Uh-oh, we’re to the talking with hands and fucking feathered friends level. I should have insisted we order food.
“Mom is no witch, and Dad wasn’t my real father. He was the second husband.”
Emma choked back a giggle as Cori leaned back in her chair and shrugged.
“The first, the one who sired me, is a warlock. He and Mom split when I was around three. She didn’t want him to teach me the craft, so she booted his ass out.”
“Oh.” Stunned at the news, Emma could think of no other comment.
“Pops and I reconnected when I got older, but not too often since neither of us wanted Mother to find out and raise hell. He’s some mucky-muck on the witches’ high council, and frankly, I think I embarrass him since I don’t practice magic.” Cori leaned forward. “But with our love lives in such a depressed state, I may have to reconsider brushing up on the family craft. What do you think?”
The phone in Emma’s pocket vibrated and she pulled it out. “Hello.” She placed a hand over one ear to block some of the noise around her. Upscale or not, all bars had at least one thing in common—the more alcohol consumed the louder the volume became. “Could you speak up, it’s pretty noisy in here.” Still unable to hear above the roar, Emma retreated to the hallway outside the ladies room where the background noise became a hum.
“Sorry, who did you say you’re with?”
“I’m Susan with Simple Tours. I’m calling about the resume you sent us.”
Emma almost dropped her phone. She’d submitted a resume to them months ago and never heard back.
“I see you are certified as a tour guide and tour director. In addition to your local guide experience have you directed any tours?”
“I have escorted a couple of bus tours to the Grand Canyon in Arizona.” Emma crossed her fingers, waiting to see where this conversation would go.
“Excellent. I am a bit concerned you haven’t escorted foreign tours, but since the one we have open is an English speaking country you should be fine.”
The rustling of paper came across the line before Susan spoke again. “Would you be interested in Scotland? The tour is set for a few weeks and our original tour director had to resign due to health reasons. Hopefully, you can adjust your schedule.”
Emma placed a hand against her pounding chest. Now wasn’t a good time to have a heart attack. “Scotland? Sure I can lead an extended tour around the country. I’m sure I can rearrange my schedule.”
She answered a few more questions, jotted down the number Susan gave her, and promised to call her tomorrow to confirm the tour after she looked at her calendar.
Come hell or high water, I’ll make this opportunity work.
Emma hit end to the conversation and headed back to the table, still in shock from the call.
Holy crap!
A job assignment it was, but not some airport “meet and greet” or rinky-dink coach tour around Denver. Still unable to believe the news, she sat down and turned to face Cori. “You’ll never believe this. Simple Tours asked if I want to lead a tour for them.”
“Wonderful.” Cori leaned over and attempted a quick hug.
Emma settled the tipsy blonde back into the chair, grateful she hadn’t fallen out.
“I told you they’d call.” Cori held on to the table. “Out of all the land tours I book, theirs are the ones I get the best feedback on.” She let out a burp any guy would envy. “Where is the tour going and when do you leave?”
“Scotland. Two weeks from tomorrow.”
Cori’s face fell. “Scotland. That’s one of my dream trips, and I’m too frigging busy to clear my calendar that soon. Damn, wish I could go with you and we both could have a Scottish fling.” A smiled played across her lips as she stared into space. “I love men in kilts.”
Emma raised her eyebrows and grinned. “Why don’t you use magic to clear your schedule?”
“Bitch.”
The waitress turned to their table after delivering drinks to the group next to them and plunked down another round of their drinks.
“We didn’t order these.” Emma wasn’t going pay for a waitress hustle.
“From the gentlemen in the corner.” The harried server pointed to a table of four men in various stages of pudgy, jowly, and balding that grinned and waved. She leaned in as she cleared the empty glasses from their table. “I prefer my man out of his kilt.” The lewd wink over her shoulder as she swung her hips through the crowd earned a giggle from Cori.
