Books 1-3

by B. C. Burgess

  Her mouth dropped open. “You can fly? You can fly! That’s why you don’t drive!”

  “Yes.”

  “You fly everywhere?”

  “Yes. I guess you’re okay with heights?”

  Layla looked down and squeaked again. They’d risen another fifteen feet. She didn’t feel threatened, but had a clear sense of risk, the thrill of uncertainty, like performing a well-practiced routine on a balance beam with no mats below. “I guess I am.”

  “Do you like to dance?” he asked.

  “Um . . . yeah, but I’ve never danced with a guy.”

  He whistled, and the chickadees returned, singing a soothing tune as they perched on a nearby branch. Layla smiled at the winged creatures. Then she lost the view when Quin spun her around, cutting wide, lazy circles through the air. After giving her a few minutes to adjust, he quickened his pace and tightened his circles.

  “May I pull you closer?” he eventually asked.

  Layla nodded, speechless as she blushed from head to toe, spellbound by him and everything he did.

  “I’m going to let go with this hand,” he warned, wiggling his right fingers, “but you’re not losing any support.”

  She nodded again, so he moved his right hand to her left, lifting it from his shoulder as he wrapped his other arm around her waist. After sliding her up his body, bringing her face even with his, he released her hand and covered her back, slipping his fingers under her hair.

  Layla’s oxygen intake was practically nil, her blood blazing as she stared him right in the eye, fingers and toes tingling. Was it possible to have weak knees when weightless? Apparently, because hers were jelly.

  She swallowed a lump, and he smiled, gently urging her to tuck her blushing face into his neck. She easily complied, and as her trembling lips touched his skin, he burrowed his face through her hair, sweeping the tip of his nose across her clavicle.

  Oh wow, Layla thought, eyes drifting shut as a thrill shot through her core.

  Quin tightened his fingers around a tuft of silky spirals, chest expanding as he wondered if Layla’s flavor was as bewitching as her scent. He yearned to find out, but his confession wasn’t over, and he didn’t know how she would feel about his lie of omission.

  After several heavenly minutes, he pulled his face from her hair, sent the birds away, and returned to earth in more ways than one. When his feet found cool moss, he kept Layla in his arms, itching to squeeze tighter. “We’re on the ground.”

  “I know,” she whispered, prickling his skin.

  He closed his eyes, forcing himself not to become aroused. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”

  She breathed deep then abandoned his neck. “What’s that?”

  “Well,” he hesitantly answered, “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

  She tilted her head and scanned his face. “Let me guess,” she teased. “Karena’s not having a two-for-one special.”

  “I wish it were that simple,” he replied, lowering her feet to the ground, “but it’s something more serious.”

  Her hands slid from his shoulders, and he cringed. “I haven’t actually lied,” he hurriedly continued, “I just haven’t been forthcoming with the truth.”

  She bowed her head, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she shifted away. “The truth about what?”

  “Several things,” he answered. “Let’s sit. It’s not an easy story to tell.”

  She stayed tense, maintaining suspicious eye contact.

  “Please, Layla.”

  She huffed and moved to the boulder, and Quin flexed his fingers as he followed, sitting down in front of her.

  “I’ve already told you a few things about my family,” he began, tentatively taking her hands, “but there’s more you should know.”

  “Like what?” she coolly asked, and Quin could tell she’d donned an emotional shield, bracing herself for a blow.

  “Well,” he answered, “for one thing, they can perform magic, as well.”

  Layla’s eyes widened as she lowered her defenses. “All of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Brietta and Banning, too?”

  “Yes, all twenty-five of us are magicians, or witches and wizards if you’d prefer.”

  “Witches and wizards?” Layla whispered.

  Quin released her hand and pulled a drinking glass from his bag, summoning water from the stream with a flick of his wrist. “Yes,” he answered, handing the glass over. “I’m a wizard.”

