Witch's Diary: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 4) (22 page)

“Or she could have simply been beaten in a fight. It’s a lot more difficult to burn a magical being than you might think.” Walter’s lips quirked downward and his eyes looked sorrowful. “And Gwen would never create a dangerous situation where innocent bystanders could be harmed, or do something that would clearly expose her as a fire witch.”

Kenna hunched her shoulders and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying: Nope, not that difficult to burn a magical being. She seriously doubted her megawatt mom had any problems lighting someone up. “What you’re saying is that even something so simple as approaching her in public would have minimized Mom’s options.”

Walter nodded solemnly. Then he clapped his hands together briskly. “But the how of her abduction isn’t a problem that we need to solve. It’s the how of her rescue we should be focusing on. Any chance your Max is a spell caster?”

Kenna shook her head.

“Let’s give this rope another try.” Turning to Alan and Angela, Walter said, “Maybe if we change how we’re joining our magics together, we’ll get a different result.”

For the next fifteen minutes, Kenna watched as Angela, Alan, and Walter manipulated their magic with more delicacy and finesse than she could ever imagine possessing. But on the upside, at least she could feel their magic. Not only that it was there, but how they stretched and pulled and prodded it. It didn’t take her long to see that each of the three of them interacted with their magic a little differently.

The sudden sound of a knock startled her. She’d been jumpy for days, and she was getting tired of it. But this time she wasn’t the only one. Her group of witches had been so intent on their project that they’d been just as surprised. She blew out a tense breath. “I’m sure that’s Max with lunch.”

Chapter 17

Gwen was about to pull her hair out. She’d spent too much time in this tiny room. She tried so hard to be sensible, but the heavy pall of death magic in the cell was making it difficult. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear the room stank of decay. She blinked at the bright white walls and the colorful quilt on her twin bed. Dress it up, color it in greens, yellows, and blues, but the tainted magic was still there. She washed every day in her tiny shower, scrubbing at her skin. Routine helped maintain her sanity; she knew that. But that wasn’t why she kept rolling out of bed every morning and showering. She did it because she was afraid the imagined stink was seeping into her skin. She rested her forehead against the wall. Indeed, she might be going a little mad.

The tiny slot at the bottom of the one door to the room opened.

“Hello?” Gwen hoped it was Kim delivering her food. She’d managed enough conversation with her twice-daily visitor that she’d learned Kim’s name. And that she was seventeen. Kim reminded Gwen of her seventeen-year-old self. But for an outspoken, opinionated grandmother made even more so by mild senility, Gwen might still be a member of the delusional Coven of Light cult.

Gwen called again as her lunch tray was slipped through the slot. “Hello?” She also allowed a small tendril of magic to creep along the floor, seeping closer to the small slot.

A crisp, mature male voice replied, “Kim will no longer be delivering your meals. Won’t you ask my name?”

Dammit. She pulled her magic back.

“No? Well then, I’ll introduce myself. I’m Raymond, assistant to the coven leader. You should know by now that your little comfortable cell won’t allow your magic to escape its confines.” Raymond paused. “But, conveniently, it does let magic in.”

Gwen’s ears popped. She felt suddenly lightheaded and quickly sat on the bed before her legs fell out from under her. Her vision narrowed, black spots dancing across her eyes. Each breath was increasingly difficult. Dammit. Air witch. Powerful air witch.

“Don’t test the cell, Gwen. You’ll fail. And you might make me angry enough to forget why it’s so important to keep you alive.” Raymond closed the small slot.

A rush of air brushed by Gwen’s cheek, and she could breathe again. She gasped, trying to catch her breath. She’d been about two or three seconds from passing out; she was sure of it. And from there? What was one more death to these people?

“I have more important responsibilities than monitoring your corrupting influence on our staff.” Raymond’s voice was muffled, but Gwen could still hear him. “Don’t speak with the food service staff. Or I’ll come back.”

Shit. Gwen had taken the one opportunity fortune had provided her—Kim. And not only had she been found out, she may have put Kim in danger. Gwen knew she hadn’t had a choice, but her conscience nagged nonetheless.

She filled her lungs several times with deep breaths.

Raymond knocked on the door. “Do you understand me, Gwen?”

“I do.”

