by T. M. Cromer
“Where’s Tildie?” she asked no one in particular.
“She’ll na’ be coming, GiGi.” Bridget O’Malley said with her lilting accent. She was beautiful in her own right and came from hearty Irish stock. Quick with a quip or a laugh, she always spoke in a matter-of-fact manner. Of all the coven, she was the only witch without any true power of her own. It wasn’t to say she didn’t possess magic, but due to a family curse, she couldn’t tap into that magic. GiGi was determined to help her break the spell one day soon.
“I’m sorry, but her da’s on the Council, and she’ll na’ go against his wishes. Thornes are to be avoided,” Bridget went on to say, clearly irritated with Tildie’s defection.
“I see.” Disappointment rode her hard. Tildie was a skilled witch, and until this moment, GiGi had considered her one of her closest friends. But times change and allegiances faltered. “How many of you feel this way?”
Jill Burns offered her a hard hug. “We’re here, aren’t we?” Jill was a compact dynamo with bright red hair and an engaging grin. They’d been friends since childhood. “You can’t get rid of us that easily.”
Bittersweet emotions wrapped up in a thick blanket of worry nearly suffocated GiGi. “I don’t want to put you in harm’s way. You all mean too much to me.”
Becca Calhoun placed a hand on her arm. A sweet Southern Belle of a woman, Becca had the ability to soothe. Calm replaced GiGi’s anxiety from moments before. Such was the power of Becca’s gift.
“We are with you one-hundred percent, hon. We know how to take care of ourselves.”
“Thank you.” GiGi looked into the serene, moss-green gaze and smiled. “You are all true friends.”
“What are ye needing from us, GiGi?” Bridget asked.
With a simple wave of her hand and a two-line phrase, GiGi muffled their conversation, making their actual words indistinguishable to anyone who might overhear them. Facing her three steadfast friends, she smiled. “Are you up for a little intrigue and mischief?”
A wicked gleam entered Bridget’s bright green eyes. “Aye. I thought ye’d never get around to askin’.”
“You are an adventurer at heart, Bridg.”
The feisty woman’s husky laughter turned male heads. “Stop stalling. What will ye have of us?”
“Sebastian Drake is rounding up the Council for an emergency meeting. He’s doing it under the pretext of worry.”
“For what the Thornes will do to protect one of their own?” Bridget surmised.
“Yes. I’m sure by now, you all know my husband is suspected of killing Georgie Sipanil.” She met each woman’s gaze squarely. “I’m telling you the Goddess’s honest truth; he was with me that night.” She went on to explain the details of the attack on their home by Beecham the following afternoon. “So you see, Ryker has an airtight alibi. Any video footage of him entering Georgie’s home is doctored.”
Becca leaned in to ask, “You want each of us to appeal to the council on your behalf? A divide and conquer?”
GiGi laughed. “Oh, no. I want you to fuel the fire.”
“I don’t understand.”
Bridget, however, did. “You want us to assist Sebastian Drake. Make our complaints about the Thornes known.”
“Yes. Buy us time to gather them in one place.” GiGi explained about the gas Mackenzie was creating and how they would need time for it to take effect. If her three friends could rally witches to appear as an angry mob, then the community at large would be transported to the Otherworld to witness Trina’s testimony. “The Council will be forced to turn on Beecham.” She then explained Harold’s desire to start another witch war.
Her three friends each sat straighter. “Count us in,” Jill said grimly. “That rat bastard isn’t getting away with his vicious scheming. The first war cost too many too much.”
“Be prepared by tomorrow morning. I may also need you to help me break the wards protecting the Council chamber.”
GiGi felt their intrigued looks were a good sign.
The long wait was driving Leonie mad. Matt hadn’t said anything more to her other than to assure her Armand was receiving the best possible care.
Once again, he angled his body to block the camera and gestured to the tray. Under her dinner plate, she found a note explaining he’d come for her at precisely ten minutes after midnight. She was to dress for bed and shut out all the lights by ten, as if she were following her standard routine.