  Layla curiously watched him as she took a long drink. Then she shrugged. “I guess that makes sense. What else would you call yourselves?”

  “That’s not what I need to tell you.”

  “Oh.”

  Quin set the water aside and took her hands back. “As witches and wizards, we can read people’s emotions by looking at them, and it works even better with other magicians. Having said that . . .” He paused, took a deep breath then slowly let it out. “…when Brietta saw you last night, she noticed something different about you, something that confused her.”

  “You’re finally going to tell me why you sat with me,” Layla mumbled, looking down.

  Quin’s stomach squirmed as he squeezed her hands. “Yes,” he confessed, trying to find her eyes, but she was purposefully hiding them.

  “Go on then,” she insisted.

  Quin didn’t want to go on. He wanted to lift her gaze and tell her any guy sitting with her was blessed, but he forced himself to stay on track. “Brietta had never seen anyone like you. It worried her, and she wanted a second opinion from a member of our coven. I was in the bookstore next door, so she called me.”

  Layla’s shoulders rose with a shaky breath. “I see. She sent you to my table.”

  “No,” he countered, giving into temptation and lifting her chin. “Brietta called me in there, but I sat down on my own accord. I told you the truth last night. I was intrigued by the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. Why wouldn’t I sit down?”

  Her forehead wrinkled as she searched his eyes, and he could tell he’d soothed at least some of her insecurities.

  “What about me intrigued you?” she pressed.

  “Well,” he answered, anxiously flexing, “I’m getting to that, but I feel I should warn you.”

  “About what?”

  “About the things I need to tell you. They won’t be easy to hear, let alone believe, but please try to keep an open mind and stay calm, and if there’s anything I can do to make it easier, let me know.”

  She nodded her curious agreement, and he deeply inhaled, trying to slow his speeding heart. “I know why you’re here, Layla.”

  “You invited me here,” she replied.

  “Not here in the clearing,” he corrected. “Here in Oregon.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I told you why I came here.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t tell me all of it.”

  “How would you know?” she countered. “Is that something you can magically see about me?”

  Quin felt her shields go up, but he didn’t know how to soften the blow, so he grasped her hands tighter and ripped off the bandage. “I know why you’re here, because I know your grandparents.”

  Her mouth fell open as she yanked her hands away, shocked, confused . . . and afraid. Shit. Quin ached to grab her hands back, but somehow managed to restrain himself.

  “You… you what?” she asked.

  Quin’s chest and stomach tightened, muffling his reply. “I know your maternal grandparents very well. And I know your past, what drew you to Oregon.”

  Layla stood so fast she was on her feet before Quin realized he no longer held her gaze. By the time he jumped up, she’d turned her back on him and was staring into timber, intensely fidgeting with the sleeves of her sweater.

  “That’s ridiculous,” she decided, spinning back around. “What makes you think that?”

  Quin’s heart squeezed as he dropped his guilty gaze. “You know my family shares land wi
th another magical family.”

  “So?” she huffed, impatiently lifting a hand.

  “Well, that other family is your family.”

  Her hand fell to her side, slapping her jeans, and Quin took a cautious step, hoping like hell she wouldn’t flee. “You’re a witch, Layla,” he quietly added. “I knew it the moment I saw you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Layla thought her head might explode as heat scrambled her senses, making it hard to process what she’d heard. How could this be true? If Quin had told her this yesterday, she would have called him a lunatic and walked away. But after the morning she’d experienced, she could no longer turn her back on what she thought was impossible. The word had lost all credibility.

  “I don’t understand,” she breathed, pushing the words through a tight throat. “What makes you think I’m part of that family? A magician . . . or whatever. You don’t know me.”

  “I do know you,” Quin insisted. “I know your mom and dad named you Layla, and that you were most likely adopted by a woman named Katherine Moore. I know your parents used the surname Callaway when they stayed in Ketchum, Idaho, and I know you were born on the third of March eighteen years ago. I also know, without a doubt, that you’re a witch.”

