Wednesday (The Witches of Wimberley Book 3)

by Victoria Danann

  “Kangerlussuaq.”

  “What language is that?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  He sucked in a big breath. “Just show me on the map.” Bell laid the tablet down on the table in the deserted lounge area at the hotel. “What’s that red dot?”

  Bell was wearing a self-satisfied smile. “Wednesday.”

  Rally didn’t try to hide his astonishment. “You can scry on a tablet? And track her with perfect accuracy?”

  Bell laughed. “Come on. I turned the GPS on her phone on while she was in the shower.”

  Rally had to give Bell her due. She was going to make some unlucky guy’s life hell someday. “I would kiss you for this, but Wednesday might not understand.”

  “Yeah. I wouldn’t want to explain that when the day comes that she decides you’re the one.”

  That got Rally’s attention. “You think I’m the one?”

  Bell rolled her eyes. “Duh!”

  He grinned. “Are you giving me this tablet?”

  “Not without a price.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want…”

  “We’re not naming any child Voldemort.”

  Bell pouted. “How about an introduction to your friend?”

  Rally looked around even though it was clear that no one else was around. “What friend?”

  “The one who arrived a little bit before you?”

  Rally frowned. “What does he look like?” Bell described Aodh perfectly. “Is he here alone?”

  “Oh no. He arrived with five others.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Rally spat. Seven. Counting himself, that was everybody. The fucking traitor brought the entire warlock coven.

  “Bell, if I go back over there and engage my friends, it will delay getting started. You don’t need me for this. His name is Aodh and he’s easy.”

  “When you say easy…”

  “Yeah. I mean it just like it sounds.”

  She smiled broadly. “Okay with me.”

  “Just go up to him and tell him you have a message from me. When he asks what it is, show him your third finger.”

  She was shaking her head. “Rally…”

  “Trust me. I know how he thinks. He’ll laugh and then he’ll give you a good looking over. Don’t worry. He’ll like what he sees.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know his type.”

  “Oh.”

  He could tell by the look on her face that a hundred different notions of what that might mean were circling in her head. It was evident, looking at Bell, that Aodh was going to get lucky that very night. And Aodh needed to enjoy himself while all his parts were still in good working order. Because the next time Rally caught up to him a well-deserved beat down would ensue.

  “What happens after that is up to you,” he said. Her eyes focused on him as she replayed what he’d just said and handed over the tablet. “Got a cord?”

  “You call yourself a warlock and you can’t keep the tablet charged without a power source?”

  He smirked. “I have a feeling my friends are going to regret the day they decided to crash the rites.” He blinked rapidly. “Wait a minute. How did you know Aodh was my friend?”

  It was her turn to smirk. “You think I can’t recognize warlocks when I see them?”

  “Well, sure. But how would you know they were my friends?”

  “Because witches don’t consider warlocks as marriage material.”

  A scowl formed between his brows. “Is that true? Why am I just now hearing this?” She shrugged. “Is this a joke to you?”

  Her look changed to sober instantly. “Wednesday’s my friend. Her happiness isn’t a joke.”

  “You’re talking in circles.”

  “It probably sounds like that,” she admitted. “I just think maybe we got this one wrong.”

  “Bell,” Rally said, “if you’re saying you’re on my side? I’m grateful. I’m not saying I’m getting married or anything, but...”

  “Yes, the hell you are. We’re not sending the guy who was chosen as the one home empty handed so you can fuck around making up your mind. You want her or not?” she challenged in a take-no-prisoners kind of way.

  Rally’s gaze darted back and forth. He didn’t like being pushed into making decisions without all the facts. And, in the case of a relationship between Wednesday and himself, he didn’t have the most pertinent fact - whether or not they were compatible. For gods’ sake, he’d never so much as held her hand.

  What if he hated her kisses?

  That thought was almost immediately paired with a voice in his own head that said that was an idiotic objection.

  While a wide range of futures, good and bad, played across the screen of Rally’s mind, Bell was growing impatient.

  “Well?”

  He locked eyes with her. “You said witches don’t, ah…”

  “Think of warlocks as marriage material.”

  “Why not?”

  She let out an exasperated huff. “More rumor than anything. Something about a risk of offspring being too powerful. Wisdom dictates that limitations aren’t a bad thing.” She waited to a count of ten. “Forget it. I’m not giving my friend to an indecisive pussy.”

  “Wait a minute,” he protested. When she reached to take the tablet back, he jerked it up in the air. “Alright! I’m in!”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You better be.”

  “Don’t threaten me. I am!”

  “Okay.”

  “Help me get a jet. Austin or San Antonio. I don’t care. I need it now and I need one that can get me to…” he looked at the tablet for the name of the place, “Kangerlussuaq without needing to stop for fuel.”

  She whistled. “That’s gonna cost ya.”

  “What’s money for?”

  “I like the way you think.” She repeated what he’d said to her earlier.

  The truth was that Rally could teleport to Greenland and be there almost instantly. Warlocks could bend physics to their will in ways that were different from the magical methods of witches. But he wouldn’t do it unless there was an emergency. Solo teleporting that far would deplete most of his energy and he expected he’d need that energy for arguing with Wednesday about what her future was going to look like. Her future with him.