Matt would bring the guy manning the security cameras a drug-laced coffee and engage him in conversation. Minus the drug, it was their regular nightly habit. After the guard passed out, Matt would come for her.
She slipped him the paper to destroy and finished her meal. Hope blossomed in her chest. Soon, if the Goddess was kind, Leonie would see her son again.
The antique Gebruder wall clock struck midnight.
“It’s time to go,” Nash told Alastair and Ryker where they hovered in front of a large computer monitor, watching the live video footage from the team they’d sent to secure the warehouse. “Matt will have Leonie there within the next ten minutes.”
“Our entire team is in place. We’ll observe from here until we are sure everything is going to plan,” Alastair informed his son. “When they arrive, we’ll teleport, and not a moment before.”
“You think this is a setup?” Ryker asked.
“No, but neither do I believe that it isn’t.” Alastair straightened his tie and readjusted his cuff links. A sure sign he wasn’t as calm as he appeared. “Trusting that girl’s mother proved fatal to my brother. I won’t make that mistake again.”
Ryker understood his caution. Alastair’s belief that Delphine was loyal to the Thorne’s might have cost Aurora her life had his brother not recognized the smell of the poisoned tea Delphine had gifted her. No, Al was wise to urge caution. Preston’s death had cast a dark pall over the Thorne family.
The minutes ticked by with nothing but the sound of the soldiers’ even breathing coming through their body cameras. Finally, at eleven minutes after midnight, the cameras flickered, indicating an electrical disturbance. When the picture came back into focus, Leonie Foucher stood in the center of the warehouse, with a large blond male beside her. Her eyes flittered wildly about, as if she was tallying enemies and allies. Giving her companion’s arm one last squeeze, she released him and stepped forward to call out, “Alastair? Are you here?”
Thirty seconds elapsed. Alastair gave a short nod and disappeared, only to reappear on screen. Ryker and Nash were both hot on his heels.
“Hello, child.”
Tears filled Leonie’s golden eyes. “Thank you for coming for me.”
“You can thank your friend. But for now, we will need to separate the two of you.”
The large man stepped forward to encircle her waist. “Why?” he barked out the question.
Ryker placed himself between Alastair and the man they all assumed was Matt Turner. “Precautions. You will both be scanned for tracking devices, but not here and not now.” He gestured to the soldiers around them, and the men closed ranks around the couple. “We need to get out of here ASAP in case Beecham has you magically marked.”
“Christ, I didn’t know that was possible.” Matt’s face paled. “How can he do that?”
“He’s into the black arts, boy, and he’d dare anything,” Alastair stated grimly. “Let’s move. Leonie, come with me now, child.”
She cast one last, longing look in Matt’s direction and moved to take Alastair’s hand. “Thank you, Matt. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.”
His face softened enough to smile. “Take care of yourself, Leonie. Hug that boy of yours tight.”
“Let’s go,” Ryker said. He gripped Matt’s arm and teleported to a second warehouse, just one block closer to the river than the first building, and waited for the others to join him.
Confusion was written all over Matt’s countenance when he glanced out the floor to ceiling windows of the top floor. “We did
n’t go far.”
“No. The water can be a conductor, but it can also mute a magical signal,” Ryker explained. “If Beecham intends to use a supernatural means to find you, he will only be able to get a general locale. Our hope is that he winds up at the first warehouse. We’re close enough to stage a counterattack.”
“Why are you trusting me with this information?” Matt asked curiously.
Ryker slapped him on the back and laughed. “You passed the initial Alastair Thorne test.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
Nash chuckled and stepped closer. “My father, like me, is an empath. He can feel intent. You have none that either of us can detect. Your concern for Leonie was evident, and although there was a hint of unease when you saw our team, you express no evilness that we can sense.”
