras from the elven embassy, and up until getting punched in the balls made me lose my concentration, my glamour, and nearly my lunch, I thought I'd done a fine job.

Maire Orla didn't have balls, but she had plenty of everything else, and chose to cover her bounty with barely enough red leather to be considered decent. I closed my eyes and gathered my focus, and began recalling her image.

Mychael was giving me the space I needed, both physical and magical. At the moment he was sitting in an armchair in the far corner of the room, the sense of his magic tamped down to a flicker. That by itself was no mean trick.

But he was watching me, and that was a problem. My own eyes were closed, so I couldn't see him, but I sure could feel him. It wasn't his magic; it was Mychael. Intensity controlled until it pulsed in the air. He was watching me from the shadows, and liking what he saw. That, he couldn't control. I knew it as surely as if he'd said it out loud.

"Close your eyes," I told him, without opening my own.

"But you can't see me." I could hear the smile in his voice.

"I can feel you watching. This is hard enough without an audience-especially an audience who's looking at me like I was naked. Again."

"Am not." Those blue eyes had to be glittering.

A tiny smile curled my lips. "Con man and a liar," I murmured, stubbornly refusing to open my eyes. "What other talents are you hiding from me?"

"You'll just have to wait and find out."

I bit my lip against a full smile. "Close your-"

"As you wish, Miss Benares. Closing my eyes, controlling my thoughts."

And hopefully his impulses.

All sense of him vanished. Utterly gone. It was as if he'd disappeared from the room. I'd only heard of a handful of mages who could negate their presence that quickly and completely. It was impressive as hell.

Concentrate, Raine. Time isn't on your side.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. While we didn't have much time, there was no way I was rushing a glamour. Too much could go wrong, and all of it was ugly. I recalled the image Mychael had sent to me through our contact. Beautiful, brunette, busty, and belligerent. Mychael's contact had also included sound, and Maire Orla was definitely belligerent. I couldn't really blame her. If I was locked behind bars and wards, I'd be pissed, too.

Just like Tam.

"Shit," I hissed softly, and lost what concentration I had.

"What is it?" came Mychael's deep voice from the shadows. No sense of him, just a voice. A shiver ran up my back.

I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth. Once. Twice. "Nothing I can't handle," I murmured, steering my mind back to the work. Focus on the work, Raine. Tam is fine. He's safe and protected. If you get this right, you'll get him out of there.

I focused on the image of Maire Orla, committing it to memory little by little, internalizing the smallest detail. When I had it firmly in my mind's eye, I released the slightest touch of my power into the image in my mind, projecting it outward.

As I felt the glamour solidify around me, I opened my eyes and looked down. Damn. So this was what looking hot felt like. "Uh, you can open your eyes now." My voice was Maire Orla's, too.

"They're already open."

Of course they were. As soon as her breasts had popped up, Mychael's eyes had probably popped open-one of those involuntary male response things.

Mychael stood and came toward me, the candlelight flickering on his face.

Kester Morrell's face.

I instinctively reached for a dagger that wasn't there. I put out a hand between us. "Stop right there and let me get used to this."

Mychael stopped and I started breathing right again.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said. At least it was still Mychael's voice.

"It's okay. It's just that closing my eyes to one man and opening them to another is a little unsettling."

Kester Morrell's eyes took in the scenery that was Maire Orla. "I can understand that."

Glamoured as Kester Morrell, Mychael's eyes were hazel and there was a little more brown to his otherwise auburn hair. He sported a short, neatly trimmed beard and mustache; and since Morrell was a human, the tips of Mychael's ears were rounded out. But the glitter in those hazel eyes was all Mychael, and all for me.

I couldn't really blame him. I thought I looked hot, too.

I ignored the heat in his gaze and strode over to the bed and started strapping Orla's weapons on. I'd used throwing stars before, but I'd never carried more than half a dozen. Maire Orla carried a ridiculous amount. I slung the baldric holding the stars across my now-ample chest, and a couple of the steel tips rested uncomfortably close to some bare skin.

