Magick and Mischief (Warlocks MacGregor Book 7)

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Kenneth didn’t want to be the one to tell Andrea if it wasn’t an unpacking bag, it would be something else. Once Jewel’s magick made up its mind, it was difficult to stop. Even if Raibeart kept Jewel in the binding bracelets, the enchantment on Andrea’s backpack was already set.

  Seeing a mason jar rolling toward his foot, he picked it up. Andrea’s eyes widened as he held it and she stared up at him.

  Kenneth shook the red dust, feeling the power trapped inside.

  “Tea,” Andrea lied, lifting her hand. “It relaxes me and helps me sleep.”

  Kenneth suppressed his bemusement. “How about I make ya a cup now?”

  “Oh, no,” she shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. I need to get on the road. I…”

  “Don’t want to drink brick dust to prove you’re not lying?” he finished when her words trailed off.

  “You know what it is?” Andrea stood, keeping her hand extended. He nodded. “Do you know what it’s for?”

  Kenneth glanced at the floor, seeing a packet of rusted nails, a few vials, a box of dark hair color, and charms. He handed her the jar. “Folk magick.”

  Andrea shoved the jar into her bag along with the other contents and closed it. She made a fist around the zipper, holding tight, before lifting it from the floor. The second she took a step for the office door, the bottom of the bag busted, dropping all of the contents at her feet.

  Kenneth flinched.

  Andrea stared at the floor for a long time—so long in fact that he almost asked her if she was all right.

  “I guess I’m staying.” The flatness of her tone sounded resigned to the inevitable. “But I want double what your mother promised.”

  “Done,” he answered without hesitation. His family could well afford to pay her a hundred times that.

  “And I want you to tell me what’s wrong with your daughter. I can’t help if I don’t know what we’re up against.”

  Kenneth stiffened. There was nothing wrong with his daughter. “How much do ya know about magick?”

  “More than I want,” Andrea answered.

  “How deep does your folk magick go?” He felt like they both had secrets they were unwilling to share. His family had stringent rules when it came to talking about magick to humans. Well, in reality, there was only one rule pertaining to humans: Don’t let them find out.

  “Generations.”

  Her answer revealed very little.

  The MacGregors’ survival depended on secrecy, but it wasn’t just about the warlocks. It was about all supernatural creatures. History had portrayed everyone who wasn’t pure human as evil monsters. Humans feared supernaturals and saw them as a threat. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened next. Shifters had been hunted to near extinction. Witches and warlocks had been burned at the stake, along with some unlucky non-magicks caught up in the sweeps. Vampires were staked in their sleep. Fairy rings were destroyed. Nymph playgrounds were burned to the ground.

  The horrors had seemed endless.

  Not to say that all supernatural creatures were innocent. Some deserved their fates. Darkness roamed the world, looking for ways to spread it’s evil, sometimes it was human, and sometimes it was supernatural. That darkness wanted to exploit his daughter’s powers.

  The lure to use unharnessed magick was tempting, like a drug, but everything came with a cost. Even the MacGregors struggled with it. In order to fuel his powers, he had to take from something else. He could kill acres of forest in one evening if he wanted to, stealing life from nature and turning it to magick. It would feel amazing and be terribly wrong.

  So which was Andrea? He wanted to believe she was good, but just because he wanted something didn’t make it real.

  When he merely studied her, trying to decide how much to tell her, she finally said. “I know enough about magick to know the items in my,” she glanced to the mess on the floor and amended, “the items at my feet are not merely cute superstitions. Whatever thrall this family is under, I can try to help, but I’m not making any promises.”

  If she stayed willingly that was better than by force. It’s not like he could kick her out if he wanted to. Jewel would keep bringing her back. At least this way he could keep an eye on her as he figured out her intentions.

  “Coming through!” Raibeart yelled as he ran past in a green leotard and yellow tutu. “That girl of yours is a playful thing, but she’s too young to put the hot stuff in my tea party juice.”

