Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers (77 page)

Miki bit her bottom lip as hard as she could to keep the tears at bay. No crying, she refused to give in to drama. Instead, she ignored the nausea clogging her throat and lifted her chin to give it one last effort.

“We owe it to those seven years to try and fix things. We fit once, and we can again if we want to.”

“Mikaela, please. As a man rapidly climbing the corporate and social ladder, I need someone who can handle the spotlight. Tonight is a perfect example of a lost opportunity. We could be at one of the classiest restaurants in Santa Monica, making contacts and forwarding our careers. Instead, you insist on quaintly staying home for dinner. Granted, you are more suited for the background than the spotlight, but you never even tried to put in a true effort.”

The powers, the magic, gone for so long, boiled like an angry volcano, bubbling and churning inside her. She fought to keep control of the unfamiliar energy while her mind latched on to his statement.

“You need someone? You say that as if you have a specific someone in mind.” Like water slipping through her fingers, Miki lost control of the magic surging through her. The room shook, a feeling anyone living in California was familiar with. Perry grabbed the table with both hands.

“Earthquake? But...” He stared, confusion clear in his gaze, as the overhead light stayed steady. For a solid thirty seconds, tremors danced through the table, shaking the crystal and china, bouncing silver off the pristine tablecloth and onto the carpeted floor.

Calling up her rusty skills, Miki struggled to harness the energy moving through her like a wildfire. Unused to such an unleashed level of power, her head started to spin and she swore she was going to lose her dinner. If she did, she’d make sure to aim for Perry’s lap. After a few seconds, when she was sure she had control of her stomach, if not the surging magic, she asked, “Are you seeing someone, Perry? Do you have something going on the side?”

“Mikaela,” Perry said, brows furrowed as he eyed the now still table, “let’s not do this. Don’t try and shift the responsibility or blame for our problems onto an outside source.”

How could he sound so cold? So distant? This was their marriage. Till death do they part. And he was shrugging it off like a bad investment.

Miki tried to catch her breath and wondered when the hurt would come. Anger, shock, she had those in spades. She pulled them around her like armor, wrapping herself in a cloak of cynical bitterness. At least she had plenty of divorce experience, seeing as her mother had knocked back a half-dozen marriages. Which was why Miki had vowed her marriage would last forever. It didn’t look like she was getting a choice. Fortunately, she knew how and where to hit for the biggest impact. Like a metaphorical kick to the groin, she aimed low and dirty.

“Tell you what, Perry. You want a divorce, you’ve got it,” Miki spat. She pressed her lips together for a brief moment to gather her control, even as hot, bitter tears welled in her eyes. Then she offered her fiercest,
screw you
glare through the sheen. “But when my lawyer—and believe me, he’ll be the hungriest shark in Southern California—when he nails your ass for every penny you’ve got, just keep in mind, you asked for it. When I’m done with you, you won’t be able to afford designer socks, let alone dinner out to see and be seen unless you’re nibbling take-out and staring through the plate glass window.”

Perry gave her his bland, pitying look that had become the trademark of their marriage. That, combined with his smug can’t-touch-me sneer, sent Miki over the edge.

She ground her teeth together, and focused on the still churning magical energy. Drawing it in to calm her, she spoke through her teeth, “
If it’s an ending you want, then ended we’ll be. Appearances are all you ever did see. You wouldn’t listen or give us a chance. Now I curse you to waste that useless joke in your pants. Only in public will it ever again work, that’s what you deserve for being a jerk
.”

It was a lousy rhyme, but it did the trick. Miki put her dramatic genes to good use and shoved away from the table so hard the silver jangled against the china and her half-empty glass of wine spilled, like blood, over the white linen. Two narrow tapers toppled together, froze for a brief moment like a bright red X, then hit the table. Melted wax splattered, rapidly followed by a lick of flames dancing directly toward where Perry sat watching in horror.

She smirked through her tears as he jumped to right the candles, then slapped his napkin at the fire to put it out. Smoke and the acrid scent of burnt fabric filled the air.

Miki took one last look at the mess that so perfectly summed up her marriage, then spun on her heel and stalked to the door. This had turned out to be the worst night of her life.

Turning thirty sucked.