  Bell nodded. “You’re going like that?” She pointed at his salmon-colored shorts, madras plaid button-down shirt and flip flops.

  “Yeah. I’ll get other stuff when I get there.”

  “I’ll call Austin,” she said.

  “I’ll take San Antonio.”

  He was talking to a private charter company when he overhead Bell saying, “Yes. Two hours. Can you do it?”

  “Just a minute,” he told the woman he’d been speaking to. Bell held up a finger then nodded and smiled. Rally thanked the person he had on the phone and told them to, “Have a nice day,” before he ended the call.

  “I’m texting you the info,” she said. This time when she said, “Good luck,” she sounded more like she meant it.

  “You’ve been great,” Rally said. “Blessings on you and your future. Hope you have lots of children named Vol…”

  “Stop!” she yelled. “Don’t you dare curse me with that.”

  He laughed. “It was your idea.”

  “For you. Not me! Now go.” He smiled and gave her a brief little side arm hug. As he was walking away, she said, “Keep me posted. Text me.”

  He waved without turning around. “Aodh likes a slow burn.”

  “Slow burn,” Bell repeated to herself as Rally disappeared from view. “I can do that.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN Baby, It’s Cold

  Rally occupied himself during the six and a half hour flight by staring at the red dot. What are you doing, Wednesday?

  It was midnight and fifteen degrees when Rally landed in Greenland. By the time he’d driven to Austin and made arrangements for jet transport it had been almost six o’clock. The flight attendant had observe
d his dress when he’d boarded and said, “I sincerely hope you have something warmer in your bag, sir.”

  Rally had smiled and said, “What’s a little cold?”

  The flight attendant didn’t change expression, but said, “Well, there’s cold. And there’s cold.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” Rally said. After takeoff, he took his bag to the bedroom in the aft part of the cabin, closed the door and made the best adjustment he could.

  Not much to work with, but he had packed a pair of jeans, a long-sleeve tee, and a windbreaker. It wasn’t arctic-worthy, but it was better than bare skin.

  At least that’s what he’d thought before they landed, opened the door and lowered the steps to the tarmac. When the sunless cold from outside slammed into the previously warm interior, it felt like he wore nothing but bare skin. The shock of the frigid air was stunning. Trying to make light of it, he turned to the flight attendant and said, “What global warming?”

  The man said, “Well. Global warming actually means…”

  “I know. I know. It was a joke.”

  The attendant didn’t look amused. “Far be it for me to correct a customer, but global warming is no joke, sir.”

  Rally sighed. “Yeah. So I need warm clothes and a place to stay the night, I guess.”

  “There won’t be a way to buy clothes until morning, but the person on duty in the hangar can get you a car to the hotel.”

  “Okay, thanks.” He realized his teeth were chattering.

  “Just a second,” the flight attendant said. The man hurried away but returned in moments with three soft wool blankets, gray and black plaid. “Don’t be proud. Tie one at your waist and put the other two over your shoulders.”

  The warlock smiled gratefully. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  All decked out in black and gray plaid, he looked ready to be an extra in Highlander, but he didn’t care. He was grateful for any layer between him and the cold.

  After practically running to the warm reception area inside the hangar, Rally arranged for a car and a phone call to the hotel so that they knew he was on the way. While waiting for the car, he sat down, closed his eyes and expended a little energy on regulating his temperature, the next best thing to being dressed for the weather.

  He was eager to join Wednesday, but allowed the more measured part of his personality to suggest that he needed to wait until stores opened so that he could get clothes.

  The hotel clerk didn’t try to hide that he was looking Rally over, surprising considering the man was wearing a bathrobe and big furry slippers. Rally supposed the only real hotel in town didn’t get much middle-of-the-night traffic. Considering the tiny population and the fact that the latitude was north of Scandinavia, that made sense.

  Fortunately the man spoke English, or a version thereof. Rally said he’d take the luxury suite. The man nodded and asked for his passport. That was the first time Rally had thought about his passport. Normally he would have had to submit it when he chartered the jet and then again on arrival. But perhaps the jet charter was open to assumptions and the guy who acted as the Greenland customs officer, when he wasn’t doing windows, wasn’t around.

  Rally couldn’t conjure a passport, but he could use a mind trick to redirect the attention of the clerk toward the next item on his check list and suggest that he’d already seen the passport.

  The man smiled and handed Rally a room key, the old-fashioned kind that was an actual key, not a plastic card with barcode.

  “No need to call bell service,” Rally joked. “I’ve got this.” He took the medium-sized rolling bag and headed in the direction of the stairs. Being on the second of three floors he decided he’d get there faster walking.

  The luxury suite earned its three-star designation. Plain. Clean. And a real-life ad for Danish modern.

  He got ready for bed by taking off his running shoes. The rest he kept on for warmth, adding the three blankets the charter attendant had given him so that, once under covers, he didn’t have to expend any energy staying warm.