  Kenneth leaned out of the way as his uncle went to the liquor cabinet. Andrea’s eyes widened as she stared at the man in the ridiculous outfit.

  “Thank ya for not making my two-year-old daughter serve ya whiskey,” Kenneth said.

  “Your aunt Cait threatened me,” Raibeart answered, grabbing a bottle and grinning as he looked at it in appreciation.

  “Is Cait your wife?” Andrea asked.

  “I don’t think I’m married.” Raibeart appeared confused by the question.

  “Aunt Cait is married to Murdoch,” Kenneth answered for his uncle as Raibeart did a little pirouette with the bottle.

  “That’s right. Angus said as much.” Andrea nodded.

  Raibeart danced his way from the office. Though athletic, it was evident he didn’t have ballet training.

  “So…” Andrea pointed after the man. “Is he…?”

  “No. Believe it or not, he’s not under any spell.” Kenneth gave a wry laugh.

  “Should we be worried?” Andrea slowly moved to look out the door after Raibeart. In doing so, she came closer to Kenneth’s chest. The scent of her light perfume hit him like a fireball to the gut. His magick automatically tried to draw energy from her.

  For a warlock, two things could fuel their magick—nature and sex. It’s why they lived by so many acres. They could take a little from each tree without killing any one plant. Sex was more like an explosion of energy created from the friction of two joining bodies.

  He really, really wanted that explosion right now.

  He looked at her ass, unable to stop himself.

  Her weight shifted and his eyes darted back up. She furrowed a brow, having caught him.

  “Raibeart won’t hurt Jewel,” Kenneth said, not giving her time to comment on his inappropriate behavior. Dragging her off to his bedroom probably wasn’t the best way to calm her fears about being trapped in the mansion.

  At least, not yet.

  Maybe…

  No. He needed to stop thinking about those things. There was no room in his life for such complications. The only reason he was feeling this way had to be because he was confined to the mansion. It’s not like he had much contact with single women while housebound.

  “Is everything all right?” Andrea slowly backed away from him. She stared at his face.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “You’re mumbling and making faces,” Andrea said. “Would you like me to make you a cup of tea? Or should I get someone?”

  “I don’t drink brick dust.” He was trying to make a joke, but it was lost on her.

  “Maybe you could tell me where I’ll be staying.” Andrea leaned over to gather several of the spilled items off the floor—the ones used for protection and the hair color. He looked closer at her hair detecting a hint of white new growth behind her ear. “Kenneth?”

  “Oh, um,” he glanced down to where most of the elders slept in a wing beyond the dining room and library, before gesturing toward the front hall, “you’ll have a room and private bathroom upstairs.”

  She motioned that he should lead the way. Kenneth gathered the rest of her belonging on top of the bag and cradled them against his chest to carry them.

  “Hello? Is anyone here?” Rory, his cousin, called from the front hall.

  “What is this place?” Andrea whispered to herself. “Grand Central Station?”

  “My cousin Rory,” Kenneth answered. “He lives here, too.”

  “Of course he does,” she said under her breath.

 
“I have car keys. At least, I hope it’s the right car.” Rory stood in the front hall jingling a set of keys. He dropped his hand when he saw Kenneth. Then, as his eyes went to Andrea, he grinned. “Well, hello, beautiful.”

  Andrea smiled at the man.

  “Don’t,” Kenneth warned, not liking the idea of his cousin flirting with Andrea. His body was still tight with need and the sudden surge of jealousy that filled him was unexpected.

  The family resemblance ran strong in the MacGregor family. Rory had been blessed with the MacGregor green eyes. The color was prevalent in the family, though a few of Kenneth’s siblings had brown. The man’s brown hair had been tipped artificially with blond. His dandy of a cousin spent a little too much time at the salon.

  “Ya were empty. I filled your gas tank,” Rory said, somehow managing to make the words sound dirty.

  “Thank you.” Andrea reached to take the keys. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I get—”

  “Pay me back?” Rory laughed. “Don’t worry about it, love. How about ya come to dinner with me tonight instead?”

