Defensive Magic: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 3) (30 page)

That quieted the group for the remainder of the ride to the coffee shop.

When they arrived at Margot’s coffee shop, Lizzie was surprised that it was open. But less so when she found no wards. “She’s not here. No wards.”

“If you’ll wait in the truck, Gwen, I’ll bring you something back. Any particular request?” John asked.

“No, just plenty of it.” She gave him a warm smile.

“Everyone else stays,” John added, as Max and Logan both started to open their doors.

“Just don’t forget the food,” Logan grumped.

Max and Ben both nodded, but neither looked pleased.

John walked in first this time, Lizzie close on his heels.

Quietly, Lizzie relayed, “No wards inside. No witch or spell caster, either.”

“I assumed as much.”

Walking to the counter, Lizzie kept an eye out, but nothing looked out of place.

She ordered for both of them. “One black coffee and a hot tea, both smalls. And, um, however many sandwiches you have.”

Lizzie’s request got a questioning look from the barista—the same one as the day before—but she seemed happy enough to gather them up from the refrigerated shelf.

John put his hand on Lizzie’s back, and then he casually asked the barista, “Do you know if the owner is in today?”

The barista smiled brilliantly. “She is, and I am she.”

“Ah. I thought Margot owned the shop,” he said as he placed a few bills on the counter.

“She did—but she sold it to me. We just signed the paperwork a little while ago.”

Lizzie congratulated her.

“Thanks,” she chirped. “I’m incredibly excited. We’d talked about it, but to have it all come together so fast—I couldn’t be more thrilled.”

As John picked up both of their drinks, the barista said. “Wait. Are you John Braxton?”

He raised his eyebrows and gave her a politely inquisitive look. “Yes.”

“I have a note for you.” She reached under the counter and handed it to him.

Lizzie stopped him and took the note instead. She grabbed the bag of sandwiches and said, “Thanks.”

When they got back in the SUV, everyone ate but Lizzie and John. She checked the paper for any emotion or impression but couldn’t find anything. Reluctantly, she handed him the envelope.

He opened it up and took out a greeting card. The front was plain white with a silver font “Thank You” stamped on it. The inside was blank, but a small card fell out when he opened it.

“Get out of jail free,” Lizzie read. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I believe it means Margot has not retired, and at least for now we’re not on her radar.”

Lizzie felt used. Hell, she’d been used—she and John both. Margot had played them. But she also thought something else was at play. “Setting up her father to die when they supposedly work together—that’s sick.”

“I’m not sure in Worth’s case I’d make a fuss about it,” John said. “And we knew she was a heartless bitch as soon as she proposed setting up her own dad.”

“No, I’m not saying how upsetting that is and how wrong—I’m saying maybe she’s actually sick,” she explained.

“How do you mean?”

She looked around the truck. “Sick—as in mentally ill. Maybe Margot is a, you know, a psychopath. Or maybe I’m thinking of a sociopath.” She was rambling. She was always more scattered after she’d experienced the adrenaline rush, the fear of fighting. And, if she was honest, the euphoria of winning.

“Where is this coming from?” John asked Lizzie.

“You remember Tom said that most magic-users couldn’t stand to live inside the city? She lived there, worked there. Whatever it is that’s broken in Vegas, she didn’t feel it. Or she didn’t care. I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve been on edge most of the time I’ve been here.” Lizzie felt a shiver run up her spine. “And we know she lied to us, but you didn’t smell a lie.”

Max sat up straighter. “Holy shit. You’re thinking of a psychopath—as in someone who feels no empathy. That might explain her ability to lie so convincingly. She wouldn’t have the same physical changes that a person with a conscience—someone worried about the outcome—would have. I bet you’re right, Lizzie. She’s a psychopath.”

“So?” Logan said. “If she doesn’t interfere with the Texas Pack, if she stays busy fighting her way through Worth’s remaining lieutenants, if she just goes away—do we care?”

Ben added quietly, “They say some of the most successful CEOs share personality characteristics with psychopaths.”

They all digested the idea for several minutes.

Fingering the small, get-out-of-jail card, John said, “Yeah, we care.”

“But she doesn’t have to be our problem right now,” Lizzie concluded. “We have other concerns that need to take priority.”