Emma groaned as two of the men from the table made their way toward them. “Let’s get out of here.” She shoved back from the table and grabbed her bag.
Cori attempted to stand but couldn’t manage the coordinated movement of rising from the chair and turning. “Oh fuck-a-duck.” She blinked and grinned as her rear teetered on the edge of her seat.
“God, you’re such a potty mouth when you’re drunk.” Emma glanced over and mentally prepared herself as the duo of bald and balder swooped down on them. “See what you’ve done Miss Hot Pants?” Right now, the thought of a Scot in or out of his kilt seemed like a better option than the guys moving in on them at fighter plane speed.
“Morgana, would you please stop shuffling through my papers? I have them laid out in a special order.” Ian grabbed the stack from her hands before the small faerie went into one of her famous tantrums.
“Ian, why do you spend so much time with that infernal device?” She pointed toward his computer.
He reached for her finger to direct it toward a safer object. The last thing he needed was a computer crash.
Her little rosebud mouth went into a pout. “You could be having more fun doing something with me than being shut away in this stuffy old room.”
Ian stifled a groan. Why in hell did she show up so frequently to create havoc if life in the castle bored her? “Maybe you should stay in The Realm if you find things here not to your liking.”
Oops, probably not a good remark to say out loud. Ian braced for an explosion as Morgana crossed her arms and puffed out her cheeks.
“Excuse me, Your Highness.” Helmond, Ian’s butler, stuck his head around the door before he stepped farther into the room. “You have a phone call.”
“Thank you Helmond, I’ll take it in here.” Ian sat down in his desk chair.
Morgana draped herself over the back where started to run her fingers through his hair.
Helmond cleared his throat. “Sire, I do believe this is a business phone call.” The stocky elf glared at Morgana.
She puckered her mouth, but Helmond’s steely glare held steady. Ian bit back a smile. The two were always in a battle of wills, and usually the determined butler won over the mischievous Faerie.
“Oh, very well. I have better things to do anyway than hang around this drafty old castle.” She planted a kiss on the top of Ian’s head. “See you later.” In the blink of an eye, she was gone.
“Sire, you really must talk with your grandfather about Morgana spending so much time here. Her mischief with the household staff is creating discord. They become very skittish when they even suspect she’s around.”
“I’ll take your suggestion under consideration, Helmond, though one would think the grandson of the Nordic God Odin and the Faerie King, Oberon, could keep one female Faerie under control without the aid of his elders.” Ian shook his head. Or could he? When it came to Morgana, maybe the butler had a point. Oberon was the only one she listened to. “I don’t understand why she spends so much time here when she contends the Faerie Realm is more fun.”
Helmond rolled his eyes. “Surely you jest, Sire. The little midge has a crush on you.”
“Oh, I see.” The thought hadn’t occurred to him. “To me, she’s a pesky little sister.” Ian closed his eyes and attempted to envision the relationship Helmond hinted Morgana wanted. Nope, his mind refused to go there. Only brotherly concern emerged. He shrugged. “Guess I’d better get back to work.”
“Your call, Sire.” Helmond nodded tow
ard the cordless phone on Ian’s desk.
“Oh, there really is a phone call? I thought you used the excuse as a ruse to get rid of Morgana.”
The butler adjusted his tie and smoothed down his frock coat. “I do believe it is Mr. Brian.”
“Thank you, Helmond.” A prickling of the hairs across the back of his neck as he reached for the phone alerted Ian the caller had an ulterior motive for the call. He learned as a child to listen to his sensory abilities. “Ian, here.”
“Ian. How the hell are you old man? I’ve held so long I’m on the verge of dying of old age.”
Ian chuckled at the sound of his agent’s voice. “Sorry about that, my friend.” The chills intensified, spreading across his shoulders. Brian was checking up on him. Probably had a call from the new editor on when the next book of Celtic folklore would be available from Ian Nordic.
“So tell me, Brian. To what do I owe this honor?”
