Lucky Magic

by Cate Lawley

  I flinched, waiting for some gasp of amazement, cry of outrage, declaration of my insanity. But nothing.

  Then the most bizarre thing happened.

  He smiled. Not an amused grin over my silly joke. Not a confused half-smile covering up an appalled knee-jerk reaction to my insanity. A real smile.

  “Thank goodness. That’s the best possible outcome to this entire fiasco.”

  I exhaled in relief. Then it hit me. Fiasco? “What fiasco are you talking about?” Because my fiasco was him running around with three unused wishes and not a clue how much damage they could do. So our fiascos were most certainly not one and the same.

  “The green magic should have been a clue. I might have guessed green, leprechauns, luck.”

  “No. No connection there. My dad’s is pink,” I replied without a second’s thought. “Wait, you know about magic? And what fiasco?”

  “Ah. About that.” His smile faded, and he looked uncomfortable. “I’m a warlock serving a ten-year sentence for”—he paused and his nostrils pinched—“for inappropriate sexual conduct with a well-connected witch.”

  I took a step back. A warlock? I took another step back. A warlock? Finally, I whispered, “A warlock?”

  And my heart cracked.

  CHAPTER EIGHT: In Which a (Not Very) Evil Warlock is Revealed

  A warlock.

  The best description I’d heard as a kid was that warlocks were like randy goats with the manners of an Animal House frat boy. Oh, and terrible in bed, to top it all off. There went any sex fantasies I might or might not have had that involved Jackson and his big…hands.

  I was halfway across the parking lot before I remembered those darn wishes. Ugh. I spun around on my heel, planning to march back to the car and explain in no uncertain terms that there were rules, and he better not blow up the city, and he better be nice to—

  “Hi.” Jackson grabbed my shoulders a split second before I plowed into his chest. He immediately let go of me and stepped back.

  He still had that same aw-shucks earnestness that was so adorable. And, of course, he was still tall, dark, and handsomely hot. But then, all warlocks were hot, or so I’d heard. I’ve never actually met one up close and in person before. Who would want to? They were self-centered horn-dogs.

  Speaking of horn-dogs… Jackson’s crime tickled the back of my brain, but I’d been so bowled over by his admission that he was a warlock that I hadn’t properly heard it. “What did you say your crime was?”

  With a pained expression, he said, “Inappropriate sexual conduct.”

  Was there such a thing as inappropriate when it came to warlocks and sex? Or witches, for that matter? By reputation, they were a rowdy bunch. But it didn’t matter which way I flipped, turned, and examined his response—it didn’t make much sense. “What does that even mean?”

  “It means that ten years ago, I was a very different, much more, ah, adventurous person.” Jackson made an exasperated sound. “Look, being mortal gives a guy some perspective. I didn’t have much consideration for women back then. I’m not saying I’m proud of what I did, but a one-night stand is hardly criminal.”

  “What, you slept with a woman, didn’t call her when you said you would, and they gave you ten-plus years for that?” I found that incredibly difficult to believe. Impossible, in fact. “What are you not telling me?”

  “Nothing would have come of it if Tanya hadn’t been Baba Yaga’s favorite niece five times removed. And believe me, Tanya didn’t want me to call her.” He must have seen the disbelief on my face, because he said, “I’m certain. I don’t remember her exact words—other than that they weren’t repeatable—but the gist was a stated preference for a very particular portion of my anatomy, the remainder of me being completely useless.”

  I winced. That was harsh. And there was the small fact that the Jackson I knew didn’t fit the stereotype for warlocks—maybe because of his experience with this Tanya woman? Or maybe he’d just changed that much? Or his punishment had changed him that much. “What exactly did you get ten years of?”

  He lifted both hands in the air. “This. Life in the ‘burbs as a tech support guy with a normal, non-magical metabolism and a mortgage.” With a self-deprecating look, he added, “Do you know how hard it is to stay remotely fit with a normal human metabolism?”

