Sympathetic Magic (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 4)

by Christine Pope

  “So that’s why? Just because you were the strongest witch?”

  “One of them.” Damn it, she’d tried so hard not to think about that time in her life, what the consequences of her elevation to elder had actually been. She picked up her wine and drank, attempting to focus on the dark, rich sweep of it over her tongue, and not the day all those years ago when Bryce and Allegra had come to her and said, It is your time to serve. Her voice hardened. “But since Allegra Moss and Bryce McAllister were already appointed elder, there really wasn’t anyone else.”

  “Seems kind of rough, giving you that responsibility when you were so young.” His tone was obviously sympathetic, but she didn’t want to acknowledge that. Feeling sorry for herself, for what had happened, wouldn’t change anything.

  She shrugged. “It was what it was.”

  The waiter came back with their salads, so once again they fell silent until he was safely away. Funny how, despite their being from two such very different clans, they both followed the same unspoken rule, which was never to discuss witch business when a civilian was around. Then again, maybe it wasn’t so odd. All the various clans had survived to this day because they’d learned how to be discreet.

  Margot decided maybe it was time to go on the attack. “And what about the Wilcoxes? I find it kind of strange that you don’t even have clan elders.”

  “No need, with the way the primuses always ran things.” He speared a few pieces of radicchio with his fork but didn’t lift them to his mouth. “We were more of a monarchy, I guess.” His tone was almost amused, but Margot thought that note of amusement didn’t ring entirely true.

  “Even now, with Connor in charge?”

  This time he did eat, and drank some water before he replied. “No, I’d say things are sort of in flux. It’s pretty clear he has no intention of running things the way Damon, or his father before him, did. I guess in a way you could call Marie and Andre and me the unofficial Wilcox elders, since we’re the ones he seems to go to for advice most of the time. At least, for Wilcox matters,” he added quickly. “Obviously, he and Angela talk pretty much everything over, but she doesn’t want to be seen as interfering in our family’s business.”

  Wise of her, Margot thought. I really wouldn’t want to get embroiled in any of that, either. “And you don’t mind?”

  “Why would I? I’m glad Connor feels he can rely on me.” A lift of the shoulders, and he said, “I used to be Damon’s sounding board, too.”

  “Indeed? I had no idea Damon Wilcox ever took anyone’s advice but his own.”

  “Well,” Lucas replied, after sipping some wine, “just because he used me as a sounding board doesn’t mean he actually ever did anything I advised.”

  This was said in such a self-deprecating tone that Margot let out a reluctant laugh. In general, the mere mention of the late primus was enough to make her skin prickle, even now, when he was certainly no danger to anyone. But the way Lucas spoke of his late cousin told her that they’d had at least a friendly relationship, something she had a hard time wrapping her head around.

  “Do you miss him?” she asked abruptly.

  He paused a long time before answering. “Sometimes. That is, I can’t excuse the things he did, because there is no excuse for them. And I can’t fault for Angela doing what she had to do, because there really was no alternative. But….” The word seemed to hang in the air, even as he shook his head and ate another bite of his salad.

  “But?” she prompted, then returned to her own neglected plate of field greens.

  “We were friends,” Lucas said simply. “I have a lot of friends, but he didn’t. I think that’s why he liked talking with me, even if he planned to do things his way in the end. And I’d meet him when he was done with classes sometimes, and we’d have a few beers and talk about the D-backs, and — ”

  Margot felt her eyes widening. Damon Wilcox, plotter and mastermind behind Angela’s kidnapping, was just a regular guy who liked baseball? “I find that hard to believe.”

  A shrug. “Believe it, or don’t. He had a whole lot of different sides, like most people. I suppose it’s just that Damon didn’t show many of his. But we’d known each other since we were kids. I think he appreciated that he could relax around me, that I never asked him for anything.”

  “I’d think it was the other way around,” she remarked. “Don’t tell me he never asked you for investment advice.”

