A Dash of Destiny (Warlocks MacGregor Book 8)

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “Wench, not witch,” Raibeart said from behind Margareta.

  “She’s just a nice lady who needed our assistance,” Rory corrected. He finished coming down the stairs to join his family in the dining room.

  “The only lady who needed help was tied to a tree,” Raibeart said.

  “What lady? There were two?” Murdoch, Rory’s da asked. Like all the MacGregor men, he had dark hair and proud features. People say Rory and Bruce favored him.

  Rory saw his parents sitting across from each at the long wooden table. A fancy cake sat between them with a slice missing. The crooked lines of frosting decoration gave away that this was another of his ma’s attempts at baking like a human with no magickal help. The attempts were rarely good.

  Actually, they were never good.

  “Me,” Rory said dryly so Raibeart wouldn’t answer for him. “I’m the lady in this story.”

  Murdoch laughed and nodded. “Been there, my boy.”

  “While we’re on the subject,” Raibeart interjected. “Did a package come for me today? I’m expecting something important.”

  “No,” Margareta answered.

  “Rory, ya know I don’t like it when ya take off like that,” Cait, his ma, scolded, pushing up from her seat. She looked the part of the stereotypical 1950s housewife but looks could be deceiving. She had a fondness for cashmere sweaters, pearls, and something she called the circle skirt. She kept her blonde-brown hair neatly pulled back. “Next time, leave a note.”

  “I didn’t have a choice.” Rory didn’t want to get into this. His ma and aunt would only worry, and his da and uncles would tease him mercilessly. “Some force abducted me out of the shower. I woke up in the forest tied naked to a tree with enchanted rope.”

  “Which one of my sons did it this time?” Margareta MacGregor’s voice was low and soft, a sure sign she was annoyed. “God knows I love ya boys, but ya are all idiots.”

  “And I saved him!” Raibeart announced over her. “I also got me a fine knife.”

  Raibeart pulled the scian from a scabbard on his waist to show them the ancient blade.

  “Let me see that,” Cait ordered, waving her hand to call the blade out of Raibeart’s grip with magick. It flew through the air at her head, but she caught it with ease. She furrowed her brow. “Who had this?”

  “It’s mine,” Raibeart said. He waved his fingers to call the blade back. The knife flew out of Cait’s hand. Raibeart caught it. “Finders keepers I got peepers.”

  “It’s cursed,” Cait corrected. “I feel a strange magickal vibration coming from it.”

  “That’s nothing. Just a wee twitch.” Raibeart tried to put it back in his scabbard.

  Cait used her magick to force the blade out of the scabbard. It again flew across the room. She caught it as it neared her. “No. I think we need to put it in the—”

  “Mine,” Raibeart said, trying to take the knife back. The blade turned, flying toward him.

  “Raibeart,” Cait scolded, waving her hand again.

  The knife flew back and forth as they fought over it.

  Suddenly, it headed off course, targeting Rory.

  Rory lifted his arms to block his face and ducked.

  “Watch it,” Murdoch yelled when it came too close to hitting his son. He waved his hand upward. His magick forced the blade to shoot up and embed itself into the ceiling.

  “Ya know the rule, Raibeart. Cursed objects go in the vault,” Margareta said.

  “Ya always take away my toys,” Raibeart pouted. His kilt shimmered to be replaced by a black leotard and pink tutu. “I’m going to go where I’m appreciated. Jewel and I have dance lessons.”

  Glitter sprinkled from him as he marched from the dining room.

  “There is something seriously wrong with that man,” Margareta said with a dismissing laugh.

  “Rory, come here and try your ma’s cake.” Murdoch suppressed a grin as he lifted the slice in front of him.

  “I had breakfast—” Rory tried to excuse himself.

  “Nonsense,” Murdoch interrupted. “Take mine.”

  Rory knew he wasn’t getting out of it as he walked around the table to sit by his father. “Thanks, Da.” He took the plate with the uneaten slice on it. “Ma, this looks amazing. Would ya mind giving Da another piece? I don’t feel right taking this one from him.”

  Murdoch kicked him under the table. Rory gave a small cough.

