“What I know is that I am very good at holding a grudge.”
“Indeed you are. But—”
“When you least expect it, I’ll get you back for locking me in that room.” Galahad licked a front paw, as casually as if he’d just mentioned a long afternoon nap. “Remember when I peed on your favorite T-shirt while you were in the shower? Well, my revenge this time will be just as epic.”
Lucian would rather not have a repeat of the cat pee incident, or anything else biological and unpleasant. “What else could I do while Molly was here? You refused to behave.”
Galahad growled.
“My grandfather entrusted me with managing this store. I have a responsibility—a duty—to him and to the customers who come into the shop.”
“I wasn’t hurting Molly. I didn’t scratch or bite her.”
“You were disrespectful.”
The squire blinked slowly. “I was in character.”
“Hold on—”
“All she heard was meowing: My way of telling her I enjoy her attention. That’s what normal cats do, right?”
Lucian frowned.
“How else am I to convince people I’m just an ordinary kitty? I have to get up to at least some cat mischief. I was only having a bit of fun.”
“If you were my son, you’d be grounded for your antics this afternoon.”
“Yeah, well, I’m so damned lucky to be a cat then, aren’t I?”
Anguish threaded through Galahad’s words. Suppressing a sigh, Lucian walked around the counter to stand in front of the feline.
“Look,” he said. “If you mind your manners from now on, I will not shut you in the back room again.”
Galahad muttered under his breath.
“Well?” Lucian asked.
The squire’s gaze shifted past him to the front windows: a clear attempt at deflection. But, Lucian wasn’t going to back down. Not when there was a chance Molly would come back to the store. His gut heated at the thought of seeing her again. Maybe he’d ask her out for coffee—
The bell on the door jingled.
Could she have returned already?
He turned, to see a slim woman with cropped white hair and scarlet lipstick step into the shop. She was carrying a foil-covered casserole dish.
She beamed at him. “Lucian.”
“Hi there.” A twinge of dread raced within him. From the looks of things, widowed Cora Johnson had brought him yet another supper—the third in less than a week.
Her bright gaze shifted from him to Galahad. “I saw you talking to your cat. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important?”
Ignoring the feline’s huffed breath, Lucian chuckled and crossed to her. “How are you?”
“Fine, thanks.” She offered the casserole dish. Light sparkled off the large rings on her fingers; baubles that might have been gifts from her late husband, who had managed several Orlando jewelry stores. “I made Beef Stroganoff last night for my Bridge club. I made too much, as usual, so I thought I’d bring you some.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Lucian thought about saying he’d gone grocery shopping and had dinners for the next few nights, but decided to accept the dish. She had, after all, made a special trip to bring him a meal she’d made from scratch.
“I don’t imagine a busy man like you has much time to cook.” She winked. “I did promise William I’d keep an eye on you.”
Lucian’s grandfather had warned him about Cora, a wealthy resident who frequently shopped at the store. She’d taken several much younger lovers since her husband had died and had expressed an interest in Lucian. While Lucian didn’t want to create problems for his grandfather, he’d turned Cora down gently three times so far. He’d do so again if necessary.
“Believe it or not,” he said, “I am reasonably good at cooking.”
“Really?” Acting surprised, she pressed her hand, tipped in glossy red nails, to her throat.
“I’m nowhere near as good a cook as you, of course,” he added. “But, I have watched the Food Network.” Stephanie, who’d once thought about starting a business making and decorating cakes, had loved watching baking shows.
“I love the Food Network.” Cora’s eyes sparkled. “That’s something you and I have in common.”
“Yes, well—”
She touched his arm. “Maybe one night, you can make dinner for me.”
Oh-kay. Time to squash any expectations on her part.
Refusing to let his smile slip, Lucian held her gaze. “As you said, I am a busy man.”
“Who still needs to eat supper sometime,” she murmured.
Lucian shrugged, and as he’d hoped, caused her hand to drop from his arm. “My grandfather left me with some tasks to tackle for him. If I don’t get them done by the time he gets back from vacation….”
She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t worry. I’ve known William for years. He’ll appreciate however much you get done while he is away.”
Yeah, he would.
Cora Johnson was certainly persistent.
Galahad meowed: a loud, demanding wail.
The older woman glanced at the feline, who leapt down from the counter and walked toward them.
Lucian chuckled and silently thanked the squire for the timely interruption. “He’s reminding me it’s his dinnertime.”
“Is that so?” The older woman’s lips formed a coy smile. “Does that mean you speak the language of cats?”
“Can’t say that I do.” Even if Lucian were to admit he understood every word Galahad said, she’d never believe him. “But, since I normally feed him after locking up the store, I’m pretty sure that was a demand for food.”
Cora glanced at her diamond-inlaid watch. “You close at six?”
“Yes, on weeknights.”
“As it happens, I don’t have any plans now.” Her smile broadened. “We could heat up some casserole…?”
Hell, no.
“As nice as that sounds,” Lucian said, “I really must get some paperwork done.”
“I won’t stay long.”
“I’m sorry, but I have a lot of paperwork. I need to finish it tonight.” He hated to lie, but it was for the best.