“Yeah, just a basic half-breed witch here, man. Mom was a non-magical. Dad had powers but essentially lived a basic existence. Pretty much what you see is what you get.” Matt scrubbed his face with his hands. “What’s next? A debrief? I can’t tell you much about Harold Beecham’s organization, but I can tell you some.”
Ryker gestured to a table and chair in the corner of the warehouse office. “Have a seat.”
Matt complied and faced the camera sitting on the tripod.
“A team member will scan you while you tell us what you know,” Nash told him.
“Will Leonie be okay? She seemed worried about how your family would treat her because of her mother.”
Nash and Ryker exchanged a long look. They both knew her life was worthless if Alastair caught wind of any deception. Nash sat across from Matt to tell him this. Although Beecham’s ex-guard paled under his tan, he nodded his understanding.
“I don’t think she has any hidden agendas. Not that I could tell. She was just scared and lonely. Concerned for Armand, ya know?”
“Does she know my wife shot her mother?” Ryker asked, studying him carefully.
“She knows a Thorne is responsible, either in actual deed or to have someone take action against Delphine. I don’t think she blames any of you.” Matt scratched the stubble along his jaw. “It’s not like either of us could have long conversations. She was always watched. I suspect I was, too.”
“Fair enough.” Ryker crossed to the door. “Tell Nash everything you know that may be relevant to us. Start at the beginning. If you can think of anything criminal you’ve witnessed, we could use that to sway the Witches’ Council.”
When the guard standing behind Matt nodded the all clear, Ryker left Matt and Nash alone to talk.
19
Ryker kept an eye on the laptop monitor as he conferred with Alastair’s head of security. “Martin, have the wards been strengthened now that we’ve returned?”
“Yes, sir. We’ve added a little something we hope will guard against Beecham’s special brand of evilness.”
With a laugh and a clap on Martin’s shoulder, Ryker removed his cell phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and called his wife. When she answered, pert and sassy as always, he smiled. “Hey, sweetheart. It’s me.”
“I figured as much when the caller ID showed your name,” she said dryly. Her voice softened. “How did it go?”
“So far, so good. Knock wood. Nash is questioning Matt, and Al has shuffled Leonie off to another location. Presumably to tell her about her mother.”
“Any sign of Harold?”
“Not yet. Either he was clueless as to all of this, or he has his own reasons for letting these two go. I hope it’s the former.” He sighed and scrubbed a hand along his jaw. “I want us to catch a break where this fucker is concerned.”
“Maybe we have. Let’s hope the Goddess is on our side in this.”
“Yeah. Everything okay back there? Nothing out of the ordinary?”
“So far, so good. Knock wood,” she repeated his earlier statement.
He grinned. “I love you, GiGi.”
“I love you, too.”
“We should clear this up in about an hour. Then we can make our next move.”
“Be careful.”
“Always.”
“Uh huh.”
He chuckled as he disconnected the call.
Martin cleared his throat. “If I may say, sir, we’re all thrilled you and Ms. GiGi have patched up your relationship.”
“Thank you. It’s only about fifteen years overdue.”
“Better late than never.”
“Let me ask you, Martin. If you were Harold Beecham, why would you let these two go? What motive would you have to release them at all?”
“To cause havoc or let them lead me to my intended target.”
Ryker nodded. He’d have done the same. “Double the guards around Alastair and make sure someone is with him at all times.”
“That leaves you and Nash vulnerable, and Mr. Thorne would have my ass.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling, Martin. This was way too easy.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth when an explosion rocked the far end of the building. “Get Nash and get out,” he ordered as he ran toward the commotion.
“Cloak!” He heard Martin shout. As he tore up the ground, he muttered the words to hide his presence and palmed a weapon in each hand: a knife in his right, and a Sig .40 caliber in the other. Before he reached his destination, Alastair appeared directly in front of him. Ryker skidded to a stop and cursed.
“Expando!”
