WarlocksAngel

by Marly Mathews

  “I take it everyone is still with us, or else you wouldn’t be here?”

  “Indeed, the healers from the Magical Authority found them and treated them, and they told me they are safe and sound back at home. We actually have Oliver to thank for everything. He found us on the road and pulled over to render us the necessary assistance. He’s quite the humanitarian, and one hell of a warlock. I wouldn’t want to be on his bad side, that’s all I’m going to say.”

  Finley’s words of praise echoed inside her brain. Oliver had certainly earned a loyal friend in the older warlock. Finley didn’t blithely give his approval to outsiders. In fact, he was usually the most critical when it came to newcomers in town. He always wanted them to earn their welcome before he could grant his seal of approval.

  Now that she was gradually coming to her senses, she recalled Oliver’s full name. While she knew he couldn’t be as dangerous as his father was reputed to be, she did know he had a rather questionable past and that he’d done things she never would consider honorable. Be that as it may, her cousin would not have sent him to her if Anya didn’t think he’d reformed his bad-boy ways.

  Despite being reformed, he still had a wicked air to him. By the way he’d summarily dealt with the Bloodbayne Witch Hunters, she knew he had his heart in the right place, and she knew he was not someone you should cross—ever.

  If his power was in the realm of Anya’s, then he was more powerful than any warlock or witch in Gerrans, Halifax—oh hell, he was more powerful than any in the entire province, perhaps even the planet. Still, the dangerousness gave him a masculine charisma she could not deny. She wanted to throw herself at him, and if Finley wasn’t present, she didn’t know what she’d do as her hormones were on freaking overdrive. When he conjured a cold glass of water out of thin air, she was gone. He had to be the man for her. Did Anya know she’d like him that way when she sent him to Earth?

  “Here,” he murmured, sinking his large lanky form onto the couch beside her. “This should take care of your dry throat.”

  Mesmerized, she took the glass and drank it right down, the cold of it icing her still achy throat. It seemed the healers had only attended to the serious injuries. Any other aches and pains were still there, such as from when she had fallen on her ass earlier. She was going to have such a big bruise.

  “Thank you so much for helping out Finley, Marion and Nicholas. I don’t know what I would have done if they hadn’t survived. I know I would not be able to bear the guilt.”

  “Now, Dallas, you know that we would do anything for you. If we’d lost you, the guilt would have overwhelmed us. I know for certain that Marion would have been beside herself. She’s always had a soft spot for you.”

  Marion didn’t hand out her affections lightly so if she did feel that way about Dallas, Dallas was honored and more than a little touched.

  “I’m sorry about the damage that’s been done to your house. I could easily fix it with a restoration charm if you’re okay with me using that kind of magic.” Oliver’s voice had a soothing quality to it and just hearing it made her feel a little better.

  “Charm away,” she muttered, wincing as another wave of pain shot through her temple.

  “I have to say, witch hunters will do whatever they need to do to gain entry but they usually don’t break any valuables they might be able to take and sell on the black market.”

  She grimaced again. “If you’re referring to the broken vase in the hallway, I’m afraid that wasn’t the work of the witch hunters—that was me. I’m not exactly trustworthy when it comes to breakable things. I don’t know why Anya decided to give that to me. She must have known it would have been at risk here, especially considering where she wanted it put on display. I usually stick any china figurines in curio cabinets so I can’t possibly break them, but I should know that Anya likes putting only her prizes in curios. She has a few in our living room. I try to stay out of that room unless I have to clean it. The wax dolls give me the creeps.”

  * * * * *

  Oliver stared at his sister’s collection and was a little awed by it. His sister needed to slim down her extensive stockpile. She shouldn’t have witch hunters in living wax. He pulled at the collar on his shirt as uneasiness washed over him. He recalled how horrible it had felt being encased in the magical wax. Though he hadn’t been hungry or thirsty in that form, he’d still been quite aware, and he wondered how long her victims had been conscious of their confinement in Redgrave House.