  “Oh, he did that all the time,” Lucas said easily. “Why not? Using my gift to help the clan seemed a natural enough thing. It didn’t hurt anybody.”

  No, she supposed not. Well, maybe some people would call Lucas’ supernatural inside information a way of gaming the system, but she really didn’t think so. It really wasn’t all that different from having Adam nudge a few storm clouds closer to Jerome so everyone’s wilted vegetable gardens could get some much-needed rain in the midst of a long, hot summer.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly, and Lucas sent her a surprised look.

  “Sorry for what?”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. Like you, I can’t excuse or forgive Damon for the things he did, but still, it hurts when you lose a friend. So I am sorry for that.”

  Several indefinable emotions flitted across Lucas’ face — surprise? confusion? — but then he gave her a considering nod. “Thanks, Margot.”

  They fell into a long silence after that, finishing their salads without speaking, waiting until the plates were taken away and their entrees brought. At last Lucas spoke.

  “You’re a surprising woman, Margot Emory.”

  “I am?” she said with a small laugh. “Really, I think I’m sadly predictable.”

  “Not so.” Now his gaze was warm, and she forced herself not to shift nervously in her seat, to keep herself looking back at him as if being studied in such an admiring way was something that happened to her every day. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  Well, it was easy to do that when everyone else did. Then she chided herself for the self-pitying thought, which wasn’t even true. The worst she could say of her clan members was that they expected her to be as she was: an elder, there when a dispute needed to be mediated, a spell shored up, a decision made when changes in the outside world necessitated some alteration of the clan’s policies. And could she really fault them for that? They were only doing as they’d always done.

  “I’ll try not to,” she said lightly, then looked away from him to the food on her plate, and made something of a show of cutting a few pieces and eating them slowly, making herself concentrate on the thick, rich taste of the antelope and not on the expression of the man watching her.

  He seemed to take the hint, and ate quietly as well. Even when their conversation resumed, it was on lighter topics — whether there would be much snow this winter, what with the ongoing drought, and whether the maternity ward at Flagstaff Medical Center was large enough to accommodate the hordes of Wilcoxes and McAllisters who were certain to descend as soon as the twins were delivered. Inwardly, Margot could only thank Lucas for letting the matter drop. Who knew a Wilcox could be so perceptive?

  After dinner he called a cab, as it was past the time when the free trolley was running.

  “We could walk,” she protested. After all, it was barely half a mile from Tlaquepaque to the plaza in uptown where they’d met.

  “No, thanks,” he said easily. “Half a mile uphill, some of it with no street lamps. I’m not saying it’s dangerous or anything, but it’s really not a walk you want to make.”

  So she acquiesced, even though she was of the mind that the two of them could take on pretty much anything they met in that dark stretch between the shops on 179 and the more populated uptown area. But she did have to admit that, after a large meal and half a bottle of extremely good Bordeaux, it was probably better to have a cab take her back to her own car.

  True, sitting next to Lucas in the back seat of the cab was a little too close quarters. His knee brushed hers once or twice, an
d she couldn’t be sure whether he’d done so on purpose. Not that she’d call him to task about it, not with the cab driver sitting just a few feet away, but still….

  At least the ride only took a couple of minutes. Almost before Margot knew it, they had stopped in front of Sinagua Plaza, and Lucas was leaning forward and handing the driver a twenty. Twenty dollars? For a half-mile ride?

  She didn’t say anything, though, and didn’t protest when Lucas reached down to help her out of the cab after he’d pushed his tall frame out of the back seat and onto the sidewalk. Somehow she felt a little unsteady on her feet. Delayed reaction to the Bordeaux?

  That had to be it.

  “Where did you park?” Lucas asked as the cab eased its way out from the curb.

  “Just up the street half a block, then down the side street.” Realizing why he’d asked the question, she added quickly, “There’s no need to walk me to my car. You’d just be going out of your way.”

  His eyebrow lifted. “You must really have a bad opinion of us Wilcoxes if you think I’m just going to let you walk down there alone in the dark.”