Like I don’t know.
“Had a shout from that new editor in New York, Susan Brown, the one who took over for Marge. She’s wondering when to expect the next book.”
Surprise, surprise.
Damn, he hated to break in a new editor. He’d had Marge trained on his work habits. Why in hell did these people have to retire? “Brian, did you tell her to back off? Bloody hell, she got the edits back on Faerie Dreams early. I’ve barely started the new book, and she will get it when I’ve completed it to my satisfaction.”
“Care to share any insight on what it’s about with your agent and best friend, old chap?”
“Brian, you know I’ll tell you when I complete the first draft. That’s the way I work, and after all these years I’d think you’d have figured it out.”
The agent’s sigh came through loud and clear. “I know. You’ve always been an odd duck, even back in our school days, but since you moved back to that God forsaken castle in the middle of nowhere, you’re becoming downright strange.”
Ian let his silence speak. They had been roommates when he went to boarding school in the mortal world. Their friendship had continued after graduation, and Brian knew Ian well enough to know he’d overstepped their preset boundaries.
“Okay, okay. You’re right. But thought it best to make you aware the vultures are circling. This woman is rather aggressive.”
There was more to Brian’s call than to just ask about the current book. Ian could sense his friend’s stress. “Come on, out with it. What are you not asking or telling me?”
“Well.” Brian cleared his throat. “It seems this new editor thinks it would be a good idea if you did a book tour. Your fans are really foaming at the mouth to get sight of you.”
“No.” Book tours were not on Ian’s agenda, and Brian knew it.
“Right. Well, that’s what I told her, but you know how pushy some of these publishing broads can be. I finally said I’d ask but warned her not to expect the results she wants since you’re about the most reclusive S.O.B. I know.”
The sound of shuffling papers came across the line as clear as if Ian had moved the ones on his desk. A vision of Brian’s cluttered desk flashed before Ian’s eyes.
“Just checking in with you, my friend. Wanted to keep you up to date on what’s happening in the world of publishing for Ian Nordic. So, guess we’ll talk later.”
Ian laid down the phone and grinned. Brian had spent most of his teenage years in England when his father was the American Ambassador to Great Britain. His almost English accent peppered with American terms and slang delighted Ian.
Still, no way would he do a book tour, even to please his friend. Let the public eat up his books the publisher pitched as Celtic folklore. No one needed to know they were stories about his family. He turned back to the blinking screen, clicked on save, and closed down the computer.
It was time to play Laird of the Manor and show his face around in the community. That was as close to being recognized by people as he wanted to get.
If the world found out the truth about author Ian Nordic, Ian McCabe could kiss his peaceful life goodbye.
Chapter Two
Emma slammed the book closed. Scottish tourist sites, customs, history, and Celtic folklore danced through her head to the point of overload. She’d learned more about Scotland in two weeks of research than she’d discovered in all her prior years. But she’d be playing to a tough crowd. When the Simple Tour’s coordinator told her the group was comprised of all female school teachers, it became essential she be on top of her game.
With her luck, they’d all be history teachers with majors in Celtic culture and could recite a narrative on the country’s past in their sleep. For the hundredth time, she wished the tour company had given her more detailed information other than their names and the fact the women were either junior high or high school teachers. Since she’d spend the next three weeks with them, a few personal details would have helped her come up with a more personalized plan.
She spread the cumbersome map out on the table and diligently matched the itinerary against each location marked in yellow. A local step-on guide would meet them in Edinburgh with a motor coach and give them a familiarization tour of the city as they made their way to the hotel. Over the next several days, the same guide would escort the group on their various local expeditions in and outside the city. Plus, they would have free time.
When the stay in Edinburgh ended, Emma would keep the coach and driver. Then for two weeks they would travel through various Scottish villages and towns, and visit historical sites. The plan was to hit everything from a battle re-enactment at Sterling Castle to a quest for Nessy with a boat ride on Loch Ness. Throw in a few island look-sees, a distillery—please don’t let them be teetotalers offended by the spirits of the devil—and the trip would be over before she knew it.