  Layla’s stomach churned as he rattled off facts he shouldn’t know, wouldn’t know without knowing her. But even if he knew her family, one thing made absolutely no sense. “But I’m not, Quin. You got the wrong girl. I’m not a witch.”

  “Yes you are,” he countered. “I can see it, and when you’re ready, I can prove it. There’s no doubt—you’re a witch and always have been.”

  Layla’s legs liquefied. “I need to sit.”

  Quin was at her side in an instant, summoning the raincoat as he helped her to the ground. Layla’s butt crinkled the plastic. Then she pulled her knees to her chest and rested her forehead on them, her stomach swirling as her brain throbbed.

  She stayed that way for about an hour, digesting everything he’d told her, doing her best to separate and evaluate all the bits and pieces, but information overload and oppressive disbelief hindered productive conclusions. How could it be? Proof or no proof, how was any of this happening? Maybe she’d entered another dimension when she drove into Oregon. Blah. None of it made any sense.

  Quin sat silent and still as he watched Layla try to deal with the life altering news, hoping he hadn’t messed up the most vital task he’d ever been set. When she finally looked at him, his heart and breathing paused.

  Her face was calm, and its beautiful coloring had returned, but he could tell she remained confused and reluctant to accept the facts. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse, but her words were clear.

  “Why was Brietta worried about me?”

  The insignificant question surprised Quin, considering she probably had a million high priority questions burning her brain, but it also relieved him, and he breathed easy for the first time since descending from their dance.

  “Brietta realized you’re a witch as soon as she saw you, but she also saw something she didn’t recognize. Until that moment, she’d never met a grown magician who doesn’t know how to perform magic, so she didn’t understand what she was seeing and thought it might be a trick. There’s also the fact you were a stranger. We’re somewhat familiar with all the covens in Oregon, and we rarely get unknown, magical visitors, so you threw us for a loop.”

  Layla harrumphed. “I’m pretty thrown myself. I had no idea.”

  “I know,” Quin assured. “As soon as I sat down, I realized you were genuinely unaware, and when I learned your name, I knew exactly why.”

  “That’s more than I know.”

  “Yes,” he confessed. “You haven’t had a very easy go at things.”

  “It wasn’t always this confusing,” she countered. “Before my mom’s stroke, I led a happy and carefree life.”

  “That’s what your parents wanted for you.”

  Layla’s hand flew to her heart as she whipped her gaze to his, searching his eyes as if they held the most frightening and intriguing knowledge in the world. After taking a shaky breath, she looked away, plucking a lost conifer needle from the moss.

  “So,” she murmured, snapping the needle into tiny pieces, “my dad . . . is he dead?”

  Quin wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tucked her hair behind her ear, sadly watching her profile as he broke her heart. “Yes. He died within a few weeks of your birth. I’m sorry.”

  Her needle was gone, so she fiddled with the sleeves of her sweater as she looked at the stream. “I didn’t realize how much I’d hoped to find him. What were their names? I only know the fake ones.”

  Quin played with a curl as he answered. “Rhosewen Keely Conn and Aedan Dagda Donnelly. Your mom took his surname when they married.”

  “Those are nice names,” she whispered, raising shaky fingers to her throat.

  “I think so, too,” Quin agreed. “Our coven holds your parents in the highest esteem.”

  She pensively cocked her head then met his stare. “So Brietta and Banning are related to me?”

  “Yes. They’re your second cousins, but with so many of us living together, we simplify things and just call them cousins.”

  “I forget how many you said there are,” Layla mumbled. “In my . . . family.”

  “Eight,” Quin answered. “Of the twenty-five people in my coven, eight are related to you by blood or marriage. Your dad’s parents live in Virginia, so you have more relatives, but I don’t know how many.”

  She shook her head, eyes wide and shiny. “I couldn’t have imagined this outcome in a million years. I don’t know how to handle it; where to go with it. What’s a person supposed to do with information like this?”

