Defensive Magic: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 3) (21 page)

“Sorry, Mrs.—uh, sorry, Gwen. Old habits and all that.”

“That’s all right. Can I talk to John?”

Ohshitohshitohshit. Her worlds were colliding. This was not cool.

Calmly, she said, “No problem, Mrs.—uh, Gwen. Just a second.”

She pressed mute on the phone and screamed, “John!”

Two seconds later, John was in the bedroom. “What’s wrong?” He did a quick evaluation of the room and turned to her again. “What happened?”

“My worlds just collided,” she replied. It was a cryptic comment, but she simply couldn’t manage more.

Shaking his head, John looked at her like she’d just lost her mind.

She had
not
lost her mind. She threw him a look that she hoped said, we’ll chat about this later. “Kenna’s mom wants to talk to the Alpha.” She raised her eyebrows in what she thought was a significant manner, unmuted her phone, and handed it to John.

He cocked his head questioningly but didn’t take the phone.

She pushed the phone at him again with more determination.

“Hello, Mrs. McIntyre.” Pause. “Ah, my apologies—Gwen.” John looked at Lizzie with a small hint of panic in his eyes.

Lizzie had to laugh. Gwen was so sweet and oh so in charge. Lizzie always wondered how Kenna had managed to have so many rough edges given how soft and squishy her mom was.

John quietly shushed Lizzie. “I see. Can I put you on speaker? It’s just Lizzie and me.”

He pushed the speaker button and started for the kitchen, motioning for Lizzie to follow. Once in the kitchen, Lizzie grabbed pen and paper there.

“You wanted to speak with a witch. I’m a witch. How can I help you?” Gwen’s voice betrayed none of the stress or anxiety that Lizzie was experiencing. Kenna’s mom sounded…cheerful.

This was a catastrophe. Several possibilities slammed through Lizzie’s head. Maybe Kenna knew her mom was a witch but was sworn to secrecy? Maybe Kenna was a witch, but she couldn’t tell Lizzie? Maybe Kenna had no idea her mom was a crazy lady who thought she was a witch? Maybe Kenna had no idea her mom was actually a witch?

Lizzie gritted her teeth. Having a meltdown as she watched her worlds intersect was not helping. No more dithering. “Um, does Kenna know that you’re a, you know—”

A rich, full laugh traveled across the phone. “A witch. Is that so very difficult for you to understand, Lizzie? I’d think with your recent experiences, you wouldn’t have any difficulty with the concept of witches.”

“Oh no. It’s not the witch part I’m having a hard time with. It’s
you
as a witch.” Lizzie had bypassed the stutters and was close to getting a handle on the idea. Well, not really, but she was trying. “And you knowing about my recent adventures. Does Kenna know you’re a witch?”

Gwen’s voice took on a more serious tenor. “No. And I have very specific reasons why she does not. If you want help—and what’s best for Kenna—you won’t tell her.”

Lizzie’s mind raced. Could she keep something so huge from her friend?

Before Lizzie could reply, Gwen said, “There is some terrible family history involved. Telling Kenna would mean revealing that history, and there’s simply no need.”

“So Kenna’s not a witch?”

John leaned back in his chair. He was being incredibly patient given the circumstances. She smiled her thanks. He must realize how important it was for her to clarify this. He certainly knew how close she and Kenna were.

Gwen replied, but Lizzie didn’t miss the hesitation before she said, “No.” And her voice wavered slightly, making the response less unequivocal than it seemed.

“Gwen—this is important. You know it is,” Lizzie prodded her.

“Not yet. She’s not a witch yet. But I don’t expect that to change any time soon. Can we leave it at that? If she were in danger of gaining her powers, I would certainly explain everything to her.” Very softly, she added, “Truly, I would, Lizzie.”

John raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Gwen loved her daughter, was an amazing mom, and a wonderful person. These were truths Lizzie accepted, even in the face of the one huge deception Gwen had perpetrated against Kenna. So Lizzie took that final step and agreed to maintain the secret.

“Okay. But if she finds out and doesn’t forgive me—well, I’m not sure what I’ll do. But it won’t be nice.” Lizzie squeezed her eyes tightly shut. This was absolutely going to be a problem. But not today. She opened her eyes.

“What do you need to know?” Gwen asked.