  “How long has she had some of those witch hunters all dolled up?” he asked cautiously, not wanting to raise the ire of Dallas and have her pull a defensive routine on him.

  “I’m surprised she didn’t tell you. She’s quite proud of her collection and her mother—your mother added quite a bit to it as well. I suppose some of those dolls have been in there for more than twelve years,” she mused. “I can’t keep track of time anyway. It slips away on me without me even noticing sometimes. Ironic considering the power I have, right? I can’t tell you how many days I’ve had to look at the newspaper to know what the date was.”

  He smiled. She was totally different from Anya and yet he found that change in personality quite refreshing. Even though the two had grown up together, they both had distinct personalities that reflected their different physical attributes.

  It might actually count to his benefit to have some old-time witch hunters imprisoned in this house. He could get some pretty valuable information out of them and see that they finally were put on trial for their past sins.

  Unlike some of Anya’s other enchantments, her living wax dolls stayed in that form until she decided to free them. He had tried numerous times to circumvent the curse when he’d been in wax form and had been defeated each and every time. Not only that, but when he did attempt to break past the spell and failed, he’d finally felt something and it was sheer agony. Fortunately, Anya had reversed the spell so he could reveal himself to her.

  If she hadn’t heeded Damien’s advice and turned him back to flesh and bone, Oliver would still be living a life of misery in Damien’s office. He might be able to break her hex on the dolls and turn them back himself, and he was willing to try—if he found any that were worth saving.

  He balked at the thought of returning some of the sons of bitches back into their blood, bone and flesh. At least he would bind their powers before doing so, making them as harmless as regular humans.

  Speaking of which, he’d better leave Dallas long enough to see what they’d done with Rex and his cohorts. He wanted them in prison until he could interrogate them and discover who had hired them to drag Dallas away from her home and her planet.

  “If you would excuse me for a moment, Dallas, I must go and consult the Magical Authority agents before they leave. I have to say, they are moving much faster than I thought they would as they took their own sweet time coming here in the first place.”

  “I shall stay with her. There is little point in me returning home. I want to be here come the morning when the townsfolk flood this place. If you would allow me to stay in one of the guest rooms, Dallas…”

  “Of course you may, Finley. I owe you a great debt. As far as I’m concerned, you could move in here if you wanted to. I have no one else to share this rambling house with—it does get lonely.”

  Oliver left them to continue their discussion, got up and quickly strode from the room.

  When he emerged outside the house, he found the agents huddled together in a circle, whispering about the strain Dallas put on their organization. One of them actually went as far as to voice aloud her thoughts on how Dallas shouldn’t be their concern, that she should have to take care of herself, and if the witch hunters snatched her, so be it. They were better off without such a lousy witch, and according to her, Dallas was a discredit to her kind.

  His ears burned red with rage and he knew his tightly bunched fists were glowing with supernatural energy. Once again his protective instincts were flaring up and he was hell-bent o
n putting the agents in their places.

  It sounded as if there was actually a reason for their less-than-stellar response time—they did it on purpose. Now he was going to be the one to do something deliberately.

  Despite his inclination to take immediate action against those who thought so poorly of Dallas and seemed to have an irrational desire to see her get what she certainly didn’t deserve, he would be patient. He would bide his time and get the buggers when they least expected it.

  As he saw it, Dallas had three magically inclined friends she could count on, and those friends were much older than she. He stepped out into the large driveway.

  “What are you doing with the witch hunters?” he asked, attempting to keep his temper in check.

  One of the agents gave him an irritated glare. “We thought we’d set them free to wreak havoc again. What do you think we’re going to do with them? We could send the rabbits to the local humane society and send the mummy over to the museum. But I don’t think they’d want one that wasn’t thousands of years old, especially considering the fact that this one still has his internal organs.”