  Oh, of all the — “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What did you mean?”

  Obviously, she was not going to win this argument. “Fine. If you think I’m really in that much danger, here in Sedona, of all places, then by all means, come along.”

  She pulled her shawl more closely around herself and began walking. Lucas let out something that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, but tagged along dutifully a pace behind her. Really, it was very well-lit here, what with the illumination from the shopping center and the lights in the parking lot of the hotel across the way from the spot where she’d left her car. All this fuss for nothing.

  As she walked, she scrabbled in her purse for her keys. That way, she could have them in hand and be ready to flee at once, rather than stand there with Lucas watching as she tried to locate them amongst the wallet and the cosmetics bag and the packet of tissues and all the other items she had crowding her purse.

  With her keys safely clutched in her fingers, she stopped a foot or so away from the rear of her Subaru and said, “I had a very nice time, Lucas. Thank you for dinner.”

  Even in the chancy lighting from the street lamps in the parking lot a hundred feet away, his dark eyes twinkled. “Nice?”

  “Well — ” she flailed. What else was she supposed to say? “Dinner was wonderful.”

  “‘Wonderful’ is better,” he said. “And so is this.”

  Before she could do anything, could attempt to move away, he bent down and pressed his mouth against hers. Shocked, she could only stand there, her brain seemingly incapable of registering what was going on, that Lucas Wilcox was kissing her.

  And what was she doing? Kissing him back.

  His arms were around her, pulling her close. Dimly, she heard her keys drop with a clink to the asphalt, followed by the softer thud of her purse. And she was breathing him in, tasting the rich, sweet dregs of the wine and the flourless chocolate cake they’d ordered to finish off their meal. The air was cold against her skin, but she was warm, so warm, her entire body seeming on fire as she pressed against him, felt again the solid, imposing strength of his body.

  No. This was insane. What the hell was she thinking?

  Somehow she found the strength of will to put her hands up against his chest, push herself away, stumble backward until she bumped into the rear of her car. “No,” she gasped. “I can’t — I won’t — do this.”

  His breathing sounded hoarse, uneven, and he stared down at her in consternation. “Margot — ”

  “No,” she said again. “I can’t. I’m — thank you again for dinner, Lucas.”

  And she bent and grabbed her purse, then her keys, and scuttled away from him, keeping the reassuring bulk of her Forester at her back, as if by doing so she could prevent Lucas from attempting to pull her into his arms again.

  He didn’t, though. He only stood there, watching her with sad eyes as she got into the car and gunned the engine, then drove off.

  She didn’t dare look back.

  5

  All right, maybe he shouldn’t have pushed it quite that hard. But he’d looked down into her face, seen the way she gazed at him, her lips slightly parted. In every other woman he’d ever been with, that sort of expression was a clear invitation to intimacy.

  The problem was, Margot wasn’t like any other woman he’d been with.

  He drove home, going too fast, knowing that if he were anyone else, going fifteen miles an hour over the speed limit at nine o’clock at night on twisty 89A as it wove through Oak Creek Canyon would be an open invitation for a speeding ticket. Especially in a bright red Porsche.

  But he’d never gotten a speeding ticket in his life. Or a parking ticket. Never been audited by the IRS, never broken a bone or chipped a tooth or even gotten a bad meal. Of course not. Those things happened to other people, not “lucky” Lucas Wilcox.

  He hadn’t been so lucky tonight, though, had he?

  Even though it was probably in the forties outside, he pushed the button to pop the top, hoping the cold air rushing through his hair and over his face might help to clear his head. Instead, the contrast only seemed to intensify the memory of how warm Margot’s lips had been against his, how soft and eager.

  Well, eager for a few seconds, until she realized what she was doing and who she was doing it with.

  “Shit,” he said aloud. He’d really blown this one.

  Okay, acknowledging that…how did he fix it?