  I crossed my arms and tried not to laugh at him. It was funny—but probably less so when it was your own life. Much as I tried to squish my lips together, a grin still broke free. “No, I really don’t.” Then the full implication of his admission hit me. “You have no magic.”

  “Not a drop.”

  “Wow.” I bit my lip and considered that. “Actually, you know, that doesn’t sound so terrible. But it must have been difficult for you.”

  “Because I’m a lazy, conceited pig of a warlock?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, about that…” I wrinkled up my nose and closed my eyes. When I opened them, his baby blues were staring right back. “I’m sorry. It’s just, you guys have such a bad reputation.”

  He didn’t quite roll his eyes. “Not entirely undeserved in my case, but I’ve made an effort to change.”

  I cocked my head. “Really? Simple as that?”

  He tipped his head in the direction of his car, and I nodded. As we walked back to the car, he said, “It wasn’t actually all that simple. I’d never had a normal, nine-to-five job. With coworkers, office birthday calendars, assigned parking—terrible assigned parking—and a job that I couldn’t learn without studying. It took me two years just get out of my trainee position. Two years was a record for the company.” He caught my eye and gave me a wry grin. “Still is. Before me, the longest they’d had someone in the position was six months, and the average is three to four.”

  “I’m sorry; that is a little embarrassing. And shocking you didn’t get fired.”

  “I know. I had to beg for my job at one point. To this day, I thank my boss for letting me stay. He says he saw a spark.” Jackson grinned. “You know, as I was groveling on my hands and knees.”

  As we approached his car, I tried not to let my guilty gaze linger too long on his punctured tires. “You like your job so much. I assumed you’d always been good at it.”

  “I like it now. But come on, Livy, two years as a trainee. How does anyone keep their self-respect after two years?” He propped himself up against the hood of his car and glanced at the clock on his phone.

  “Kudos for your persistence?”

  He chuckled. “Sure. Two years feeling like a guy stuck in a foreign land with no translator, and then learning about bills and lawn care—and don’t get me starting on dating.” He shook his head. “Let’s just say I’m glad I didn’t meet you until after I’d waded my way through most of that mess.”

  “Bills? How did you not know about bills?”

  “When I joined the mortal realm, I left my cash behind. I have no idea how Baba Yaga comes up with this stuff. But it’s not like anyone is going to call her out on it. When the most powerful witch says ‘jump,’ you just do.”

  “Still don’t get it. Whether you have money or not, you have to pay your bills.”

  “Oh, I had a guy for that. Still do, I think. Man, I hope I do, or I have a condo and a country place that might be in rough shape.” His chin lifted, and when I followed his gaze, I saw the tow truck that was coming to rescue us.

  “Oh, shoot. Before this guy shows up, I just need to say—”

  “You did the tires, right?” Jackson lifted his arm and waved with a big motion so the driver couldn’t miss us, then he glanced back at me. “I know. It had to be magic—four tires? On a car parked in a lot with people coming and going?—and you are the only cheeky leprechaun in the vicinity.”

  I practically wilted with relief that he wasn’t mad. Although the “cheeky” comment was completely unnecessary.

  He nudged me with his elbow. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you didn’t want me driving off while you went to
look for me inside. People get unpredictable when they’re confronted with magic.”

  “Yes! That’s it exactly. It sounded really crazy in my head as I was trying to figure out how to tell you.”

  He nodded. “A little bit crazy, but no problem.”

  The tow truck pulled to a stop in front of us and the guy climbed out.

  Quickly, before the driver rounded the front of the truck, I said, “Does it make it any better if I told you I was aiming for two, not four?”

  Jackson flashed a broad grin. “It means you’re crazy, but you’re a nice crazy person.”

  Then the tow truck driver was there, clutching a clipboard under his arm and shaking hands with Jackson. The guy’s clipboard had more grease on it than a shop rag, but his blue button-down shirt with the patch on the chest proudly proclaiming him to be “Bubba” was pressed and spotless. First job of the day, apparently.