“Okay.” She sighed, disappointed. “I’d better be on my way, then.”
Whew.
“Thank you again for the dinner.”
She turned to leave, but abruptly turned back again. “My casserole dish.”
“I’ll get it back to you safe and sound. I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that promise, Lucian.”
No doubt she would. He might be wisest to put the meal into another container now and she could take the dish home with her.
“By the way, the Cat’s Paw Cove Paranormal Society has their monthly meeting tomorrow. It’s at the community center. If you’d like to join us, you could bring the dish back then?”
Nope. “It sounds fascinating, but—”
“My friend, Roberta Millingham, will be there. She’s a good person to know in town, since she volunteers for a lot of organizations, like the Historical Society.”
“I appreciate the networking opportunity. However—”
“Let me guess. You don’t believe in spirits and such like.”
Ha! If only she knew.
Galahad sat down beside Lucian. The feline was perfectly behaved for the moment, although Lucian recognized devilment in the cat’s expression. “I can’t commit to tomorrow evening, I’m afraid,” Lucian said. “It will depend how things are here at the shop.”
“Of course. If it turns out you’re free tomorrow, give me a call and let me know you’ll be at the meeting. You have my number?”
How clever of her. “You gave me your card last time you brought me dinner. Grandfather also has your information on file.”
“That’s right; I remember now.” She smiled. “You could add my number to your cell phone contacts, just in case.”
He could, sure, but he’d rather not. “Mrs. Johnson—”
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“Cora. Mrs. Johnson is too formal and makes me sound so, well, ordinary.” Before he could attempt to reply, she added: “The paranormal society meeting should be a good one. We’re going to see if we can contact one of the town’s founders. You know, one of the people who were shipwrecked here in the seventeenth century.”
A frisson of unease tingled at the base of his skull. Probably no reason to be concerned, but still…. “How are you going to do that? Hold a séance?”
She giggled. “I’m not telling. If you want to learn our group’s secrets, you’ll have to come to the meeting.”
He dared not ask more. He didn’t want to seem too curious. Their efforts to summon the spirit should be unsuccessful.
She waved her bejeweled fingers. “I hope to see you tomorrow. Good night.”
“Good night, Cora.”
The door jingled then closed behind her.
“Did she just ask you out on a date?” Galahad asked.
Lucian dragged his fingers through his hair; he really should get it cut. “It wouldn’t be a date. And it really doesn’t matter, because I’m not going to the meeting.” Lucian walked back to the counter and put down the casserole. He reached for the key ring, beside his cell phone, on the counter shelf under the cash register.
“What if the society really does connect with one of the founders?” asked the feline.
“It’s unlikely.” The spirits in the area knew the rules about engaging with non-Magicals and the consequences for disobeying. So did the local fortune tellers. His grandfather, on behalf of The Experts, had ensured they did.
“But if the paranormal society does connect—”
“I will handle it, as is my responsibility.”
“We will handle it,” Galahad said firmly.
Lucian’s brows rose. “I thought you were holding a grudge.”
“I am. But, let’s get real here. Keeping Cat’s Paw Cove safe takes priority over being mad at you.”
Warmth spread through Lucian’s chest. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“Yeah, well, don’t go all mushy now. It must be after six, and you still need to lock up.”
Lucian shook his head and grinned. Turning the keys in his fingers to find the right one, he crossed to the front door, flipped the Open sign to Closed, and turned the key in the lock. He made his way around the shop, shutting off main lights and ensuring all was in order for the night, including casting a barrier spell that encompassed the whole store. After taking the money out of the till and retrieving the casserole and his phone, he headed for the rear door that opened into a parking lot, where he could access the private entrance to his grandfather’s apartment above the store.
“C’mon Galahad.” Lucian had bought beer along with his groceries. He’d enjoy one while he watched the news and tucked into the stroganoff.
“Just a sec.” The cat ran into the storage room and returned with his favorite toy mouse in his mouth. “Mffg mffgh mmtt.”
Lucian reached for the door. “That made absolutely no sense—”
Briiinnnng: The ring of an old, rotary-dial telephone.
The cell phone alarm meant only one thing.
At the same instant, clicking, flashing, and the crackle of a vintage radio.
Galahad dropped his mouse. “Uh-oh.”
“Un-oh is right.” Lucian put down the items he’d been carrying, hurried into the room, and shielded his eyes against the blinding flash of an old Olympus camera.
He might not get to enjoy that beer, after all.
Molly looped the scarf around a hanger and hung it in the closet. Thankfully, the scarf was fine, but Rose hadn’t wanted to give it back. Molly had chased her all though the house, with two of the other felines getting in the way, until at last Molly had cornered Rose behind a pile of boxes and had snatched the scarf.
Molly shut the closet door, just as Rose bolted into the room and jumped onto the bed. Was the feline going to cause more trouble? Maybe she’d calm down and take a nap while Molly finished emptying the dresser.
Molly returned to the furnishing, even as shock rippled through her.
The wooden box was gone.