  “I don’t like your disrespectful attitude, Special Agent Whatever. I also do not appreciate your flippant mood when it comes to protecting Mistress Dallas Hyde-Redgrave.”

  “You might think you’re some kind of super warlock given the fact that you have the infamous Ross blood running through your veins, Master White, but around here you’re nothing, you mean nothing, and you have absolutely no authority. We’re not impressed by the Ross legends. They are just like us and they don’t need or deserve any special treatment.”

  “Dallas is not a Ross and yet you treat her with more disdain than you afford Anya.”

  “Mistress Anya could do us grievous injury, and besides, she doesn’t need us. She can take care of herself like any witch worth her own salt can. Dallas is the worst witch in all of North America, and she can’t do anything but cause idiots to lose control over their bodily functions, big whoop de doo. Listen, I don’t have all night to chat with you. We all have lives, even if you don’t.”

  Oliver continued restraining his temper. He had to hold out long enough to make quite certain that this little nasty piece of work got what was coming to her.

  “Oh, I have a life, and someday you’ll find just how my life is going to make your life a living bloody hell.”

  The female agent huffed at him and looked as if she were about to breathe fire. “You have no right to talk to me like that, Master White. You are not of this world—you have no idea how the witches and warlocks here do business. At least we bloody well don’t enslave our own kind to get ahead. Furthermore, you don’t know what you’re talking about. We’ve all read the old files on Dallas, and none of us became agents to die for that inferior wimp of a witch. She’s already killed her own mother. She’s not going to get me as well.”

  “Oh come on, Heidi, knock it off.” Another female agent stepped forward. “You’re being a bit dramatic for Master White. You know as well as we all know that’s not the case. Mistress Hyde-Redgrave was not murdered by her daughter. She just died attempting to protect her daughter when witch hunters came for her the first time. This was the third time.. Dallas is a menace to our well-being. The Bloodbayne Witch Hunters knew that Bryony Hyde-Redgrave’s time-manipulation power was dim in comparison to her daughter’s and so they went for the shinier witch.

  She was lucky she had Mistress Ross-Redgrave there, along with Anya, young as she was, or they would have gotten Dallas for sure. After her mother was killed they altered Dallas’s memory so she would never have to deal with the true reason behind her mother’s death. It’s so tragic. Everyone pities her, while at the same time feeling incredibly afraid of ever helping her because, well, death seems to follow her everywhere she goes and no one wants to be pulled into that hurricane.”

  Oliver unclenched his fists. “I see.” Just because he understood their irrational behavior didn’t mean he was going to give them a free pass. They were agents of the Magical Authority and knew that risk to life and limb came with the job.

  In fact, when they joined the agency, they took an oath to protect and serve the magical and non-magical community without bias toward any of the individuals. This counted as bias, and when he finally got settled in at his new post he would shake things up a bit and remind everyone why they’d joined the Magical Authority. If they didn’t like it, they could lump it, as in they could resign from the organization or face his terrible wrath.

  He cleared his throat. “You may all take your leave now,” he said, flourishing his hand in the air to signal their dismissal.

  “Who the hell does he think he is, royalty?” Heidi grumbled as they turned their backs to him and walked away.

  “If I was royalty, you’d never turn your back on me,” he snapped, watching her bristle with agitation. He wanted them gone, the sooner the better. They served no purpose now he didn’t require their pitiful excuse for powers to keep Dallas safe. As for the one known as Heidi, how dare she call Dallas a wimp of a witch.

  Dallas might not be able to stand up for herself magically the way that other witches and warlocks were able to, but she could bloody well take a beating with the best of them without whining for mercy.

  He thought back to what Dallas had said about losing track of the time. Perhaps her loneliness had depressed her, but he now wondered if there was something more to it. Could her brain be fuzzy because of the way they’d altered her memory via magic?

  He’d heard of other witches and warlocks essentially going mad from having something similar happen to them. Since they had erased a very traumatic part of her life, she just might be slowly losing herself because of it.