John cleared his throat. “If you can share anything about how witches organize, that would be helpful.”

“Into covens, but what defines a coven is widely variable. Some covens are quite small, with members from a small geographic area. Other small covens are specialized and draw members from a larger area. There is a rather large coven that has membership across the U.S. But the one thing every coven shares is a set of common goals.”

Lizzie remembered the structure described by David as quite intricate. “What’s the name of the large coven?”

With a curious flatness, Gwen replied, “The Coven of Light.”

John frowned. “Are there other well-organized, large covens besides this Coven of Light?”

“It’s the largest. Why?”

Avoiding the question, John asked, “Do you belong to a coven?”

“I do. But I think the question you’d like to ask is which one.” Gwen paused, and then she said, “If you’ve run afoul of a particular group, just ask.”

“Have you heard of the Pacific Northwest Coven?”

“Hmm. Yes, but they’re not a coven. They’re a territory within the Coven of Light. And no, I’m not a member of the Coven of Light. I belong to a much smaller group.”

John appeared to be digesting the unpleasant news. If Lizzie had to guess, John was considering the implications of a large, organized enemy.

After a significant pause, Gwen spoke again. “Are you going to tell me why you have these questions, John? I’ve been more than patient, primarily because of your relationship to Lizzie and her friendship with Kenna. But you owe me an explanation.”

John turned to Lizzie and silently asked her opinion. He wanted to know if they—the Texas Pack, not Lizzie as an individual—could trust Gwen. She’d known this woman for more than twenty years. So, the witch thing was news, but did that change who she was? Lizzie wasn’t entirely certain. Her gut said Gwen was the same woman she’d always been—basically. One thing she knew with absolute certainty: Kenna would never forgive her mother for causing harm to Lizzie or to John. She nodded a firm yes to John’s question.

“We have evidence that an unknown person—not a witch—is paying the Pacific Northwest Territory to coordinate direct and indirect attacks on the Texas Pack.”

“Not shocking. You’re not unknown in the magical community, John. The wolves may keep a low profile, but that doesn’t mean that you’re not news for the rest of us,” Gwen said. “The Coven of Light wouldn’t take a job purely for money. Even if they’re getting paid, they would only pursue an objective that furthers their cause. You, John Braxton, have walked into the crosshairs of an entirely unpleasant organization with all of your modern views.”

“What makes the Coven of Light so bad?” Lizzie asked.

Gwen sighed. “Their complete disregard for non-magical humanity, for one. Just know, for the purposes of this conversation, that they would not look favorably upon the increased power of any particular talent group. And if Texas begins bringing together the Lycan packs, that could pose a true threat to the Light.” Gwen snorted. “Not to mention the opening of an IPPC branch in the U.S. What is Harrington thinking?”

“You know Harrington? What the hell.” Lizzie shared a glance with John. He seemed just as surprised as her.

“The magic-using community is more interconnected than you might imagine. Lycan are particularly…anti-social.” Gwen sighed. “Many witches are removed from the magic-using community, as well, but without isolating themselves entirely. But to answer your question, no, I don’t know Harrington personally. But he’s the unofficial leader of a massive policing organization—of course, I know who he is. I doubt he knows anything of me. Witches are an extremely small, odd little group in Europe. They virtually faded from existence several hundred years ago. So I doubt witches even register on the IPPC radar.”

Huh. But they’re flourishing here, it seemed.

“Is it rude, I mean, can I ask, what
kind
of witch you are?” Lizzie’s cheeks felt warm, and she was very glad this conversation was happening by phone.

“It’s no more rude than asking what type of magic-user a person is.”

“Ah—sorry.” Lizzie had learned some time ago that to ask that question was considered a faux pas.

“That’s quite all right. It’s that kind of conversation, isn’t it? But if you ask what kind of witch I am—I’m a more than proficient witch.” Lizzie could hear the teasing lilt in Gwen’s voice. “However, what element am I? I’m a fire witch.”

“Oh.” The surprised response burbled out before she could stop it. “Uh, fire, huh?”

“You thought it would be earth, didn’t you?” And there was that teasing note again. “Beware any preconceptions you might have about the elements. Each element can be dangerous, each can be destructive. And conversely, each can build, renew, and heal. Witches, like any magic-user, vary in their strength—but you can’t tell how powerful a witch is by the element.”