Satisfied she’d was as prepared as she could be, Emma folded the map and tucked it and the itinerary into a lightweight briefcase she’d bought for the trip. An extravagance for sure, but it now contained her passport, travelers checks, and any information she thought she might need. Her luggage sat packed and ready except for the last minute toilet articles she would toss in tomorrow morning. Security would frown at the over three ounce bottles necessary for an extended trip if she placed them in her carry-on. The loss of her skin care investment at the hands of a TSA agent tossing the product into the trash would make for a sucky start to a fun trip.
Time to get to sleep if I want to roll out of bed when the alarm goes off.
She picked up two books from the table that her hectic schedule hadn’t allowed her the chance to read. Should she go with another Ian Nordic folklore tale or tackle Celtic Charms and Folklore?
If the Ian Nordic novel was anything like the others of his she’d read, she’d be up all night. The guy sure knew how to spin a tale. She could almost believe he knew what he wrote about instead of pulling stories from thin air.
Hmmm, maybe the charms book would be the best bet since it probably would put her to sleep with boring formulas.
Half an hour later Emma slammed the book on charms closed and laughed. What a crock of bull. Summon a true love with chants and candles. Hell, she should have men lined up twenty deep the way she loved to burn candles. Nope, she’d leave the spells to Cori in her efforts to get in touch with her magical side. To think, Emma had lived with a witch all these year and never guessed.
Emma could see Cori’s mother, a no nonsense kind of woman, at war with anything non-traditional. She would not have wanted her daughter to grow up in a magical environment.
Wonder how the old bat found out about her husband’s other life?
Too bad for Cori. Her friend loved her mother and had adored the stepfather who raised her. She seemed to think she grew up in the perfect American family, but at times Emma had thought the older woman a little on the uptight side. Cori’s dad—oops, that would be stepdad now—was as close to perfection as any male could be. He was, without a doubt, the nicest man Emma had come across. Too bad the men
she encountered weren’t more like him.
Instead, my luck attracts the jerks.
Emma turned out the light and stared into the dark, waiting for sleep. Her mind raced as she covered each detail on what seemed like an endless list. This was her big break into the world of tour directors, and if she did things right, it would lead to a lot more assignments to exotic places she now only dreamed about.
Sleep eluded her and she tossed and turned. In an attempt to fluff her feather pillow, she beat it several times. Unable to find a comfortable position, she decided to give up the battle and read a few more pages on magic. She flicked on the bedside table lamp and picked up the book.
Let’s see, where was I? Oh, yeah, charms and how to summon a soul mate. Soul mate sounds good, but hell, I’m to the point any man will do as long as he’s alive. Think I’ll try this for grins.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, slipped one foot into a slipper, and used the big toe on her other foot to find the missing one that had somehow ended up under the bed.
Okay, need to light a candle and say the chant three times. Where are the candles? Oh, yeah, kitchen drawer.
She silently moved through the house to avoid waking Cori. The last thing she needed was an “I told you so” from Little Miss Witch. Relieved that her foolishness wasn’t discovered, she fished a candle from back of the drawer and tiptoed back to her bedroom, making sure to avoid the squeaky board in front of her door.
She lit the long white taper and again located the page with the chant.
“Now, how shall I do this? Quietly, goose, or your roommate will never stop gloating if she discovers what you’re up to.”
Okay, talking to self, a sure sign of losing it.
Emma focused her attention on the page.
Says here to repeat the words three times. Looks like gibberish to me.
Rolling her shoulders in an attempt to relax, she cleared her throat. “Here goes nothing.” Legs crossed, she sat with the candle in front of her and book at her side. The air around Emma took on a soft shimmer as she started to chant.
Beyond Magic (Magical Love Book 1) Page 2