“Will you help me with something?”
“Sure, if you marry me.”
Sydney drew back and burst out laughing. “If I what?”
“Marry me.” He shook his head. “Otherwise it’s no deal.”
“Okay, Spencer, I’ll call your bluff. You help me, and I’ll marry you.”
“Great. What do you want me to do?”
Rolling her eyes, Sydney reached into her messenger bag again and pulled out a card. When Nick took it, she said, “Call this number tomorrow and tell Smythe-Warren you’re looking for a book of shadows for a friend, something from the Low Countries. Tell him you’re from”—she waved her hand—“anywhere but here. I don’t want him to realize we know one another yet.”
Nick flipped the card, pulled a pencil from behind his ear, and wrote down the information.
“Don’t call until tomorrow evening, and if he wants to meet—which he will—tell him you’ll fly in immediately because it’s a birthday gift or something.”
“You want me to do a lot of improvising here. I might need to make that wedding sooner.”
“As long as you don’t make it for Saturday at Banishing Bistro. Because you’ll be meeting that lying, cheating bastard of—”
Nick frowned, his face falling like a boy whose birthday party has been cancelled. “But we have a date on Saturday,” he said, his voice tinged with disappointment.
“And we’ll still have it, but I’m also hoping to catch a rat on Saturday. Are you in?”
“Honey, I’ve never been in anything more.”
Chapter 5
Saturday Night
Many of the shops on Main Street shared similar vibes. Some shared a coastal theme, and some embraced magic. But tucked among them was Banishing Bistro, an enchanting romantic hideaway that offered a completely different atmosphere. Sitting on the outdoor patio, surrounded by a rustic stone wall, diners enjoyed their meals in the ambiance of a villa in the French countryside.
Nick had just figured out that some people weren’t cut out for dining in France. The terracotta planters filled with flowing bouquets of some sort of fragrant red flower made his nose run, and the chic wrought iron dining sets made him long for the comfort of the booths at Poisons and Potions. There, he could sprawl out. Here, his big body was perched on a tiny chair at a child-sized table, but the bigger issue? He was alone when he should have been on a date.
He took a sip of his beer—this time in a tulip-shaped goblet. Why couldn’t he just get a damn bottle of beer anywhere?
A glance at his phone told him that Smythe-Warren should be along any minute now. Nick just wanted it over with so he could have his date.
He’d seen Sydney and her father come into the restaurant. She’d looked as beautiful as ever, her shining blond hair in soft waves around her face, her tight, sexy body draped in a black silk pantsuit. That woman sure knew how to wear silk. She’d given him a thumbs-up and a bright smile as she passed through to take a seat on the other side of the garden patio. He’d dialed her phone—which she would put on speaker—and now he waited. He spent the time in the best way he knew how, thinking of what he’d do with Sydney if he ever got her alone. He had some really interesting ideas, and none of them involved rare books.
“Mr. Delaney?”
Nick’s head snapped up. He lifted from his seat and stretched out his hand. “Yeah, great to meet you.”
The man studied him for a long moment before extending his own hand. His grip was firm, almost painful, not what Nick had expected from Sydney’s description. He’d thought to get some scholarly Ichabod Crane-type, but this man, though rail-thin and patrician, exuded a dark presence that felt…off.
As the man sat, placing his briefcase on the cobblestone floor, the acrid scent of some sort of herb reached Nick’s nostrils. His eyes watered as he sank back to his tiny chair.
This man had been touched by magic recently.
When the server approached their table, Smythe-Warren held up a hand. The young man stopped short, and his smile fell.
“Mccallan, neat.” His gaze wandered across the patio, his brows drawn down, before settling back on the young man. He lifted a brow. “You do have Mccallan in this…place?”
“Yes, sir.” The young man’s head bobbed, and he swallowed visibly.
Smythe-Warren sighed. “Then why are you still here?”