  I quietly backed a few steps away and withdrew from the conversation. It was one thing to admit to Jackson I’d put the whammy on his tires, but I wasn’t about to let some strange guy—even if his name was Bubba and he looked super friendly—see me acting oddly and guess that I was the responsible party. I knew myself, and even if I might manage a convincing façade of innocence, I’d do everything but scuff my shoe on the ground and whistle a jaunty tune. I might fib relatively well about my magical origins—but only because I hadn’t chosen my parents. I wasn’t nearly so convincing when I’d actually done something wrong.

  Once the driver had done a walk-around of the car and clarified that yes, the four flat tires had appeared after we’d parked, he said, “Ex?”

  Jackson avoided my gaze. “Something like that. If we’re squared away, I’m going to grab a ride.”

  Bubba agreed, and as he set about the complex task of extracting the car from the middle of a full row and getting it onto the flatbed, Jackson and I headed back to the building.

  “I’ll grab a car,” I said as I pulled out my cell. “And, obviously, I’ll reimburse you for the tires and the tow.”

  “No, I’ll take care of it. You can get the car, though.”

  Who wasn’t pissed about their tires being blown out? About four flat tires?

  “Are you sure you’re a warlock?” I regretted my comment immediately. He stiffened—not much, but it was there. “You know what, if you promise not to mention four-leaf clovers and little bearded men with green jackets, I won’t mention the warlock thing again. Cool?”

  “It’s hardly the same thing.”

  “No.” I looped my arm through his and matched his stride. “You guys at least get to dress well in your stereotype.”

  We reached the curb in front of the building—but before he could respond, a guy approached us. “Hey, Jackson, have you seen Caitlin?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure. Maybe thirty minutes ago? Inside.”

  The man didn’t look encouraged by Jackson’s response. “I’ve checked the entire building. It’s like she’s disappeared.”

  “Sorry, man. I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”

  The man thanked Jackson and headed out to the parking lot to check his car.

  An uneasy feeling gripped me. “Who’s Caitlin?”

  Jackson shrugged. “A coworker. What?”

  I looked at him, hoping I was wrong. “Anything else?”

  “I mean, she’s supposed to be dating Marc—that was Marc—but she hits on me.” He gave me a frustrated look. “What am I supposed to do? I like Marc. I don’t know whether I’m supposed tell him or just pretend it’s not happening. And I’m still not exactly on the same wavelength as human women, so it’s possible I’m totally wrong and misreading the signals. Why are you looking at me like I just ran over your cat?”

  “Did you make a wish?”

  He cursed.

  I knew it had been too good to be true. “Do you remember what you wished for?”

  He thought about it, and, shaking his head, said, “I just wanted some space.”

  “Is that what you said?”

  “I said”—he closed his eyes.—“I just…w-i-s-h…that you’d give me some space.” He opened his eyes and looked at me. “What did I do?”

  CHAPTER NINE: In Which Our Hero Meets Dad

  What had Jackson’s wish done? His words seemed innocuous enough: “I just wish you’d give me some space.”

  But that could have put into motion anything from launching him into orbit around earth—which thankfully hadn’t happened—to moving everything in his path miles away. But Jackson seemed fine, and nothing around him had changed…except that Caitlin was missing.

  That poor woman. Who knew where she was, if anywhere at all.

  I grabbed his hand. “What were you thinking?” He looked back at me with a worried look but didn’t say anything. I squeezed his hand hard. “When you said, ‘Give me some space,’ what were you thinking?”

  He looked down at our clasped hands and shook his head. “I don’t know. It was just an expression. Something to say. I was wigging out. With the rush of magic, I thought Baba Yaga had come to extend my sentence. I’m near the end of the ten years, and she said she’d reevaluate when my term was up. It’s been on my mind, so you could imagine, a bright flash of magical light, and my mind was leaping to all sort of conclusions.” He looked up and met my gaze. “None of which included you granting me three wishes.”

  His sentence was almost up.

  My heart squished in my chest, like someone had stepped on it. But now wasn’t the time to think about Jackson’s post-sentencing plans. Plans I was pretty darn sure wouldn’t include staying in Austin working in tech support.