Time for Plan B. Now all she had to do was come up with a Plan B.

Chapter 18

Max introduced himself to the group as he handed around sandwiches and chips. And then the group trudged into the kitchen to eat. The mood wasn’t particularly good, even though they’d made progress. But everyone knew how tight the timeline was.

“So how’s your arm doing?” Angela was sitting to the right of Max at the kitchen table, and she looked down at his arm.

Max flexed his hand, rolled his wrist, and made a fist. Nodding, he said, “Good. The healer I saw this morning recommended a few more sessions. But I can hold and fire a gun.”

“You went to the shooting range this morning?” Kenna asked.

He nodded. “In between seeing the healer and our lunch run, there was just enough time to run out to Red’s.”

“That’s great news. Uh, any chance your healer might work for my…” Kenna waved her hand in the general direction of her midsection.

“No.” Firm, decisive, and with no explanation.

Max clearly didn’t think his healer was appropriate for pregnant ladies. Interesting. She’d have to ask how his session went some other time. Another thought occurred to her. Maybe his healer was a little old lady who would be scandalized by a single pregnant woman. Hmm. Doubtful.

She shook her head, thinking of her first OB visit. “I mean, do I look like a crack addict?”

Max choked on a laugh. “For those at the table who are unaware of Kenna’s recent adventures at the doctor’s office, that was a slightly less inappropriate comment than it seems.” He grinned. “Slightly.”

Alan scrutinized her and finally concluded, “No. No, you do not look like a crack addict.”

“Thanks, Alan. That’s very kind of you.” Somewhat mollified, Kenna continued to munch on her sandwich in silence.

After a few minutes of quiet chewing, Walter cleared his throat. “I would very much like to speak with a spell caster. If we don’t have one joining us, could we set up a phone call?”

Huh. Weird that she hadn’t heard from Lizzie yet. Kenna pulled out her phone and typed: Sp. Caster? “I’m not sure why I haven’t heard from my friend before now.”

Before she’d finished her sentence, her phone vibrated. She picked it up. Jack’s bringing you 1. Expect this pm.

Kenna raised her eyebrows. “I guess we’re getting one tonight. She didn’t say who, so it must not be anyone I know.”

Which sucked. Because what were the chances that an uninvolved stranger would commit to going with them? What they were planning was dangerous. Idiotically dangerous. They’d have to pump their volunteer spell caster for everything they could before the rescue mission. And there was always the phone. Kenna could just see it. Hey, Mr. Bad Guy. Could you hang on a sec while I call my consultant?

Ohmygod, she was breaking into a prison. Reality crashed into her with the full force of its nasty, evil, slimy weight. And all that weight landed on her chest and planted itself there.

“Tea, Kenna?” Angela asked with a bright smile.

That woman was psychic. “Yes, please.” Her voice came out a whisper, because she was trying desperately not to look like she was having a panic attack, but she couldn’t quite catch her breath.

Angela reappeared armed with her special tea. Kenna smiled in thanks but skipped speaking. Either she was doing an excellent job of faking how completely fine she was, or—more likely—everyone at the table was way too nice to comment.

Alan made the rounds collecting trash, and when he passed by her, he whispered, “Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth, and try not to think about anything else but breathing.”

Kenna nodded. She was too busy following his instructions and breathing to answer out loud. When she could reasonably take a sip of tea, she took a swig.

There was an awkward silence. Time to acknowledge the obvious. Kenna set her cup down. “I’m fine. Really.”

Walter looked ready to say something, but Angela cut him off. “All right, let’s get back to it.”

“I’m gonna tackle my candle again.” Kenna restrained herself from banging her head against the table. Catching Max’s eye, she said, “I’d give the real witches a hand. What they’re doing is more directly relevant…and maybe more interesting. Maybe. Because I’m gonna stare at that fat bastard candle on the table.”

“Just a little angry at the tiny candle, are we?” Max asked.

Kenna gave him a fake cheery smile and shooed him away.

After he left, she gave the candle a hard look. “No more Zen. You and I were never going to achieve a Zen-like state of being. Let’s move on to what comes more naturally. I tell you what to do, and you do it. I have the opposable thumbs, you bastard, so this is happening.”