  Good question. It was as if she were fighting with herself, some part of her attracted to him, but the other part — the responsible part — telling her all the reasons why this whole thing could never, ever work.

  And that mystified him. Okay, the McAllister/Wilcox truce was still a little new and fragile, but it was getting less new with every day that passed, and clearly there were some, like Adam and Mason, who were just fine with that. But Margot was not fine with that at all.

  Somehow he’d have to figure out a way to get her to change her mind. If it were simply that she wasn’t attracted to him, he’d let the whole thing go. That wasn’t it, though. He’d felt the heat between them, felt the way she pressed herself against him, opened her mouth to his. She’d wanted it…until she didn’t. Why?

  He didn’t have the answer to that, but the next day he was going to talk to someone who might.

  * * *

  Normally, he would call before dropping by Connor’s and Angela’s house. Today, though, he hadn’t wanted to get into any of this on the phone. If they were out, well, he’d try again later. It did sound as if Angela wasn’t getting out much these days, except to go to the doctor’s and the store, so Lucas thought he had a fairly good chance of catching her at home.

  And, sure enough, she was the one to answer the door. Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, one hand pressed to the small of her back, as if standing up even this much pained her. “Lucas?”

  “Hi, Angela,” he replied, already feeling guilty for barging in on her so unexpectedly. All this mess with Margot must have screwed up his head even more than he thought. “Sorry I didn’t call, but — ”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “Come on in. Connor didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

  “That’s because I didn’t tell him.”

  She sent him a searching glance, as if trying to determine just by looking at him what his reason for being here really was. “Well, he’s up in his studio. I can call him.”

  “That all right,” Lucas said quickly. “I actually came over to talk to you.”

  For a second, she didn’t reply. Then he saw her shrug. “Is this about Margot?”

  “Uh — why would you ask that?”

  “Because when Connor came home last night, he told me you’d been on the gallery walk with her. He said he nearly fell over when he saw you walk into Red Rock Illuminations together.”

  Oh, right. Of course
Connor would have told Angela all about that. “Well, yes,” he admitted. “I hope you don’t mind me picking your brain.”

  “There’s not much to pick, but come on in.” She led him from the entry into the family room, where the flat-screen TV was paused in the middle of a scene showing a very pregnant woman. A Baby Story? Probably. Angela picked up the remote and turned off the TV, then settled herself with a sigh on the couch. “I’d offer you some coffee or something, but right now I’m at the stage where it’s serve yourself.”

  “No, I’m okay,” Lucas said hurriedly. The poor kid looked totally wrung out, and who could blame her? She was so big with the twins now that she appeared as if a stray breeze would topple her right over. The last thing he wanted was to make her get him something to drink.

  She let out a relieved sigh, pushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. There were circles under her eyes, and she didn’t seem quite as blooming as the last time he’d seen her.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  Her focus returned to him, and she smiled slightly. “I’m fine. Sleep’s a little tough these days…and I’m someone who’s used to sleeping on her back. No, it’s just that Dr. Ruiz thinks I’m going to need a C-section, and I really didn’t want to have to do that.”

  Lucas didn’t have a lot of experience with those sorts of things, but he knew enough to ask, “Have you thought about consulting Eleanor?” The Wilcox healer had delivered a lot of babies, and he still wasn’t entirely sure why Connor and Angela had decided to use a regular ob-gyn instead of the clan’s healer.

  “Oh, yeah, I called her first thing. She agrees with Dr. Ruiz, says she probably would’ve sent me to an obstetrician anyway. She did say she’d help me with the scars, that you’d never be able to tell I had surgery.” Another smile, this one rueful. “As if I really care about that. It’s not like I’m much of a bikini girl. But, bottom line is that these babies are big, and I’m not, and so I just have to deal with it.” Angela shifted on the couch, picked up one of the throw pillows, and shoved it behind her, as if attempting to get more support for her back than the couch’s regular cushions allowed. “Anyway, I’m fine. So what did you want to ask about Margot?”