  “Oh, I—”

  “She’s working tonight,” Kenneth interrupted. “I need her help with Jewel.”

  “Can’t ya do it? It’s not like you’re going anywhere,” Rory dismissed.

  “He’s right. I don’t want to start a new job by asking for day one off,” Andrea said.

  “Perhaps a rain check, then.” Rory finally dropped the keys in her hand. “The nachos at the Crimson Tavern are life changing.” Then, turning to Kenneth, he added, “Not that ya would know anything about that, being as you’re on house arrest. Isn’t that right, Ken? Ya been a naughty boy, haven’t ya?”

  Rory slapped Kenneth on the arm hard before strolling toward the dining room.

  “Oh, donuts. Nice,” Rory said to no one in particular. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Kenneth motioned for Andrea to go upstairs but she wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes were trained on the dining room door.

  “He was joking. I’m not under arrest,” Kenneth said, thinking the comment had to have worried her. “I don’t want ya to be frightened by me. I’m not a criminal.”

  “What? Oh, no, I was just thinking…” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Donuts. It’s nothing.”

  It was a weak coverup. Who worried about donuts? Kenneth decided to let the matter drop though he might have a few words with his dumbass cousin later.

  “Ma said ya could take Malina’s room. It’s stocked for a woman and my sister won’t be back anytime soon. She lives in Vegas with her husband,” Kenneth said. His sister was married to a luck demon, and for Dar there was no better place than Las Vegas to feed on good and bad fortunes.

  “If you’re sure she won’t mind,” Andrea said.

  “Not at all. Help yourself to whatever ya find. My brother Erik’s wife owns Love Potions here in town,” he said. “Malina’s room is stocked with the stuff.”

  “I don’t mess with potions.” Andrea stopped on her way up the stairs. “I’m telling you now that I don’t approve of taking a person’s will away from them.”

  “Love Potions is the name of her bath and body shop,” Kenneth explained. “Lydia makes shampoos and other girly stuff. Apparently, it’s very popular on the internet.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I don’t shop online,” Andrea answered. “But I think I saw a brochure for it at the hotel last night.”

  “If ya don’t like what’s in there, we can always order something else,” he said.

  “I’m sure it will be fine. I’m not picky.” Andrea gripped the railing, pulling as if she needed to force herself to take each step. She cradled the mason jar, charms, and hair color against her chest. “Do I have time to shower, or do you need me to get started right away?”

  “Please, settle in,” he said. “No need to rush. Raibeart will keep Jewel entertained for hours if we let him.”

  Chapter Six

  Andrea sat in the middle of the large bed, her legs crossed, as she rubbed her temples. Her hair was damp from the shower. The smell of rosemary lingered in her hair and on her skin. Kenneth had undersold the number of product options in his sister’s bathroom. The woman had a floor-to-ceiling shelf lined with bottles. She also had a closet full of designer clothes. Andrea found a clean t-shirt and pair of sweatpants, choosing not to play dress-up in the more expensive choices.

  Since a pinch of brick dust hadn’t been enough to protect her in the motel room, she’d poured a line in front of the bedroom door and along the windows. She’d tried to conserve it, but there wasn’t much left now. It looked as if her next stop would have to be Louisiana to restock. The idea of going back left her shaking.

  Had this been three years ago, she would have been excited to stay in such a beautiful mansion bedroom. It was the kind of luxury only seen in movies. Dark wood accented the lighter walls. Nothing looked cheap or fake. A painting hung over a fireplace, the Impressionist landscape nothing but splotches of color creating what appeared to be a castle on a hillside.

  She’d sprinkled brick dust in front of the fireplace as well. It was barren, but she didn’t want to risk anything slipping in from outside. She’d hung coin-size charms in the windows and another from the fireplace mantel. Her grandmother would have said it was overkill. Her grandmother’s cousin would have said it wasn’t enough.

  It didn’t feel like enough to Andrea.