"Well, that's one way to get men to stop looking," I muttered. Then something occurred to me, something that could give an awkward angle to our evening's masquerade. "What kind of relationship do Morrell and Orla have? They work together." I paused to ask what I thought I already knew the answer to. "What else do they do together?"

"When they travel, they only request one room or cabin," Mychael replied smoothly.

"And if they're good at what they do, they're not lacking for money, unless they're just being cheap."

"They're not being cheap."

"I kind of thought that'd be the case. So how publicly demonstrative are these two?"

"Do you want to be publicly demonstrative?" he teased.

"I want to get this right."

"When Morrell is working, he's all business."

"How about Orla?"

"Constantly looking for an excuse to use her steel."

And she and Morrell would be meeting with a scumbag who was hiring them to possibly kidnap someone I loved. The scimitar made a gratifyingly steely hiss as I resheathed it. "I might just enjoy being Maire Orla after all."

I had to admit that if I saw us coming down the street, I'd give serious thought to crossing to the other side. Maire Orla wasn't the shrinking violet type, and with all the steel I was carrying, and magic I was packing, my stride turned into a bit of a strut. I just couldn't seem to help myself, and to tell you the truth, I didn't want to.

Mychael was walking next to me, but we were giving each other enough room to move should the need arise, though Maire Orla would have thought of being ambushed as more of an opportunity for entertainment.

"We're being watched," Mychael said in mindspeak. "Though with the way your hips are moving, I don't think they've noticed me."

"Who?"

"Karl Cradock is the paranoid type. We're two blocks from the Bare Bones. He'll have guards posted outside, but it appears he's posted lookouts here." His gaze, shadowed by his hat, was on me, and a crooked grin curled his lips. "I imagine they'll try to take our weapons before we go inside."

I added an evil smile to my sashay. "They're welcome to try."

We got to the Bare Bones without bloodshed, but the place looked suspiciously like a trap from the get-go. Either that or Karl Cradock really was one seriously paranoid son of a bitch. Though considering who he was working for, both scenarios were possible.

It had been my experience that that many men didn't casually loiter outside of a bar unless they were looking for company of the curvy kind, or waiting to instigate an encounter of the violent kind. Since there wasn't a working girl in sight, I thought they were here for us. I'd had worse welcoming committees, but I was in no mood to play whatever games they had planned.

"Take it easy," came Mychael's voice in my mind. "Cradock is just being careful."

"I don't think he told his bully boys that."

"Let me do the talking."

That was fine with me; what I wanted to do didn't involve words. I dropped my hand to one of Orla's daggers.

Mychael was getting violent looks; I was getting looks usually reserved for dessert.

There were six that I could see; there were probably more. There always were. The burly ones stayed put; two lean men standing more or less on either side of the bar's door started out into the street toward us. I knew the drill. The big muscle stays put and the quick muscle comes out to say hello. I knew exactly what they were going to do; I'd been on the receiving end before. The two coming toward us would ask us in their own charming way to give up our weapons. Naturally we would refuse, and while our attention was on the duo, at least two of the big bruisers would try to sneak up behind us. If they caught you, you had a choice: give up your weapons or the big boys would shake you silly until you dropped them.

I'd found that the trick to getting past all of them while remaining armed and unshaken was to make the first move and make it count.

Mychael wanted to handle it. I was curious to see what he was going to do.

Mychael stopped in the middle of the street. I stopped about three feet on his right side, leaving him plenty of room to draw the blade strapped across his back. Conveniently, I was right-handed and Mychael was a lefty. It worked out nicely; we could fight and stay out of each other's way at the same time.

My weapons were all out in plain view, though it wasn't like I had anywhere to hide anything. As Kester Morrell, Mychael had plenty of hidden weapons. I also knew that getting frisked wasn't a part of his plan.

One of the men slowed but kept coming, holding his hands up, cocky grin spreading across his face at the sight of me. "We don't want any trouble, gorgeous."