  “I can’t imagine how you must feel right now,” Quin offered, wishing he could do more. “You’re handling it better than I would.”

  “There’s so much I don’t know,” she mumbled, burying her face in her knees, “so much I don’t understand.” She was silent for a moment, then her voice muffled through denim. “Will you tell me more?”

  “Sure,” he agreed, getting things straight in his head. “Let’s see… Your mom’s parents are Caitrin and Morrigan Conn…”

  “Morrigan,” Layla repeated. Then she popped her head up. “The pianist?”

  “Yes,” Quin confirmed, smiling at the excited spark in her eyes. “She is your maternal grandmother.”

  “Wow,” Layla breathed, laying her head back down.

  When she didn’t say anything more, Quin continued divulging information. “Your dad’s parents are Serafin and Daleen Donnelly. I’ve seen them several times, so I can answer questions about their looks and personalities, but I don’t know much about their lives in Virginia.” He paused, waiting to see if she had questions, but she didn’t comment, so he kept going. “Neither Rhosewen nor Aedan had siblings, so you don’t have any aunts or uncles, but Caitrin has a sister, which would be your Great-aunt Cinnia…”

  “Cinnia?” she asked, raising her head again. “As in Cinnia’s Café?”

  “The one and only,” he answered.

  Layla thoughtfully chewed her lip for a moment then murmured under her breath. “So the coffee was the most important clue.”

  “Clue?” he asked.

  “You don’t know?” she returned.

  “Know what?”

  “About the trail of breadcrumbs I was supposed to follow.”

  “Oh,” he whispered, wrapping a spiral around his finger. “I know you didn’t have much to go on.”

  “Apparently I had more than I thought,” she countered, “but even if I had considered the possibility of a family member owning the café, I wouldn’t have believed it. I’ve never had an aunt, let alone one who sells the best coffee in the world.”

  He smiled and swept a lock of hair across the tip of her nose. “You do now.”

  “So it would seem,” she conceded. “What else do I have?”

  “Well, Cin
nia married a man named Arlen Giles, so you also have a great-uncle in the coven, and they had a daughter named Enid. She owns the bookstore next to the café. Enid married a man named Kearny Gilmore, and Brietta and Banning are their children.”

  “Let me make sure I got this straight,” Layla said. “In your coven, my family includes my grandparents, Caitrin and Morrigan, a great aunt and uncle, Cinnia and Arlen, and my cousins, Enid, Kearny, Brietta and Banning.”

  “You have an excellent memory,” Quin commended.

  “I don’t know how I’m remembering any of it,” Layla countered. “My head is too full right now.”

  “Magicians have good memories,” Quin explained. “We’re better at compartmentalizing.”

  She straightened her shoulders and skeptically met his stare. “So you’re telling me I can do those things you did?”

  “With practice, yes, you can do much more than what you’ve seen.”

  “How is that possible, Quin? I’ve never done anything remotely close to that. I’ve been as normal as anyone my entire life.”

  Quin watched her emerald eyes, pink lips, and shiny spirals, wondering if she’d ever seen a mirror. “You’re far from normal, Layla, but I get what you’re saying.” He paused, searching for the best way to explain. “In most cases, when a magician is born, their coven starts teaching them what they are and how to focus their energy on performing magic. It’s exercised as much as anything else. Like crawling, walking and talking, magic is practiced and encouraged. A few things come naturally, aesthetic things like our good looks, physical grace, sharp memory, and artistic talent, but everything else takes practice. If a magical baby’s never told what she is, never taught how to focus, perform and control her ability, she could live her entire life without realizing she possesses the gift. Above all, if someone doesn’t believe in magic, there’s no way they’ll be able to perform it.”

  “How do you do it?” she asked.

  “It’s all in the mind,” he answered. “The movements are merely for the benefit of realizing our goal.”

  “So you can do those things without moving?”

  “Sure, but it takes more concentration.”