  Cait handed her husband another slice.

  “Thank ya, my love.” Murdoch gazed lovingly at her. All his life, Rory had seen his father look at his mother just like that. And, knowing his da, he would eat every single bite of that cake no matter how bad it tasted, just to make her smile.

  That is what Rory wanted. He wanted that kind of love.

  He thought of Jennifer. The conversation between them had been stunted and awkward, and then there was the whole she-had-tried-to-stab-him thing. Logic told him to stay away and to tell his family there was danger.

  He couldn’t form the words.

  “You’re not eating,” his ma noted.

  “Oh, uh…” Rory automatically looked at his father’s plate to see if he’d taken a bite first. Murdoch seemed to be waiting on him to go first.

  “Is this bog witch thing something to worry about?” Cait furrowed her brow.

  Rory knew that look. It instantly made him want to confess everything like a little kid in trouble.

  “Raibeart was telling the truth this time, wasn’t he?” Cait crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I don’t know what it is,” Rory said. “And her name is Jennifer, not Bog Witch.”

  “Jennifer what?” Cait asked.

  “I don’t know. Just Jennifer,” he answered.

  “Ya mean there really was danger?” Margareta leaned closer to Cait to add her motherly stare to the equation as both women tried to force a confession out of him.

  Rory picked up a fork and cut into the cake. He lifted a bite and mumbled, “I’m not sure,” before placing it in his mouth. Salt exploded over his taste buds, and he fought to keep from spitting it out. He put his fork on the table.

  “Well?” his ma asked.

  “Mm.” He tried to nod.

  “Let me try—” Murdoch began, reaching for a fork.

  Rory put his hand on his da’s to stop him. He couldn’t swallow. Standing, he grabbed a napkin from a stack that had been set out and spat his bite into is as artfully as he could.

  Cait frowned.

  “Ma did ya happen to mix up salt and sugar again?” he asked, wishing a drink was nearby.

  Murdoch dropped his fork.

  “No, did I?” Cait picked up the slice and brought a tiny bit to her lips. She made a face and shook her head. “Oh, that’s not good at all.” She grabbed the cake to carry it back to the kitchen with a dejected look on her face. They could hear her throwing it in the trash.

  “Owe ya one, son,” his da whispered.

  Rory kept the napkin to his lips and tried to spit more of the salty taste out of his mouth.

  “I give up.” Cait walked back in empty-handed. She wiggled her fingers. Sparkles of magick rained over the table, and a new cake appeared where the old one had been. This one was decorated to magazine-cover perfection and was about three times as big as the first. “I don’t get it. I can boil a potion with my eyes closed, but this…” She waved her hand in frustration.

  “My love, ya have so many skills, leave human cooking to the mortals,” Murdoch told his wife. “Let them have this one thing.”

  “Rory don’t think ya are getting out of answering,” Margareta said. “What happened?”

  He made a move to stand from the table. His ma held up her hand. Yellow light swirled around her fingertips in warning.

  Rory settled back into his chair. “I was taking a shower, and the next thing I know I was tied to a tree with enchanted ropes, and I couldn’t use my magick to escape.”

  “Sounds like your cousins,” Cait said.
r />   “Aye,” Margareta and Murdoch agreed in unison.

  “Uncle Raibeart found me on one of his midnight runs, and I convinced him to free me.” Rory tried to stand again. Cait lifted a finger and pointed that he should remain seated.

  “Continue,” Cait said. “Where did the knife come from?”

  “Jennifer was there chasing a lost puppy,” Rory said. “I thought she’d found it, but instead, she discovered the cursed knife. Until that moment, she couldn’t see me or the enchanted rope. Raibeart stopped her from coming after me, but he stunned her pretty good with an energy ball. We had to take her to the motel to sleep it off.”

  “I have to ask, son,” Murdoch said. “Did ya drink anything with Raibeart before all this happened? Because it seems a little…”

  “Strange,” Cait finished.

  “Aye,” Aunt Margareta agreed.

  “Are ya seeing little fairies dancing around your head?” his da continued.

