Courts and Cabals 2 G.S. D'Moore (the little red hen read aloud .txt) 📖

“My room is down that hallway,” she pointed out an entrance stuck between a peaceful portrait of a bunch of naked people frolicking on a beach, with their dicks and tits hanging out, and a bust that might actually be an original of Julius Caesar himself. “First door on the right.”

I committed that to memory, and could have sworn the woman from the tiled mosaic was present in the painting as well. I wagered a guess who it was. Lilith led the way through another door brimming with magic, and it opened into a conference room.

The room’s theme was so different from the tiled and marble art gallery that I got artistic whiplash. This was modern minimalism. Ergonomic chairs surrounded a table large enough to fit a dozen people. Multimedia equipment that probably had cyber properties the NSA couldn’t handle dominated the room that was surrounded by screens. It reminded me of the situation room in any TV show that took place at the White House.

“The White House ain’t got nothing on this place,” I gave a mental whistle, as Lilith pointed me toward an open chair.

She took the one next to it, and we waited. Her mother and the board weren’t here yet, and the room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Dani had stayed in the gallery; apparently, she wasn’t invited. I could have used something foul or witty from the dwarf to break the silence.

My mind wandered back to the kiss. “It was just a kiss,” I told myself; nothing more, nothing less. “She has literally devoured my spunk on more than one occasion. A kiss should mean nothing.” But it did. I didn’t know what . . . yet, but there had been something different. She must have felt it to, or she wouldn’t be picking at her cuticles like she was digging for gold.

“It’s just the adrenaline talking,” I convinced myself. I’d been hyped up for days, and was about to face my next challenge.

At last, the door opposite the one we entered opened up and three people entered; two women and a man. First off, I could tell the man was Fae. His glamour gave him an average height and build. He wore a tailored suit, nothing off the rack, but nothing too expensive. His brown hair was plain, as were his brown eyes. If the Fae was shooting for a forgetful face, he hit the nail on the head; except, there was no way anyone could ignore the power. It radiated off him. The new Fae mojo in me felt it, and knew instinctually he was a noble born of a powerful House.

“Friend or foe?” was the only question I wanted answered.

The man was on the right, and on the far left was a tall, mature woman. I didn’t say old, because calling a lady old was a good way to get slapped. Her hair was dyed blond, but I could see silver at the roots. Her face showed she’d lived a hard life; frown lines, laugh lines, and stress lines dominated high cheek bones and a proud nose that would be beautiful on a younger woman.

She was dressed like a gypsy, or Romani if you wanted to be politically correct. Some type of mismatched fabric covered nearly every inch of her body, a scarf tied back her hair, and she wore enough rings, bracelets, and pendants to weight down an elephant. Despite the attempt to look like she belonged in a traveling circus, I could tell all the fabrics were of the highest quality material. I’d spent a lot of time shopping at Walmart, and she didn’t buy her shit retail. Her bling was also real, and I bet it ran nearly a quarter million dollars when all was said and done.

“That pentagram is made of solid silver,” I zeroed in on the five-point star that was the human symbol for magic.

Despite what some people might say, the pentagram wasn’t the mark of some devil or black magic cult. It was a very old symbol with lots of interpretations, but the most common one since the Revelation was that it referred to the five elements championed by elemental mages.

“One Fae, one mage, so that makes her . . .” my thoughts devolved into gibberish when I finally paid attention to the woman in the center.

She resembled the woman in the paintings in the tiled art gallery, but they didn’t do her justice. As I looked upon Lilith’s mother for the first time, I wasn’t sure what to think. From what people had told me in reverence, and also in fear, I expected some cross between Caligula and Attila the Hun . . . but a chick. She was above and beyond my expectations, but at the same time fell short. My brain continued to have an epileptic fit as I gazed on the leader of the Venetian Cabal.

She was short, nearly half a foot shorter than her daughter. In the three-inch, red stilettos she strode in on, she was maybe five-five. Her hair was the color of warm, dark chocolate; somewhere between black and brown. She shared the same Mediterranean, sun-kissed skin as Lilith, but her face drew me in like a black hole. It was breathtakingly beautiful, even more so than Lilith; as much as my brain fought me on that point. Unlike my succubus, there was something more to her features, and it went way beyond natural maturity. It wasn’t just the sensual lips, the high cheekbones, the perfect feminine jaw, the long lashes, or the slight smirk that lifted her lips when she saw me staring. She had an element of other to her. It felt like a hug from her would brighten my day, and a kind word would lighten my spirits. It felt like I was home when her eyes locked with mine; and