Okay. She felt a little crazy. But she meant every word. The gun analogy had worked to start with, so she went back to it. Shoulders relaxed, hands placed on either side of the glass jar, she let the sparkly cloud surprise her. And there it was. She moved her mind away from the cloud. Cool! She caught it in her peripheral vision. Or whatever the magical, mental equivalent of her peripheral vision was.

Now to push. How? Where? As she puzzled it out, her mind kept drifting back to the cloud. But she’d catch herself and direct her attention elsewhere. And maybe that was exactly the push she should be using. Soon she’d shepherded that little cloud round and about in her head. Then she realized she might be able to condense and collapse it if she pushed on all sides simultaneously. The smell of smoke mingled with the pervasive cinnamon odor. Her eyes popped open to see an extinguished candle.

She hadn’t realized her eyes had fallen shut as she’d been working, or that she’d been using her hands as she worked. Both hands were outstretched in front of her. She’d simulated a physical interaction with the abstract cloud of magic. She laughed. She was like a kid learning to read, with lips and mind tied together. Hell, that was great. At least she was making progress.

“That’s right, you fucker.” Kenna slammed her hand on the table. “Eat that, you little red devil.”

“Everything okay in there?” Angela’s voice drifted, disembodied, into the dining area.

“Spiffy. Thanks!” Kenna hollered back. She wanted a few more trials before she claimed the beast was beaten.

After a few more repetitions, she was moderately confident she could repeat the process…in a low-pressure environment. She wasn’t sure about Walter’s confident statement that once achieved, her connection to her magic would be easier to make. He’d made it sound like it would click into place. She wasn’t feeling a click. Improvement, but no click. Again, she reminded herself, still cause for celebration.

She grabbed another mug of tea and headed into the living room.

“What was all that about little red devils?” Max asked her.

She sat down at the other end of the sofa from him. “I have conquered the little red candle devil. For now, anyway.”

“Excellent. What exactly does that mean?” That was Max—happy just because she was.

“I can put out candles I lit. Not sure how the process works on non-magically lit candles. That’s another question. But for now, I’m going with a major win in my column.”

Walter stopped mid-sentence and gave her a thumbs-up.

She giggled. Silly to be so happy about something so small. Her breath hitched slightly when she remembered why learning how to put out a magical fire had been important. The memory of charred flesh burned bright. The stink caught in her throat, as if she was inhaling it here in her mom’s living room. That was enough to put a crimp in any girl’s victory lap.

Kenna cleared her throat, swallowing the foul taste in her mouth. “I can say I’ll never feel the same way about cinnamon again.” Her gaze fell on the open window. “Wow. Where’d the sun go?”

“Evening snuck up on us.” Max had a notepad in his lap that he set aside. “I’ve got a few pizzas coming for dinner. Hope you don’t mind. Low maintenance and fast, and no one here seems to be a fussy eater. Should be here any minute.”

A car door slammed. “I’m sure that’s it.” He got up and reached in his back pocket for his wallet.

The doorbell rang.

“Pizza!” Alan and Angela both hollered. They were overdue a break, if their enthusiasm for the pizza was any clue.

Max opened the door. Kenna stood on her toes and poked her head over his shoulder. “Harry!”

The pizza guy must have run into Jack and Harry as they’d arrived, because Jack stood on her doorstep holding several pizza boxes and Harry was just a step behind.

“Harry—what the hell… Good to see you.” Max reached around Jack to shake Harry’s offered hand, and then he pulled him in for a brief, back-thumping hug.

“You as well,” Harry replied, his British accent more noticeable than usual. “Kenna.” He smiled and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Congratulations.”

“Hey. I’m the guy with the pizzas. Hello to you, too.” Jack deftly dodged the crowd at the door and headed to the kitchen.

Kenna hugged Harry tightly. “Thank you.” Letting go of Harry, she turned her head in the direction of Jack’s departing back. “Great to see you and the pizza, Jack.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know I’m loved.” Jack kept heading to the kitchen.

Stepping back, Kenna said, “I’m thrilled to see you, but I thought they were sending us a spell caster?”

“That’s me. It’s a long, drama-laden story that’s better left in a dark closet. Suffice it to say, I’m a healer and a spell caster. Always have been.” Harry looked uncomfortable with the disclosure. Bizarre. Harry was always so comfortable.