  As soon as she started to feel a bit better, he would have to attempt to remove the spell and restore her mind to where it should be. If Anya hadn’t been around her much, maybe she hadn’t noticed the ill effects of the enchantment. Or maybe Anya couldn’t bring herself to remove it and watch her cousin lose her mind when Dallas discovered the truth.

  Dallas would only go mad for a little while, as opposed to the alternative. If the spell really was affecting her memory, she would lose her marbles bit by bit until she could no longer function. A witch like her without her wits about her could be a very dangerous thing indeed. He had to get in touch with Anya and ask about the particulars because he had a hunch he didn’t have the full story. Either that, or maybe Finley would be able to shed some light on the situation. He seemed to know Dallas better than most around here.

  He was just about to head back into the house but stopped at the sound of another car pulling up the drive.

  Clifton Parr jumped out of the car and glared angrily at him. Oliver hadn’t really expected this outcome—he didn’t know how he was going to deal with the annoying little braggart. Maybe he could put him into living wax and add another treasure to Anya and his mother’s collection.

  Clifton looked as if he was in a fighting mood, so when he bunched up his fists and started to bounce around on his feet like an incompetent pugilist, Oliver did the only thing he could do under the circumstances. He laughed his ass off.

  Chapter Five

  “You look like a dimwitted fool, Clifton. If you strike me, I will flatten you,” Oliver promised, staring down at the man who was about five inches shorter than he was. “Now pull yourself together, man, before you go and hit a superior. I should tell you that the Universal Magical Authority has sent me here to get this branch back into shape.

  “If you don’t want to be a part of that reformation then I advise you to strike me and have yourself drummed out of the agency. I won’t mind at all. Right now I only want to help Dallas. I promised my sister I would be good to her, and I’m not about to go back on my word. So you’re either out of my way or you’re in my way, and trust me, you don’t want to be in my way, Clifton.”

  Clifton hiccupped nervously and stopped dancing around like a clown. “I only want to make certain tha
t Dallas is all right.”

  “It comes to mind that you made it here from Halifax much faster than your fellow agents did, which proves to me that a timely response is possible and they were being slow to respond on purpose. However, I fail to see why you couldn’t have moved into action by getting off your fat ass, jumping into your car and coming to her rescue. You want to be a knight in shining armor, Clifton, but you lack the ability or the compulsion.

  “You should be on your knees, begging for Dallas’s forgiveness. As it stands, I think you should go now and return tomorrow when clearer heads will prevail all around. I doubt she wants to see you at the moment. She has other things on her mind, and if I were her, I’d only want to be surrounded by those individuals who at least attempted to help her, unlike you.”

  Oliver didn’t exactly know how Dallas would react. Maybe she would want to see Clifton. His first impression of her had been that she was an incredibly sweet and guileless individual who always thought about others before herself, to the detriment of her own well-being.

  Sometimes people just didn’t deserve that kind of consideration, because they didn’t return it in kind. Regardless, he wanted Clifton gone. He wanted Dallas all to himself. He was willing to share her time with Finley since Finley had proved himself to be a reliable friend, but Clifton didn’t deserve the same kind of respect.

  Clifton sighed. “I take it you were the gift Anya sent?”

  “Yes,” Oliver said in a clipped tone.

  “Well, I can’t compete with a warlock of your stature or power so as I value my career, I will leave you and the fair Dallas alone. Just be good to her, because if you don’t, Anya will turn her wrath on you, and that’s something you definitely don’t want.”

  “In a fair battle, Anya and I would be pretty well matched. I’m not sure who would emerge the victor to be honest.”

  That last statement made Clifton come to attention and his eyes went wide as saucers. “I think I’d better get home. I just got off a very lengthy shift and I’m shattered. I am sure we’ll be talking again, Master White, so good evening to you.” He sped to his car, hopped in and raced away from Redgrave House.