The server scurried away, and Smythe-Warren’s gaze followed him until he’d disappeared into the restaurant. When he didn’t immediately turn his attention back to the reason for their meeting, Nick searched the patio until his own gaze caught on Sydney’s bright hair, a halo of gold among the green vegetation that dotted the garden area. It wouldn’t benefit him if Smythe-Warren saw the Janzens. He might suspect a setup, and their sting would be over before it began.
Nick leaned forward eagerly, trying to play his part to perfection. “You have something to show me, I believe.” Smythe-Warren reluctantly brought his attention back to Nick. “My girlfriend really gets off on all this witch stuff. You know women. She goes through phases. Last month if was France, the month before that Spain. She won’t be happy ’til I’ve spent every dollar I have on European witchcraft. Sometimes I think—”
The man lifted his hand, silencing Nick.
“Enough. I really don’t care about your girlfriend or her clever little hobbies.”
“That makes two of us,” Nick said, settling back in his uncomfortable chair. He really wanted out of this place, but he stretched out his legs as best he could and smiled. “But when women are happy, you get a bit more…personal attention.” He winked. “If you know what I mean.”
“Unfortunately, yes, I know what you mean,” the man said. “And I’m just as disinterested in your sex life as I am in the woman’s hobbies.”
The server placed a cut-crystal glass and folded black napkin in front of Smythe-Warren and then escaped as quickly as he’d arrived. The book dealer took a sip, and for the first time, the hint of a smile hovered at the corner of his mouth.
“I do enjoy some of these rather mundane indulgences.” He savored the drink for a brief moment and then placed it back on the table. “Now to business.”
As Smythe-Warren pushed the drink into the center of the table and reached for his briefcase, Nick frowned because he got another whiff of that pungent aroma. Not sage, not tannis, but definitely something that caused the spit to dry up in his mouth.
The book dealer pulled out a small leather volume and then returned the case to the floor. “A book of shadows. The Low Countries, as requested, Dutch specifically. Some minor witch who managed to avoid prosecution by her inquisitors, only to perish—”
Smythe-Warren blinked then frowned, staring at the book in his hand. He glanced up at Nick. “Mr. Delaney?”
Something had happened. The herbal smell had dissipated, leaving in its wake some sort of rancid cologne and a rather bemused and distracted expression on Smythe-Warren’s face. Nick reached across the table slowly and took the book from the man’s hand, letting his fingers trace over the man’s fingers. Definitely a hint of magic, a greasy sediment, a bit gravelly. The book, however, now felt clean. Whatever enchantment had previously coated the book was gone. Those miniscule magical jumping beans had dispersed, leaving nothing but the feel of old, cracked leather.
Smythe-Warren ran his hands over his face, as though wiping away the remnants of a dream. He lifted the crystal glass to his nose, which wrinkled in distaste. “Why in heaven’s name did I order a whiskey? I’m a Grey Goose man.”
“Can’t help you with that, pal. How much for the book?”
“Oh, yes, the book.” Smythe-Warren shook his head. “Sorry. I feel a bit befuddled for some reason. Eight hundred dollars. Firm.”
“I’d expected a much higher figure,” Nick said.
“It’s genuine, late sixteenth century. Kael Merrie was a valid historical figure to be sure, but her diary is a rather drab and dreary account of a humdrum and tedious life, mere
scribbles really of an almost illiterate peasant woman. Her story is of very little interest to serious collectors of witchcraft lore.”
Smythe-Warren droned on. He might have been a con artist, but the man seemed to know his rare books. Nick nodded in all the appropriate spots, and when a feminine hand with beautifully manicured nails reached out to pluck the book from Nick’s hand, Smyth-Warren lifted his head to find himself staring into Sydney’s angry eyes. The words dried in his throat, and he sputtered then coughed.
“Only eight hundred dollars? And if you were selling to a Janzen?” she said. “How much would the book cost then?”
“Sydney?” His gaze darted to Nick and then back. “You returned the book and said you didn’t want it. What are you doing here?”