“Got it.” Lizzie swallowed. “But fire is still kinda scary.”

Gwen laughed. “You’re not the only one to think so. If you don’t have any more questions for me?”

John spoke quickly. “Yes—any thoughts on who might have hired the Pacific Northwest witches?”

“Worth, perhaps?”

Damn. Even Gwen knew about Worth.

“No.” John looked thoughtful. “Our evidence says a woman.”

“So perhaps an employee? I’ve heard that he doesn’t work directly in the U.S. any longer.” Lizzie could tell Gwen was getting a little impatient. “The information I have about events outside of witching circles is less accurate. I don’t know the answer to your question, John Braxton. That you’ll have to find for yourself.”

“Thank you for the information, Gwen.” John must have picked up on her impatience, as well.

“Lizzie?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Keep my daughter away from Worth.” There was a steel in Gwen’s voice that Lizzie had never heard before.

She hung up before Lizzie could respond.

Chapter 27

W
hile John and Lizzie had received an education on all things witchy, Scott and Ben had split up the list of overnight options within a thirty-mile radius. While this included Bastrop, it omitted the much larger city of Austin. They’d reported briefly before leaving that they planned to start in the center of their target, inside Smithville city limits, and then work their way out.

John hadn’t expected a hit from the project, considering it more due diligence than anything else. So he was quite surprised to get a text from Ben early the next morning saying they had a hit at one of the Bastrop hotels.

Ben picked up on the first ring. “Hey, boss. We’ve got a hit on both scents at a location just outside Bastrop.”

“And?”

“Scott offered to flash his badge, but since I thought you’d prefer he stayed employed, I told him to make himself scarce and I bribed the guy instead.”

Damn. The last thing John needed was his inside man at the local sheriff’s department to get sacked. “Thanks for that. What the hell was he thinking?”

“That he hadn’t slept in more than twenty-four hours,” Ben said flatly.

John ran a hand through his hair. “He wasn’t thinking.”

“Not really well, no. And I know what you’re going to say. We didn’t take a break because we want this done. Every offense against you is a direct offense against each of us.” Ben sounded dead tired. And just as angry about the entire fiasco as John was himself.

“Text me the names, then go home. Get some sleep. You can tell Scott that’s an order. Max and I can do the follow-up. I’ll get our P.I. to run the names.”

One of the first surprising pieces of information John had learned from Scott was the fact that very detailed records were kept on every search run by the Sheriff’s department. Scott’s position came in handy, but not for any confidential database searches. And it turned out, there were a shockingly large number of legal ways to obtain the same information.

“Will do, boss man.”

“And quit it with the boss crap.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

Cheeky bastard.

He’d left the bedroom earlier to make the phone call. He headed back that way now to update Lizzie and convince her that he and Max didn’t need her help.

As he walked that way, he texted the names to his P.I.

Groggy and sleep-mussed, Lizzie asked, “What’s happened?”

“Ben and Scott got a hit at one of the hotels. Max and I can check it out after we can get some details from our P.I.”

“You have a P.I.? Your own private investigator?” Lizzie asked, incredulous.

He smiled. “Not one that works exclusively for us. But yes, we do have an investigator on retainer.”

“That’s weird. You know that, right? That normal people don’t have investigators on retainer?” She peered at him owl-eyed.

He dropped onto the bed, grabbed her and rolled so that she was on top. “Do you really want normal?”

She huffed. “Suppose not.”

“Okay, Ms. Grumpy Pants. I’m giving you a choice now. Think long and hard before you answer, because there’s a right answer and a wrong answer.”

She nodded at him, eyes wide and serious.

“Sex or caffeine, which first?”

He got the giggle he’d been looking for and decided either answer was okay, because it would take his investigator at least as long as…a pot of coffee to get back to him.

About an hour later, coffee clutched in her hands, Lizzie sat at the kitchen table. “This stuff isn’t so bad.”

“Seriously? That’s not coffee. That’s milk with a dash of brown stuff. You can’t even call that a café au lait.”

“Whatever,” she grumped.

But he knew she was in a much better mood than she’d been before. His mate was
not
a morning person. And he’d diverted her from the whole issue of following up on the names Ben and Scott had dug up.