  Warlocks had magical resources that worked like rechargeable batteries. The juice, being finite, could be used up and, once that happened, if that happened, non-use was the only means of replenishment. His hope was that, by the time he woke, he’d be fully charged and ready for whatever the day would bring.

  He wasn’t worried about Wednesday because the red dot had been in the same place for hours. She’d stopped for the night, which was exactly what he wanted. He surmised she couldn’t get into too much trouble while sleeping. The next morning he’d get outfitted then teleport to wherever she was. Surprise!

  Bad dreams make for fitful nights. Several times Rally woke himself from unpleasant dreams and put himself to sleep again only to repeat the same nightmarish scenarios. He kept looking at his watch, waiting for the hour when the coffee bar would open downstairs, and grateful when that time arrived.

  He put on air-vented running shoes, the warmest thing he had, and went downstairs to the ‘cafeteria’. After ordering a fish burger for breakfast, he read the daily news briefings on his phone, then walked over to the front desk. Mornings were a different story. The person behind the counter was a bright-eyed blonde with no makeup. She was eager to help and openly flirtatious.

  “English?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She smiled cheerfully.

  “Where is this?” He set the tablet down and pointed to the red dot on the digital map.

  “Six-sixty. At the ice cap,” she replied with a heavy Greenlandic accent.

  “Thank you. Where can I get some cold weather clothes?”

  Kangerlussuaq was an odd place. It had an airport with a runway long enough to accommodate the biggest jets in the world, but one hotel, one retail store, and no place to buy boots.

  He learned this after a complete outfitting. “What do you mean? Where do you get your boots?”

  The clerk shrugged. “Order from Nuuk.”

  “That doesn’t work. I need boots now. The kind you’d wear to the ice field.”

  “We don’t have boots to sell.”

  “How many people live in Kangerlussuaq?”

  “Four hundred ninety-nine.”

  “That means there are at least a hundred grown men around here. Some of them have ice field boots in a size thirteen. The first person who brings me good boots that fit is going to get five hundred dollars. Cash.”

  There was an immediate shuffle as the stock boy and another customer rushed for the door. Rally smiled at the clerk. “Ring me up. I’ll pay for the boots separately.”

  Within fifteen minutes there were five hopefuls in the store carrying boots his size. He gave the five hundred to the guy with the newest looking boots that were comfortable and sturdy. The man then promptly turned to the others, waving the money, and gloating in a way that made Rally wish he’d picked somebody else.

  The town’s buildings were set apart and the landscape was stark; not conducive to disappearing in broad daylight. So he opted to go back to the hotel room. He didn’t want to take the time, but didn’t feel like there was a choice.

  The drive to six-sixty would be a very slow hour and a half by road, but would be seconds in teleporting terms. Using the tablet as a guide, Rally dematerialized from the hotel room and reclaimed his form next to a camp site. Wednesday wasn’t there, but scanning the horizon, he spotted her. The red-riding-hood coat stood out in distinct contrast to her surroundings.

  Grinning like a hunter within reach of his prey, Rally teleported the rest of the distance. She was standing over a narrow crevice, six feet wide, peering down into rushing water that looked dangerous as hell. It was so loud she was completely unaware of his arrival.

  “Morning,” he said, causing her to jump straight into the air with a yelp that was adorable. Just in case she jumped the wrong way, he grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her back in his direction. The glare she gave him as she clutched the coat fabric over her heart and tried to slow her breathing, was not so ad
orable. He chuckled.

  She looked around and, seeing that he was there with no guide, no vehicle, no helicopter, said, “What are you doing here, warlock?”

  “Oh,” he answered cheerfully. “Thought it might be a nice morning for a stroll on a polar ice cap. You?”

  “That’s really funny. What’s the story?”

  “I went to Wimberley to compete in the rites thing.”

  “You did?” She sounded incredulous.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Decided you’re mine.”

  She stared for a couple of seconds and then laughed. “No. Really.”

  He shook his head. “Swear to gods. Now get your stuff and let’s get out of here before something horrible happens.”

  She mimicked his shaking of the head. “See? That’s exactly why I’m not available to be called ‘mine’. You don’t get to tell me what to do. Now, look. I’m busy here. So, if you don’t mind, accept my no thanks graciously and go back the way you came.” Her eyes flicked over the landscape again. “By the way, how did you get here?”

  “You’ve got your ways. I’ve got mine.”

  “Duck.”

  “Duck?”

  “You just ducked the question.”

  “Come on back to the hotel at Kangerlussuaq and I’ll tell you all about it over an Americano.”

  “An even better question is, how did you know where to find me?”

  “I cannot reveal my sources.”

  “Whatever. Well, like I said…”

  “What exactly are you doing here, Wednesday?”

  Her chin immediately went up defensively. “My part.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You know there are only so many hours of daylight and I can’t waste them on you.”

  His laugh caused Wednesday’s body to thrum all the way to her bones, an enchanting sound. Maybe the first time she’d ever experienced something that was deserving of the word ‘enchanting’.

  “Okay, well, first, there are seventeen hours of daylight at this time of year. Not exactly a shortage. And, second, time spent with me is not a waste. It’s an investment,” he said.

  “In what?”

  “Our future.”