Undeniable (The Druids Book 1) by S. A. Archer, S. Ravynheart Page B

was. It meant he didn’t have to come up with a cover story for it.
    “Since you won’t let me join the party, that’s your backup plan.” He nodded to a ring on the counter.
    Peyton picked it up and examined it. There didn’t seem to be any markings or designs, just a man’s ring with a plain gold setting framing a polished cabochon of onyx. Even still, he wasn’t eager to go blithely jamming it onto his hand without knowing more about it. “What’s it do, exactly.”
    Deacon lifted his hand, showing a matching ring on his right hand. “If you blow your cover, give that stone a tap and I’ll come in claws blazing and get that cauldron.”
    “And save me?” Peyton glanced up.
    Deacon grinned that wicked, Changeling grin. “If there’s time.”
    “Good to know.” Peyton pocketed the papers, and then slipped the ring onto his right hand. “Time to get paid.”
    Chuckling at that, Deacon watched Peyton go. From here on in, he’d be on his own, unless he went banging on that jewel.
    The plain black rental waited for him on the street, and Peyton pulled smoothly out into the early morning commute before he fished his cell phone out of his pocket and hit the speed dial for ‘Tower’.
    “’Hello,” London responded quickly, sounding bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
    “Good morning, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “You’re chipper today.”
    “Just hit the ground running this morning,” she dismissed. He could almost hear the shrug in her voice, but somehow it didn’t come off completely genuine. “I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”
    “Life’s taken a turn, so I’m reaching for a touchstone.” The traffic paused at a light, so he double-checked his skin just inside his collar in the vanity mirror, making sure Deacon hadn’t been jerking him about the markings not showing. He didn’t need to be sending up any red flags.
    “Life does that,” London agreed. “Spooks tapping at your door with uncomfortable questions?”
    “No, can’t say I’ve had that.” The light changed and Peyton maneuvered with the traffic, looking for his chance to merge right and prepare for a turn. “They been peeking up your skirt, have they?”
    “Among other unpleasant places,” she dismissed. “So, touchstones and such.”
    “Right,” he murmured, as she was trying to move him to the point. With Deacon practically attached at his hip lately, contacting London was risky, and arranging a meet closer to impossible. Still, he pressed, “Any chance I could impose on our friendship and set up a face-to-face with your special friend?” There was a long pause, during which he felt her withdrawing. “Look, London, I’m in a bit of a spot. None of us can afford to be burning bridges now.”
    “I’ll get back with you.”
    The phone clicked off and Peyton pocketed it. The plan felt like a longshot, but London was a longshot kind of lassie. And given his illustrious career so far, Peyton was a longshot kind of chap.

Chapter Seventeen

    Given their past, you wouldn’t think that London and Malcolm would be sitting across from each other without the flash of metal or explosion of magic. The past was complicated, and messy, and most of it London’s fault. The rest of the blame didn’t fall to Malcolm, either, but to the Changeling that ‘introduced’ them. As unlikely as this bond was, she couldn’t help but be fond of the kid. Malcolm sat on the wide windowsill in the Green Room at the back of the club. His scruffy tennis shoes dangled above the linoleum floor. The swinging of his foot lazily back and forth dragged an untied shoelace across an upturned young cat that played with it. Somewhere along the way the cat had attached itself to Malcolm, London understood, and it added a hint of charm to the otherwise wild youth.
    His dark eyes were just a sharp as they’d always been; only there wasn’t hatred burning in them now. They’d gotten past that, and this initial friendship was something that seemed to