I casually drew a dagger. The blade was in my left hand; a painful surprise was about to be in my right. "Then act like a gentleman and go open the door for me." Orla's voice was rich and sultry as hell with a razor's edge. I absently wondered if I could glamour just the voice for future use. It could come in handy.

"No can do," said the man walking toward me. "We've got our orders not to let you inside with all that steel. The boss can't be too careful."

The other guard was coming up on my right side. "We've been ordered to search you." I heard the leer in his voice. "And we always obey orders."

Both men had their hands empty, the better to grope me with. Another two steps and one of them would be close enough to slice in half. I had no doubt Orla's scimitar was up to the task, but we'd come here to get information, not kill the bodyguards of the source of that information. I didn't think Karl Cradock would like us killing his men, though he'd probably understand why we had to hurt them a little. Heck, for all I knew this was some kind of twisted test.

I waited until my quarry was within reach and his eyes were hungrily locked on Orla's breasts. Dang, but these things were coming in handy. He reached out for me, and I reached out for him. With his eyes fixated on my breasts and his peripheral vision watching my dagger, he never saw my other hand dive in low for the grab.

I was really glad Maire Orla wore gloves. Some things a woman just didn't want to latch onto bare-handed.

Thug number one squealed and sucked in air through clenched teeth. Thug number two started to come to his friend's rescue. I say "started" because he never got there. Mychael took one step forward, grabbed the wrist of thug number two, and, with a move so fast it was a blur, put the man on his knees with his arm twisted at an impossible angle up and behind his back.

The big muscle moved in. Mychael twisted his man's arm and got a scream; I twisted the handful of what I had and got a squeak.

Mychael's voice was cold, mocking, and not his own. I didn't know what Kester Morrell sounded like, but I imagine Mychael's tone and inflection were an exact match. "Gentlemen, come any closer and I will break this man's arm, and my partner will . . ." He glanced over at the now-ashen-faced man who stood frozen at attention next to me, and I saw his shoulders shake with silent laughter. "My partner will finish what she started. We are here to see Karl Cradock. He invited us; that makes us his guests. Now, is this any way to welcome your employer's guests?"

"Put your weapons away," came a raspy voice from the now-open bar door. The light from inside cast a shadow of a tall form out into the street, but I couldn't see any details. "The gentleman is right. They are my guests, and hopefully my new business associates."

The four big men backed off. Mychael and I made no move to release our captives.

"Now, Morrell," Cradock chided from the doorway. "Surely my men's actions didn't warrant such abuse."

"No, it didn't," I shot back. "It warranted more."

"Jack, Enger, apologize to the lady immediately."

Words weren't coming easily to either one of them, but they managed to make some contrite noises.

"Release my men," Cradock told us. "You can keep your weapons for the duration of our talk."

Mychael laughed, a short bark. "And for the duration of our exit and trip back to our rooms."

Cradock smiled with a slow baring of teeth. "Never miss a loophole, do you?"

"It's healthier that way."

"Agreed. Now, if you please, release my men."

I gladly complied. There was only so long I wanted to twist the nuts of a complete stranger, wearing gloves or not.

My man groaned and dropped to his knees. Mychael's man decided to stay on his knees and cradle his arm. Our path to the front door of the tavern was now gratifyingly clear, and Mychael and I, glamoured as a pair of human kidnappers, strolled right on in.

The place was empty. Almost.

The only other person in the room was a man standing behind the bar who obviously was not a bartender. I'd trust him to mix ingredients for explosives or whip up a tasty poison-but not to serve me anything in a glass. I also noticed that one of his hands stayed suspiciously under the counter. He was smiling at me. I really hoped his hand was playing with a crossbow trigger.

"Privacy," Mychael noted. "I like it."

"I thought you'd approve," Cradock said.

Mychael pulled out a chair and made himself at home; his back to the wall and facing anything that remotely looked like it was, or could be, a door. I took up a post at his right shoulder. I didn't even want to try sitting down in that skirt.

"Did you forget to tell your men that we're all on the same side?" Mychael asked.

Cradock laughed. "You're on the same side you're always on-whatever side pays you the most."