“Just a little sting operation, Randall. Nothing to be too concerned about, once you confess of course.”
“Confess to what?”
“We’ll get to that.” She sniffed. “I’m happy to note that the horrible smell is gone.”
“I’m very confused, Sydney.” Smythe-Warren glanced between them, blinking owlishly.
Nick slid his chair back, the iron legs scraping on the stones, and patted his lap. Sydney lifted a smooth brow and then sat down, her warm body snuggling back against him. From that moment on, he ceased to care about Smythe-Warren. He’d done his part, and even though the back of his mind tickled as he wondered about that smell, he decided he’d just enjoy the contact of this warm, sexy body against his.
Sydney picked up Nick’s hand and toyed with his fingers. “I see you’ve met my boyfriend, Nick Spencer.”
Smythe-Warren pressed his lips together. “I thought you said your name was Delaney.”
“My sister’s name is Delaney. Does that count?”
“No, it does not,” the man snapped. “You got me here under false pretenses, and you can prove nothing.”
Bryan Janzen pulled a chair from a nearby table and folded his tall, lean body onto the iron seat.
Smythe-Warren gulped. “Bryan, have you decided on those volumes of canon law?”
Bryan pressed a finger against his lips. “That depends. You quoted me $6000 for the set. How much would you charge Mr. Delaney here?”
“T-that’s not fair, Bryan. You know I—”
“You should know something about me,” Nick said. “We all have our gifts in this little town. My gift is a bit unusual. I can feel magic signatures.”
“Oh…” Smythe-Warren ran his hand over his face. “I met someone like you in Chicago.”
“And here I thought I was special,” Nick said, “but it certainly explains why you’re not in Chicago.”
Bryan took a sip of the Mccallan. “Just how much have you fleeced us for in the last ten years, Randall?”
He clenched his hands into fists. “You owed me. You owned my family.”
Bryan shook his head. “I don’t even know your family.”
“But your ancestors did,” he snarled. “The Smythes lost everything in New England because of the Janzens. Everything I tell you. Our money, our status, our reputations.”
“So you thought to extract retribution on us?” Sydney asked. “We’ve been nothing but generous with you, Randall, and we’ve been excellent clients.”
“But you owed me,” he muttered.
“You’re right,” Bryan said. “I don’t need details. Chances are, somewhere along the line, someone in your family ran into a Janzen and that man”—he cast a glance at Sydney with a chuckle—“or woman ruined your future.” He pulled a checkbook out of his pocket and began to scribble. “I’m making restitution. I’m writing a check for $500,000. You’ll take this, and you’ll leave Blansett. If you return to our town, I’ll be forced to turn you over to the council.”
“Where should I go?” He glanced between them.
“We don’t care,” Sydney said.
“But probably not Chicago,” Nick added with a smile. “Damn, I think I’ll take a trip to Chicago. I’d like to meet someone like me.”
Sydney squeezed his fingers. “There’s no one like you.”
A warm spot flared in Nick’s chest and traveled through his body like a burst of magic. Yep. This was going to be his wife and the sooner, the better.
Bryan held out the check. “You’ll take the money and leave town. Are we clear?”
Smythe-Warren shot to his feet and grabbed the check from Bryan’s fingers. After shoving it into his pants pocket, he reached down to retrieve the Merrie volume.
Bryan lifted it from the table. “We’ll be keeping this, as well as the volumes on canon law. I’ve already promised them to the bishop. You can email me the receipts…at the pre-magical rate.”
Smythe-Warren picked up his briefcase and backed away. “I understand, and if you ever find yourself in need of—”
“We won’t,” Sydney and Bryan said at the same time.
When the book dealer had retreated through the garden gate, Sydney whirled around and flung her arms around Nick. He held his breath as her mouth covered his in an exuberant kiss. The only problem was it ended far too soon.
“We did it! You were magnificent.” She took his face between her hands and kissed him again. “You should go under cover more often.”