  “It happened,” Rory assured them. “I need to go check on Jennifer and make sure everything is all right with her. She didn’t remember any of it, but since this was a supernatural event and she’s human, we owe it to her to make sure she’s unharmed.”

  “So you’re sure she’s not a bog witch?” Cait asked.

  “She’s not a bog anything. She’s just a pretty girl who was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Rory said, instantly regretting his words.

  “Pretty?” Cait perked up a little.

  “I mean, yeah, for a human.” Rory tried to downplay the comment.

  “Do ya think…?” Cait looked at Margareta.

  “I don’t see why not,” Margareta answered.

  “Before ya start planning my wedding, maybe ya could see to it that the cursed knife is put away somewhere safe?” Rory stood and pointed toward the ceiling.

  The blade was gone with only a hole to show for it.

  “Raibeart,” Margareta muttered, leaving to confront the man.

  “I think he kept the enchanted rope, too,” Rory called after her as she stormed from the room to collect the scian. “Might want to get that from him.”

  “Ya are unharmed?” His ma leaned forward to grab his hands, now that he was alone in the dining room with his parents.

  “I’m fine, Ma, I promise,” Rory said.

  “And the puppy?” his da asked. “Did ya find the puppy?”

  Rory smiled and nodded. All of the MacGregors were animal lovers. “Aye. The puppy is safe. The motel staff is spoiling him. I was actually thinking of keeping him. He’s a cute little guy. Traitor could use a playmate, I think. They say it keeps the older dogs young to have a puppy around.”

  Traitor was his uncle Fergus’s English bulldog.

  “I’m sure Fergus will help ya with the enchantments when it comes time,” Murdoch said. That was one benefit of being a warlock. Pets lived much longer than their expected lifespans. Fergus swore by enchantments and potions, but Rory always thought it had to do with the animals absorbing magick left over from their owners. The constant stream of it helped keep them young and healthy.

  “So, pretty Jennifer?” his ma prompted as if being alone with his parents would make him more willing to talk about his love life.

  “Ma, I don’t know. I gave her a ride home, and she didn’t seem interested in dating me. I’m more concerned with the cursed object that’s trying to kill me.” Rory patted her hand before standing from the table.

  “I can tell ya like her,” Cait said. “I know my son.”

  “Ya have to woo the ones who are worth it,” Murdoch advised.

  “Ya mean take a potion to turn myself into a bird and serenade her from outside her window as ya did in the olden days?” Rory teased. “She might think I’m Iain, and that would cause all kinds of problems between him and Jane.”

  “I hear they hold up boom boxes now for that,” Cait offered.

  “Who’s been holding up your boom boxes?” Murdoch pretended to be upset. Cait came around the table to kiss her husband.

  “I’m out of here. This is about to get weird.” Rory headed toward the door.

  “Check in,” Cait ordered. “Let us know you’re all right, or we’ll come looking for ya.”

  “She works at Crimson Tavern. I’ll be there. Don’t show up at her work. Ya might scare her off.” Rory quickened his steps as he went toward the stairs.

  “No magick is strong enough to hold Raibeart the Great!” Raibeart ran from the back rooms. Cloth fairy wings flapped with each step. Jewel’s laughter followed him, as did Margareta’s scolding.

  “Raibeart!” Margareta yelled.

  Rory took the steps two at a time and hurried to his bedroom. He shut the door on the chaos erupting behind him.

  Chapter Eight

  Rory felt the breath rush out of him as his bedroom door shut behind him. He blinked—only to open his eyes to darkness. The door had not led to his bedroom. He tried to move but found his body wedged between a concrete wall and wooden planks. The room carried with it a musty odor, like stale air and bags of flour. A protrusion dug into his back.

  “Not again,” he whispered, trying to wriggle free. His magick refused to rise when he called it forth. He slammed his shoulder forward, trying to dislodge himself. The more he fought, the tighter the wood seemed to press him into place until each breath became painful.

  This time it was impossible to dismiss what was happening as a prank.

  “Hello?” his breath came out on a pant, and the sound was barely loud enough for him to hear, let alone anyone else.