“The Pack needs time to heal,” John said. “And, dammit, I want a freaking honeymoon.”

Lizzie laughed. “Is that a thing with newly mated couples?”

Max said lightly, “If John says it is, then it is.”

And through the whole conversation, Gwen sat quietly munching on her sandwich, and then a second one. She finally spoke up and asked, “So we’re headed home now, I hope?”

Max had managed a flight for all of them on the plane that had brought Ben, Logan, and Gwen to Vegas. So Lizzie just had to get through the ride to the airport, the flight home, and then she and John might—just maybe—get to consider something as simple as a vacation. Or honeymoon. Heck, call it whatever, as long as they had some time together uninterrupted by a Pack emergency, an IPPC crisis, or some other life-threatening, action-packed, terrifying event.

Epilogue

“T
he flight wasn’t
so
bad,” Lizzie said weakly. Hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, she glanced to the passenger seat to see how John was doing.

He leaned his head against the passenger side window. Cracking an eye open, he gave her a mildly disapproving look. “The only thing good about that flight was that we arrived alive.” He gave her a hard, squinty look. “Barely.”

She winced, more at the idiot behind her with his bright lights on than at John’s tone. “Well, it wasn’t my fault.”

He sighed. “No. I’m sorry. I’ve just never been so airsick for so long. I’m feeling better.” He sat up straighter and after a cautious stretch, ventured, “I am actually feeling better. Thanks for driving.”

“No problem. You know—I’ve been thinking about Clara.”

“Huh?” John had been rolling the kinks out of his neck, but he stopped abruptly. “Clara? Where did that come from? And didn’t you win that bet?”

“Pretty much, but you know I always planned to figure out the Clara story. I mean, a mysterious woman who’s a part of Logan’s past? Too interesting to pass up.” She chewed on her lip. “But I think I might leave it for now.”

When John didn’t respond, she glanced in his direction. He was staring at her like she might be a pod person.

“Really? You think I have no common sense? Or discretion?”

John held up both hands defensively. “I didn’t say that.”

“It’s just…I think I need some advice. I was thinking that the next time I’m in Prague, I could get some help.”

She peeked at John out of the corner of her eye. He was trying to hide a broad smile and failing miserably.

He said, “I think that’s an excellent decision.” And being the wise man that he was, John didn’t say another word.

After a few minutes of silence, she asked, “You still want to head to my house?”

“Might as well. We still need to pick up the dogs from Kenna, and we’re closer at your house.” He patted his pockets.

“Lose your phone?” Lizzie asked. Mostly to divert herself from thinking about the Kenna dilemma. She’d have to see her in person tomorrow when she picked up the dogs.
Damn.
If she could just make it through that first face-to-face meeting…

John frowned. “Huh? Oh—no. No, here it is.” He pulled his phone out of a pocket.

Lizzie cast a quick glance towards him. He was acting weird. Before she could ask what was up, her phone rang. John checked the caller ID for her.

“It’s Harrington. I can answer through the truck’s Bluetooth, if you want.”

Lizzie nodded.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Lizzie. Do you have a second? I have a proposition for you.” Harrington’s crisp tones sounded rushed.

“Um, sure. As long as it doesn’t involve some murderous thug. Go ahead.”

When John choked, she looked at him and shrugged her shoulders. What did he expect? She was tired and a bit punchy.

“No murderous thugs that I know of. I’d like to offer you a consulting job with IPPC. You may know we’re considering opening a branch in the United States. We’re doing some groundwork and investigating to help us determine feasibility, and that’s what you’d be helping us with. It’s a part-time position; most of the work can be done remotely.” Harrington paused, but when Lizzie didn’t immediately respond, he spoke into the silence. “With your new schedule—”

“Sorry—Harrington? This is John. You’re on speaker.”

Lizzie shot John an annoyed look. “What new schedule?”

Her question was greeted with silence.

“Harrington? Are you still there?”

“Apologies—bad connection. If you’re interested, I’ll send over an offer by e-mail,” Harrington said over what sounded like an excellent connection to Lizzie.

“It sounds really interesting. I’m not sure if I’ll have the time, but I’d love to think about it and get back to you.”