“Rose,” she said, drawing out the feline’s name.
“Brrrttt.”
“Where’s the jewelry box?”
The feline blinked. “Mrrrow.”
Molly shook her head. She must be losing her mind if she thought the cat could tell her what had happened.
Could someone have stolen the box while she’d been distracted?
No. She kept the doors and windows locked.
Maybe the box had fallen on the carpet?
She retrieved the flashlight from the bedside table and shone it under the bed.
Lots of dust bunnies, but no wooden box.
Her confusion deepened. She shifted the flashlight to shine underneath the dresser. Relief washed through her, for close to the wall, she saw the box. “Thank goodness.”
How strange, though. It wouldn’t naturally have fallen in that spot. Had one of the felines somehow pushed it underneath?
After fetching a long-handled wooden spoon from the kitchen, she retrieved the box.
All four felines were now in the room. They brushed against her, wanting attention, but she’d given them plenty of cuddles and chin-scratches earlier.
Picking up the wooden box and the costume jewelry she wanted to try on before deciding whether to keep the pieces, she crossed to the ensuite bathroom. The felines hurried after her, but she shut them out.
The cats pawed at the closed door. Geez, couldn’t she have five whole minutes to herself?
Molly put the glittering jewelry on the bathroom counter and picked up the plain box again. It was so unusual, she had to know what was inside. The smooth wood, though, refused to divulge how to open it.
Bang. Bang.
“Stop it, girls,” Molly called. Irritation gnawed as she moved closer to the window over the bathtub. There! The thinnest trace of lighter grain, where the box lid met the base.
She pushed her thumbnail against the join.
Bang. Bang.
Molly pushed her nail harder against the wood. It had to open.
“Meow. Meow.”
What on earth was wrong with the cats? She’d never known felines to make such a racket.
Molly studied the join again then pressed her index finger against it. “Come on—”
With a faint grating sound, the lid slid off.
A folded piece of light-brown cloth lay inside. The coarsely woven fabric looked very old. Was it linen?
“Meow. Meow.”
The continued cacophony from the cats faded to background noise as excitement whipped through Molly. She set the box lid down beside the other baubles. Her fingers seemed to move before she’d even made the conscious decision to draw aside the fabric and toss it onto the pile of other jewelry.
“Oh, wow,” she whispered.
The box had protected a necklace, wrought from three delicate gold strands entwined like vines. Linked to the necklace was a gold pendant set with a reddish-orange stone the size of her thumbnail.
Her hand trembling, Molly lifted out the necklace. A thrill raced through her, so strong, she got a little dizzy. She’d never seen a more beautiful piece of jewelry, feminine and yet bold.
The stone reminded her of fire. Its coloring shifted in the light, as though flames burned within.
The barest whisper of sound registered in her mind.
She brought the stone closer for a better look—
The sound again.
A voice?
Couldn’t be. She had to be imagining—
The faint voice spoke again; words of an ancient-sounding language.
What was happening?
“Meow. Meow!”
Molly moved to put the necklace down. But, even as she did so, she experienced a surge of curiosity.
How would the necklace look on her?
No. She didn’t care to know. She
was going to put the necklace away.
Curiosity, headier this time, flared once more. It really was an exquisite piece.
If she put it away, she might not be able to get the box open again.
Since she had the jewel in her hand now, why not try it on?
Yes.
Molly unfastened the clasp.
“Meow! Meeeoowwwww.”
Mentally shutting out the cats’ howling, she slipped the necklace around her neck. With a soft chime, it brushed her collarbones and settled against her skin. The pendant rested at the top of her cleavage.
Why, it was such a perfect fit, it could have been made for her.
Molly studied her reflection in the mirror. Maybe her imagination was running wild, but she’d swear the necklace made her complexion look smoother. Her eyes, too, seemed brighter. And the elegant lines of the jewel made her cleavage look, well, tantalizing.
Her fingers trailed over the gold, and delicious heat wove through her body. She’d never owned a piece of jewelry that made her feel sexy.
She smiled at her reflection, for the necklace was definitely a keeper.
She’d never sell it to Lucian.
Not ever.
Chapter Four
“What’s going on?” Galahad yowled, peering at the satellite image on Lucian’s laptop. After jumping up onto the storage room table moments ago, the cat had positioned himself by Lucian’s left arm.
“Damn,” Lucian muttered. The dark magic was dissipating: Strong one instant, and fading away the next.
The old camera slowed in its flashing and clicking.
Situated behind the computer, the art-deco-era radio was quieting, as though an invisible hand were turning off the volume. The thin needles of the radio dials were dropping back toward zero.
Now, every second counted. Lucian must pinpoint the location of the dark magic before its residual energy evaporated.
He skimmed the incoming data from his grandfather’s system as well as the state-of-the-art machines invented by the Experts. The Experts’ technology had long ago made William Lord’s system obsolete. But, William had insisted his set-up worked fine and had kept it as a backup.
“Imagine if The Experts’ machines should stop working,” he’d said. “It’s a long shot, I know, but I won’t risk being responsible for a catastrophe in this town or anywhere else.”
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