  Seconds ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity as he waited. And all he could do was wait—wait for the light, wait for someone to come, wait for the pressure on his chest to ease, or for it to press in so hard he died from asphyxiation.

  Rory felt himself starting to panic. His hand began to tingle where the blood didn’t flow.

  A door pushed open, and light flooded the space before him. He eagerly looked to see where he was being held. The wooden planks were the ends of restaurant pantry shelves pressing him into a brick wall. Large cans of ketchup came into focus. He tilted his head to see past them.

  “Straws, ranch dressing, coffee.” Jennifer came through the door mumbling to herself.

  Rory felt the panic leave. Seeing her calmed him, which he knew was ridiculous because she’d been enchanted to kill him the last time they were in a similar position.

  Jennifer wore her work uniform. What looked to be a twist tie from a bread bag held her hair back from her face. He wondered at the odd choice in accessory. She reached for a light switch. “Straws, ranch dressing, cof—”

  “Jennifer,” Rory interrupted, the sound of her voice propelling him to force the words out. “I’m so glad to see ya. I—”

  “I need straws, ranch dressing, coffee.” Jennifer looked over the shelves, not hearing or seeing him. She lifted up on her toes to look at the top shelf. “Straws, ranch dressing, coffee.”

  “Jennifer,” Rory repeated, grunting the word.

  “Ah, straws. There you are.” She reached her hand to the high shelf, feeling around where she couldn’t see. He heard her fingers tapping on the wood. “Come…here…you…”

  The sound of metal slid against the shelf. She dropped back on her heels and turned toward him. The cursed scian was back in her hand. Why wasn’t it locked away in the vault?

  Her eyes met his.

  “There you are,” she said.

  “Jenn, wait.” He leaned into the shelf, trying desperately to dislodge himself.

  “There you are,” she repeated, lifting the blade over her shoulder as she prepared to strike.

  “Yo, hurry up. I need coffee like yesterday!” The door burst open, and another waitress entered the storage area.

  Jennifer blinked in confusion and lowered her arm. Rory managed to push the shelf a couple of inches and slipped out from where it had him pinned. He snatched the blade from her hand.

  “Whoa, hey,” the waitress said wi
th a teasing laugh. “I thought we agreed, no turning tricks in the back room.”

  “Kay?” Jennifer glanced between Kay and Rory. “What?”

  “I should be the one asking you what,” Kay quipped. “You do know it’s rush hour, don’t you?”

  “My fault,” Rory said. “I was trying to convince Jennifer to go out with me tonight after her shift.”

  Jennifer turned to him and whispered, “You were?”

  Seeing her beautifully confused expression, he found he very much wanted a real date with her. There was something about her eyes that haunted him and made him want to lean closer.

  “I must not have been doing a good job of it if ya don’t remember.” He forced a smile even though his chest still ached.

  “She says yes,” Kay answered for her as she went to grab coffee grounds from the shelf. “Girl, it’s about time you when out. And if it’s a rich, sexy MacGregor in a kilt, more power to you. Also, your table three needs soda refills. I don’t have time to do everything.”

  Kay left the storage room.

  “I…” Jennifer looked after Kay and then back at him. “What’s going on? How did you get in here?”

  “That question requires a long answer,” he said. “I think it should wait until after your shift. When do ya get off?”

  “Uh…” She glanced around, but there wasn’t a clock. “Like three hours?”

  Three hours? He remembered she was working a double shift, so that meant it was late in the day. Like the last occasion he’d woke up trapped, time had slipped past him faster than he’d realized. He was missing part of a day. At least, he hoped it was only one day.

  “Perfect, I’ll wait for ya,” Rory said.

  “Is that a knife?” She eyed his hand and backed away from him.

  “Yes. I’ll explain it later,” he said. There was no way he was putting the blade down. How it ended up back in her possession was beyond him, but clearly, his elders didn’t do a very good job of securing the cursed object.

  “I don’t think you should have weapons in here,” she said.

  When she turned to glance at the door, Rory waved his hand and whispered an enchantment spell to force her to ignore the concern. He hated using magick on her but thought it for the best considering the circumstances.