  Andrea began to rock on the bed. Was this the start of the vision from Mama Cecile that she’d been running from? Jewel had the same fire in her eyes. Is this how the world ended? At the hands of a playful toddler?

  Andrea didn’t want to be here.

  She couldn’t leave.

  Something deep inside told her she was where she needed to be. That didn’t change the fact she wanted to run. If she stayed in one place for too long the spirit chasing her always returned to send her packing. Moving from place to place was the only way to stay safe.

  Andrea stood from the bed and crossed the floor barefoot. From the window, she saw the gentle slope of the hill leading to town. A giant oak tree stood proud in the expansive lawn, apart from the smaller trees lining the cobblestone driveway. Several cars had been parked along the edge. They had not been there earlier, each of them fancy compared to her weather-beaten sedan.

  The sound of 1920s jazz music came from within the home, the rhythm muffled by the closed door. It reminded her of her grandmother’s house when she was little. The music drew her toward the bedroom door, filling her with the memory of being small. The children were often sent to bed before the adults’ party started but she could always hear the shouts of laughter rising above the songs. There was comfort in the sound.

  She pushed the door open. The music became louder. Andrea closed her eyes, listening for the laughter.

  “We can’t wait and see,” a memory whispered. “We have to do it now. The signs have never been so clear. It’s tonight.”

  Andrea didn’t recognize the voice but her imagination was convinced the words had been said.

  When she opened her eyes, the dimly lit hall leading to her grandmother’s living room and kitchen stretched beyond the MacGregor doorframe. A light came from where the kitchen would be, spilling over into the hall at a sharp angle.

  Another portal? To the past?

  Andrea was tempted to jump the barrier into her childhood where it had been safe.

  “She needs our help.” The voice was clearer than her memory had been, coming from beyond the door.

  “Grandmama Ruth?” Andrea whispered.

  “You heard what the spirits said.” Aunt Florence wasn’t technically Andrea’s aunt but she was her grandmother’s cousin, and that’s what all of the kids called her. In her grandparents’ generation, living in the Deep South, people had questioned why a black woman and a white woman would so openly acknowledge being first cousins, as if that family secret was something they should have denied. At least, that’s the undertone Andrea always heard in the stor
ies. To their credit, they never acted ashamed of their connection.

  Andrea was raised believing in the bonds of family. And there were times she could have easily lied about who they were. Telling people you believed in folk magick wasn’t exactly an easy way to grow up.

  “She’s just a child,” Ruth argued. “There is still time.”

  “It won’t be pleasant, but life rarely is,” Florence said. “Either you do it or I will.”

  The sounds became hushed whispers, as if the two women walked farther away to argue beneath the peppier music.

  A shadow moved past the kitchen doorway moments before her grandmother appeared in the hall. Her naturally graying hair was colored a stark black. Florence used to tease Ruth about trying too hard to resist nature.

  “Time marches across us all, cher. Eventually, it’s gonna leave tracks,” Florence had said more times than Andrea could count.

  Ruth wore a simple dress and carried a champagne glass between two fingers. The low, fat heel of her shoes made a familiar thump sound when she walked. She started down the hall toward Andrea, her eyes slowly lifting from the floor to the doorway.

  Ruth stopped in surprise, and it was as if she could see Andrea through the portal. “What are you doing in my house?”

  “I—” Andrea tried to answer.

  “Go on, get!” Ruth charged at her, fearless. She lifted her champagne hand as if she’d crash the delicate glass into the intruder’s head.

  “Grandmama, wait.” Andrea held up her hands. “It’s me.”

  Ruth stopped at the doorway, eyeing the barrier. The music continued to play. She stared at Andrea’s face. “Andrea?”

  Andrea started to reach across the threshold, her hand trembling.

  “Ruth, what is it?” Florence appeared from the kitchen.

  Ruth glanced back, and the image instantly went away. The music stopped. Her grandmother was gone.

  Andrea stared at the mansion’s hallway. Ruth had seen her. She had looked directly at her and recognized her. What did that mean? Why would she be given a chance to step back into time? Should she have gone?