  Yep, my heart was a pulpy mess. One question was answered. Neither my heart nor my hormones cared that Jackson was a warlock. But Caitlin. I needed to be focusing on the missing woman, not my nonexistent love life.

  “I understand that it’s not crystal clear, but think back. Where were you when you and Caitlin were talking?”

  His forehead wrinkled. “Ah, just out in the main hall, about halfway to the exit.”

  “Where were you going?”

  He shook his head. “I was trying to find someplace to be alone. I thought Baba Yaga would show herself if I could find some privacy. She doesn’t go anywhere without creating a splash, and that meant no mortals.”

  “Okay, so you’re trying to find some privacy, and you’re heading where?”

  “I was walking down the hall, checking for an empty room. Then Caitlin…” He glanced around, then said, “She grabbed my ass.”

  “What?” I snapped. In a calmer voice, I said, “I thought you said she was dating your friend Marc.”

  “She is.” He rubbed his neck. “Look, ten years ago, I might not have minded that she had a boyfriend. But I swear to you, I’m not that guy. Not anymore.” He looked tired. “I like Marc. And I have no idea how to handle a situation like this.” He blew out a breath. “My life used to be a lot simpler.”

  I raised my eyebrows. I didn’t really know what to say. This guy he was describing—the one who would hop into bed with another man’s girlfriend—I didn’t know that guy.

  “What do I say in that situation?” he asked. “I mean, that’s not a normal situation, right?”

  I didn’t even know where to start, so I went with brutal honesty. “A woman groping your ass completely out of the blue is not normal. And if it’s at work—that’s called sexual harassment. And if she has a boyfriend—that’s called questionable life choices.”

  Jackson’s lips quirked up, and then he pulled me closer. I’d forgotten I was holding his hand. It was supposed to help me get a better read on his wish, not distract me from exactly that same goal.

  Suddenly I was standing only inches from him. I tipped up my head—way up—and met Jackson’s gaze. “So she groped you, and you thought…?”

  “That it would be nice if she was just about anywhere else. Like I said, Marc’s a friend.”

  I closed my eyes and concentrated on our physic
al connection as he spoke, and then I saw it: a huge field filled with weeds and overgrown grass and wildflowers.

  “A big, overgrown field filled with bluebonnets, no road in sight—wait, a dirt road—a tiny cabin… Sound familiar?”

  “I was there last spring with a work buddy.”

  I opened my eyes—I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them—and took a step back, and then another. And I let go of his hand. Standing that close to his lovely, soapy-clean-smelling self was overwhelming. Priorities, I reminded myself. “She might be there.”

  He moved a step back as well. “I don’t get it. I thought leprechaun magic was all about the words, twisting the language around to the wisher’s disadvantage.”

  Just what I deserved, given my earlier assumptions about warlocks. “I don’t do that, but I am a different sort of leprechaun.” Then I shrugged. “Also, I’ve only ever been trapped once before—so I’m kinda new at this. Oh, there’s our rideshare car.” I pointed to the silver sedan pulling into the lot. “Once we get to my house, are you game to head out and find her in my car? Oh, gosh, please tell me your faraway secluded field is at least in the state.”

  “Texas hill country, and yeah, that would be great if you don’t mind driving.”

  “Given the circumstances—what with me popping your tires and landing a bunch of wish magic on you—I think I can suck it up.”

  The sedan rolled to a stop, and Jackson opened the rear door for me. “Forget about the tires. Not a big deal.”

  We climbed into the back of the rideshare car and rode most of the way home in silence. Not like we could chat about the magical events of the day with Susie stranger listening.

  So I had plenty of time to feel bad about being so incautious as to get locked up.

  Then to dither about where I’d be if I hadn’t gotten locked up (ignorant of Jackson’s true identity and vice versa).

  Then to stress over where Caitlin had landed because I’d gotten locked up (perfectly safe but freaked out in a field in the country…with any luck).

  And then to really stress over where Caitlin had landed if not that faraway field.