There’s a New Witch in Town: Chapter Two

“Broke? That’s not possible.” Miki shook her head at her lawyer, sure there was a mistake. “We can’t... I mean, I can’t be broke. Perry and I had plenty of money. Checking, savings, investments. His business investments alone are worth plenty.”

“Mrs. Davenport—”

“Lansing,” Miki interrupted. For better or worse, she was a Lansing again. “I’m returning to my maiden name. Lansing.”

“Ms. Lansing,” her lawyer corrected from behind his ocean-sized desk, offering a conciliatory, calm-the-crazy-lady smile. “I’m sorry, but according to your husband’s attorney, a series of bad business deals have wiped out his capital. All that’s left is the house the two of you shared, and a piece of rental property out of state.”

Miki sat in the plush, fancy law office and stared blankly at the biggest shark in Southern California. They couldn’t be broke. It didn’t make sense. Oh, sure, she’d always let Perry handle the finances, but she signed the tax forms, and she did look at the bank statements occasionally. They had money.

A lot of money.

“There’s a mistake, Mr. Doyle. There has to be. I’m not walking away from this marriage with nothing.”

Miki wanted to congratulate herself for sounding so determined, so assured. She was actually grateful for some emotion, any reaction other than the painful, blank numbness she’d felt for the last month. She’d even welcome back the infuriated anger that had fueled her that first week after Perry’s divorce proclamation.

But that anger was a sweet memory after the blow she’d taken when she’d met with her business partner the day after Perry’s bombshell. Expecting sympathy and support, she’d discovered instead that Pammy had a secret lover. Miki’s husband, to be exact.
Shift blame, her ass
. Apparently, Perry and Pammy—sounded like a dancing poodle act—were in love.

And since Miki had borrowed against her half of the business, Pammy felt, of course, it’d be best if Miki quietly stepped out of the picture. After all, chefs specializing in French cuisine weren’t that hard to find in Southern California.

That betrayal had been the last straw. Overwhelmed by the pain, sadness, and all of the rest of the negative emotion brigade marching through her, Miki hadn’t been able to deal with the resurgence of her magic, too. At first, she’d welcomed the power with open arms. She’d lain awake her birthday night, hugging the magic close, surprised at how complete it made her feel. But she’d gotten up the next morning, thinking to take comfort in using her powers again, only to find they’d gone rabid on her.

She’d attempted to turn on the shower with magic, but instead the stereo had blared. Her attempt at conjuring up breakfast had required a mop and a second shower. At first, she’d blamed it on lack of use, figuring she’d get better after a little practice. But every time she got upset, angry, or Perry’s name was mentioned, she lost all control and crazy things happened.

So she’d tried to shut it down. She’d lived without magic for seven years, it should have been easy to cut it out again. But, apparently, she didn’t even have enough control to do that. So she’d hidden away, lived on caffeine and See’s chocolates. According to Lena, she’d become a certified hermit. Miki didn’t care. She couldn’t deal with the betrayals of her marriage, her friendship, and her magic all at the same time.

“Look, Mrs.-” at Miki’s squint-eyed look, he corrected, “Ms. Lansing, I agree with you. There is no way the money is gone, that you’re broke. This is classic duplicitous machinations. I’ve seen it before and, believe me, I’m not planning to let him get away with it. He’s been slowly siphoning the money, probably since he started the affair with your partner. I’ll find it, I promise you.”

Miki’s gut clenched at his mention of the affair. She wanted to throw up. Her fingers clenched in her lap and she wished desperately for a double mochachino latte.

With a shimmer of silver sparks, a canvas bag of what looked like coffee beans appeared behind Doyle’s chair. Miki winced and bit her lip.
Not again
. She focused, tensing as she pulled in energy, and tried to will the coffee beans away.

They refused to budge.

“In the meantime,” Doyle continued, oblivious, “I recommend moving forward with the divorce. I’ll freeze all assets and start taking steps to track down the money. We can schedule a meeting to discuss the proposed settlement. I’ll seize the house, and given the circumstances behind the dissolution of your company, I’ll move to seize those assets too. As for this rental property in...”