The cloaking spell now extended to cover both him and Alastair, allowing his friend to see him in an instant.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing, Al? Get the hell out of here!”
“Not without you. I’m not facing my sister should something happen to you.”
Calm and droll as ever, Alastair seemed unruffled by the shouts and gunfire sounds from the first level.
“I’ve said this before, Al, and I’ll say it again. You’re. Crazy.” Ryker punctuated his words with a glare. “Crazy.”
To his surprise, Al grinned and wrapped an arm around his neck. “Come on, the sooner we are out of here, the sooner my men can teleport to safety.”
“I want to put a bullet between that sonofabitch’s eyes.”
“I know, and you will. Just not right now. After a tribunal. I want your name cleared with no lingering suspicion hanging over your head.”
He heaved a frustrated sigh but jogged back the way he came, his friend at his side. Martin waited, his pistol pressed to a kneeling Matt’s head.
“Ostende.” Their invisible shield fell away.
“Is he responsible?” Alastair asked sharply.
“Not that I can tell. No tracker on him either. I’ve given him an herbal truth serum. He hasn’t told Beecham a thing. Even Leonie didn’t know where they were headed.”
“Release him and then head back to my estate with the others.”
“I’m not leaving you, sir,” Martin stated firmly as he helped Matt to stand.
“You’ll do as I say if you want to keep your position on my staff,” Alastair warned.
Martin shrugged. “Sorry, sir, but I’m more afraid of Alfred than you.”
Ryker laughed and nudged Alastair with his shoulder. “You’ve lost this battle, my friend. Let’s get the hell out of here.” To Matt, he said. “You’re on your own, kid. My suggestion would be to do what is unpredictable. Don’t go to family or friends for help. You know how to contact Nash. Hide out for a bit and contact us in two days’ time.”
With a nod, Matt disappeared.
The shouts now sounded from the second-floor landing down the corridor.
Ryker faced Alastair. “Your place?”
“No.” A deep frown settled on his features. “I think it would be better to head to your panic room. Martin, tell the others to go, right now. You are coming with us.” Alastair clasped Martin’s wrist in one hand and Ryker’s in the other. With a nod, he said, “Take us there, Ryker.”
Envisioning his empty security center, Ryker pulled the magi
c from his cells and transported the three of them in seconds.
“Nice setup,” murmured Martin as he looked around.
“Why did we come here, Al?” Ryker asked, ignoring the guard.
“I suspect I know how Beecham keeps showing up uninvited to the party. Do you have a scrying mirror in here?”
Ryker opened a drawer and extracted a two-feet-by-two-feet, silver-framed mirror.
Without fanfare, Alastair swiped a hand over the surface. At first, the image was of the warehouse, but faded as if a cloud obscured their vision.
“Bloody black magic,” Al muttered. “Give me your knife.”
Because he didn’t seem to direct his command to either man in particular, they were both quick to whip out their weapon. Alastair grabbed the closest one from Ryker’s hand. Taking an amulet from his neck, he placed it flat on the top right of the mirrored surface, then scored the flesh of his index finger. He let the blood run over the amulet and onto the mirror as he spoke.
“Goddess hear my plea,
Assist me in this time of need.”
His next word was foreign to Ryker, and apparently to Martin also, since astonishment lit the other man’s face.
“Dezvalui.”
The fog lifted to reveal Beecham as he shoved one of the soldiers he employed. “What do you mean he’s not here? Find him!”
“He’s not here, sir. We’ve—”
The soldier’s words were severed as a wicked six-inch blade slashed across his neck. Within seconds, Beecham held a small bowl to the man’s throat and caught the spurting blood. “Get me a scrying mirror.”
Ryker shot a quick glance toward Martin. “Be glad Al used his own blood.”
“I am. Exceedingly so.”
Alastair shot them a glare and returned to the scene unfolding in the mirror. Beecham’s reveal spell was a little more complex and took longer to activate.