Free Utterly Charming by Kristine Grayson

last with so much sarcasm that Max got a sense the reference was important.
    She took a final step and was within touching distance of Blackstone. She bent her arm slightly, as if she were restraining herself. “Tell me where she is,” she said.
    Blackstone grinned again, and everyone in the room—except the not-dead woman—cringed. “She’s somewhere even I can’t find her,” he said, and then he closed his eyes like someone expected to be slapped.
    The not-dead woman extended her hand, and Max slipped farther down the wall. She grabbed Blackstone’s head and held it, her fingers bent like claws. Sparks flew everywhere. It was as if Blackstone’s head had become a Fourth of July sparkler. His head even made the same hissing noise, complete with sulfur smell. Max had a sense that the woman was trying to pull every thought from Blackstone’s brain.
    Around Max, the cops and the attendants and the sarge ducked and covered their heads with their arms. Max did the same, but he kept his eyes open, watching the not-dead woman, determined if she came toward him he would run, hide, do anything except let her touch his skull.
    Slowly the sparks faded. She cursed and shoved Blackstone away. He was still grinning, even though there were shadows under his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
    “You think this will work, but it won’t,” the not-dead woman said, her voice ringing with threat. “I’ll find her.”
    “You have ten years, Ealhswith, and then she’s on her own.”
    “She’s too young.”
    “She’s too beautiful. Women leave home well before they turn one thousand. You’re just jealous.”
    A thousand? Max slowly rose to his feet. Surely he had misheard that.
    “She’s too young, Aethelstan,” the not-dead woman said. “She hasn’t lived those thousand years like we have.”
    “And whose fault is that?” It sounded like an accusation. How could it be an accusation? Was it normal for these people to live a thousand years?
    “You have to tell me where she is.” The not-dead woman’s threats seemed to lack the teeth they’d had a moment before. Max had to give Blackstone points for attitude. His unflappability made it clear that the not-dead woman had no power over him, even if she could turn his head into a sparkler.
    “You want me to tell you where she is?” Blackstone said, uncrossing his arms and rising to his full height. Max had been wrong. Blackstone was the taller one. “So that you can keep her on ice until your body gives out? I don’t think so.”
    The woman drew in a sharp breath. Then her eyes narrowed and her red, red mouth became a thin line. She whipped her arm in a circle like a pitcher warming up on the mound—and she disappeared.
    Max blinked three times and saw the outlines of sparklers against his eyelids. But no matter how many times he blinked, he couldn’t make the woman return. He swallowed, wondering when he was going to wake up.
    Blackstone crossed the room and grabbed Max’s arm. Max tried to yank away, but it didn’t work. He’d had enough of arm-grabbing for one day.
    “There’s going to be chaos in a moment,” Blackstone said. “Just follow my lead.”
    But there didn’t seem to be any chaos. No one seemed upset. The cops, the attendants, and the sarge all stood, unwrapped their arms from their heads, and filed out of the interview room like actors who’d just been told “Cut!” The cops went back to the main area, the attendants walked toward the stairs, and the sarge headed for his desk.
    Max glanced at Blackstone, who still had a grip on his arm. They walked out of holding. The sarge looked up from his desk and said, “Max! What’re you doing here?”
    Max flapped his mouth like an afternoon talk show host, but no sound came out. Blackstone smiled that smile of his—the warm one, the one that made everyone notice—and said, “He’s been showing me around. I hope you don’t mind.”
    If Max had been able to get a word out, he would have