“Good. I’ll get you the package. I need a response within the next two weeks.” Harrington’s tone had become clipped and hurried. “We’ll chat soon.” And he ended the call.

Lizzie’s brain was spinning with the possibilities, but her business was already neglected and the Pack needed to be a priority right now. She shook her head. She’d think about all that later—after a good night’s sleep.

“Wait—didn’t you need to talk to him? About the massive ward around Vegas?” Lizzie asked.

“Hmm. We already talked. He’s got someone on the way out to check out the dead zone, as well.”

“All right—what the heck is going on?” Lizzie eyed him suspiciously. “You’re acting weird. And when did you get a chance to talk to Harrington?”

“He called when you were in the restroom at the airport in Vegas. It was maybe a three-minute phone conversation. No big deal. I also talked to Clark. David should be heading our way in the next month or two.”

“That’s good news, right?” When John nodded his agreement, she added, “David was growing on me. A little. You’re sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Sure.” He grinned. “For every minute I’m on solid ground, I’m feeling exponentially better. Speaking of weird—do you know what time it is in London? It has to be the middle of the night. Wonder why Harrington felt the need to call you at such an odd time.”

He was totally changing the subject. But what the heck. She went with it. “Yep. But I think he just keeps crazy hours. We need to talk about this consulting thing, but I need to get some sleep before I can even begin to think straight.”

“Good plan. Looks like we’re almost home.”

They traveled the rest of the way in silence, but Lizzie couldn’t get over the feeling that something was off. She was probably just tired. That feeling stuck with her as she parked in front of the house—John’s truck was too big to fit in the small second space in the garage.

Only after she’d walked in her front door did she remember.
Dammit.
She’d forgotten that the
Antiques Road Show
was in Austin this weekend. How could she have forgotten? It would have been nice if she’d remembered
before
her parents surprised the crap out of her in her front hallway.

“Mom. Dad,” Lizzie said in her best I’m-so-glad-to-see-you voice.

God love her antiquing parents. No car in the drive to warn her, no call to tell her they’d be stopping by—because she was supposed to already know. She’d told her parents to stay at her house, since she was supposed to be out of town. She was a complete idiot.

“Hi, darling. How are you?” her mom asked. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“Um, fine—thanks. Just, uh—” Her dad interrupted her with a hug. This was a nightmare. “Um, I wasn’t planning to be home. Which you know, because I told you that. But my plans changed a little. Sorry I didn’t call.” She finished the awkward explanation with a smile.

And where the hell was John? She could have sworn that he was right behind her. He’d been unloading bags—how long did that take? She was being abandoned to her parents, that big chicken. He was leaving her to the wolves. Ugh—bad analogy, but the sentiment was spot on.

She’d apparently been quiet for too long, because her dad spoke up. “Is everything all right, sweetheart? You don’t look quite like yourself.”

“Um-hm. Sure thing, Dad. Um, my boyfriend, I think I mentioned him? John? He’s actually here with me. He must be getting the bags.”

Her mom perked right up. “John’s here? How exciting! We get to meet him. He’ll be staying for a while then?”

Oh, shit. Here it comes.

Lizzie sighed. “Um. Right. I’m actually staying with him. In Smithville, at his house. For a while. I meant to tell you about all that—about us, uh, taking the next step. It’s just—things have been kind of busy. And it was sudden.” Shit, shit, shit. Wrong words.

“About that sweetheart,” her mom began, “we know you’re all grown up now. I mean, I was married and had you by the time I was your age.”

Oh my god—and now that argument. She bit the inside of her lip waiting for the grandkids plea.

“But really, there’s always time to tell your mother when you’ve moved in with a man. Even in this day and age. Isn’t that right, Ronald?” When her dad didn’t immediately say anything, her mom continued. “Because really, honey, it’s just a five-minute phone call.”

Okay, no comment about grandkids, just about living in sin.
Please let this conversation end. Please.
Her eyes narrowed. John was a dead man. Where was he?

“It’s not like you just met this John man, is it?” Her mom fluttered her long lashes at her. Her big eyes, long eyelashes, and high cheekbones created a pretty picture—deceptively so. Her mom was no matronly grandma; she was a barracuda when it came to digging up information she thought was important. “When did you meet him?” she asked with false innocence.