While Doyle shuffled papers, Miki gave up on zapping away the coffee and stared at the shiny surface of his bald head. She wished it were a crystal ball. Wished that, once he finished settling the end of life-as-she-knew-it, he’d tell her what she was supposed to do next. Who she was supposed to be.

Then, realizing her thought, panic raced through Miki like a zap of electricity. She cringed, quickly recanting her crystal ball wish. She stared, breath caught in her throat, at the top of his head. Three seconds later, when the surface hadn’t turned to crystal, she released her breath and sank back in her chair. Tension poured from her body like water.

Holy cow, she was a mess. Wishes were off limits for the next little while. As, clearly, was hope, dreams, and joy.

“Ah, here it is. Rental property in Rossdale, Idaho. House. Five acre lot. Your husband had been renting it out, but it’s currently vacant. Paperwork shows it’s been on the market for a while, but no offers. While we can ask for this, I’m going to recommend we use it as a bartering tool for the house here in Santa Monica. Toss this into the negotiations as bait while we work to keep the California property.”

Rossdale, Idaho. Miki struggled to place the state on her mental map. Idaho. North, maybe? She shrugged. It didn’t really matter. She gave the canvas bag one last look and flicked her fingers. This time, to her relief, the bag disappeared.

“Do whatever you need to, Mr. Doyle,” she instructed with a sigh. Rising from the teakwood chair, she brushed her hands over the smooth suede of her knee-length skirt and winced at the bite of the waistband against her flesh. It was a little snugger than the last time she’d worn it, thanks to See’s.

“Let’s just get this joke of a divorce over with. And, please, make sure I’m the one laughing in the end.”

* * *

“Men are pigs, Mik, it’s about time you learned that.”

“Oh, c’mon, Teri. Not all men are pigs. Just a chosen few.” Lena, Miki’s older sister, pointed her chocolate laden spoon at Miki. “Perry, though, is the ultimate swine.”

“No, I think all men are pigs. Some just hide it better than others, but the inclination is inbred,” argued Teri. She was Lena’s neighbor and one of the sisters’ oldest friends. The lush real estate agent was wrapped in a form-fitting designer suit, having come straight from showing a property. “But yeah, Perry, he’s pork through and through.”

Miki didn’t reply, just scooped up another spoonful of tiramisu and let the coffee-flavored dessert melt on her tongue. Karma Café was her favorite place. A combination bakery and lunch café, the Karmanski women offered delicious food and a little magic on the side. Tarot readings, astrology, and for those in the know, an edible spell or two.

She tried to ignore the women across from her. It wasn’t that she didn’t agree with them. Perry
was
a pig. But just thinking about him tended to send appliances flying across the room.

Miki eyed her dessert companions. Lena, the ultimate gypsy in her filmy teal dress with a matching headscarf woven through her waist-length ebony curls, sat eating chocolate soy pudding. Teri, with her short spiky red hair, savored a turtle brownie sundae. One of the few mortals to know the family’s secret, she was Lena’s complete opposite in almost every way. Except their love of chocolate and their equally mouthy opinions.

Both of which they happily shared with Miki the first Wednesday of each month. Lucky her.

“So what’s the word, Miki?” Teri asked. “Is your hot shot lawyer making pork chop-suey?”

“I don’t know,” Miki said with a sigh. “The divorce is final in a few months, but Doyle is dragging out the settlement while he tries to figure out where Perry squirreled away all the money.”

“Why don’t you just, you know,” Teri gave a wiggle of her fingers, “zap him? Do a spell or slip him a potion? Something to get the dirt on where he stashed the dough.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Miki and Lena said in unison.

“Well, it should,” Teri said with a sniff.

“I’ve told you before, magic isn’t like those shows on TV or the movies,” Lena said with a frown. She glanced at her almost-empty bowl and with a wink, it was filled again with rich and creamy soy pudding. She scooped up another spoonful. But she also pulled a five out of her purse and waved it in the air, to indicate she’d be paying for her treat.

“It always looks like it when you do it.”

“True. But I’m gifted.” Miki would have rolled her eyes at her sister’s words, except it wasn’t ego talking—it was simple fact. Lena continued, “It’s actually a lot of work to harness the energy, to make things happen. And once you do, there are so many rules on the magic, it’s often easier to just do whatever you want the mundane way.”