“Yeah, about that. There was something not quite right—” Nick started.
Sydney suddenly stiffened, and her arms dropped away. She pressed her hands tightly against her stomach, and Bryan nearly choked on another sip of the whiskey. Sydney’s eyes widened, and her gaze darted around the patio furiously.
“Did you feel that?” she whispered.
“What?” Nick asked.
Sydney met her father’s eyes as he said, “A disturbance in the Force.”
“It’s my wards,” she said. “Someone, or something, just tried to pass through them. We’ve got to get to the shop.”
Chapter 6
Sydney rushed through the garden gate and stopped short.
The wards had chosen the worst possible time to activate. On Saturday evening, the outdoor patios practically burst with diners, and the sidewalk of Main Street teemed with partiers, shoppers, and tourists. The murmur of conversations and boisterous laughter rose above the rolling crash of the waves, and the scents of perfume and aftershave overshadowed the luscious aromas of the blossoms in the planters that lined the boardwalk.
Magicville was a hot spot for weekend jaunts, and this weekend proved to be no exception. Short of an invisibility spell or maybe a time freeze spell—and there was so not time for either of those—Sydney realized there was no way to get to the shop without drawing attention to herself.
Crazy witch running down Main Street screaming like a banshee.
Or the equally bad option—
Crazy woman running down Main Street screaming like a banshee.
Some choice. Either way people would stare, and she couldn’t have that because, until she knew what was going on with the wards, everyone nearby was suspect.
Two blocks away, the porch light of Mystic Tides beckoned like a long-lost friend. So close and yet so far.
She yanked her phone out of her jacket pocket and dialed the shop.
“Mystic Tides,” said a singsong voice. Sydney would have recognized the sugary sweetness of that voice anywhere. She’d warned Grey more than once that her real personality needed to keep its ass at home when she worked at the shop.
“Grey!”
“What the hell happened?” they said at the same time.
Sydney started moving through the tide of people, her father and Nick following in her wake.
“Damned if I know,” Grey continued. “First off, are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Why?”
“You’re not hurt, injured, something equally bad? I got a terrible sensation in my stomach, and it felt connected to you. Then my heart started racing when the quake hit.”
“The quake? I got some sort of jolt and felt… I don’t know what I felt. Violated I guess. My heart is be
ating way too fast, and the adrenaline is still rushing through me.” She pressed a hand to her stomach to quell the nausea. “But never mind that. I’m fine. What about this quake?”
“I don’t know if it was a quake. Do we even get quakes around here?”
“Grey, please, no tangents.”
“Sorry. The building swayed, and then it shuddered. It actually shuddered like in an earthquake. Bethany was restocking the chalices and nearly fell off the ladder, and hey, that reminds me. We unloaded a bunch of those crystal balls tonight. You can thank me later. I was rockin’ it—”
“Focus, Grey.”
“It’s kind of hard to focus in the middle of a freaking earthquake.”
“It wasn’t an earthquake,” Sydney said. “It was the wards on the collections room. They bowed. They didn’t break, but they definitely bowed. Thank God they held.”
Grey huffed. “Well, that explains why Beth almost fell off the ladder and why I thought I was going to kiss the floor, but we had five customers in the shop. Not one of them reacted.”
“They’re not connected to the wards or to…each other.”
“Sheep,” Grey muttered in disgust. “And not the cute kind.”
Sydney wasn’t surprised that Grey had felt her panic, had felt the sudden jolt of her heart as fear spiked through her. Her mind reeled backward through decades of memories. The four of them had often felt each other’s distress, sometimes even actual pain, when danger lurked or an accident happened. Bethany had once fallen from a tree while searching for its heart. They’d all felt the pain of that broken arm. Once when Halona had cut herself on some coral, the other three had limped a bit, experiencing the same pain she felt, and when Grey, in an exuberant moment of childhood, had skipped out into a busy street, three heartbeats had faltered with her own with the squeal of the tires.
Her three cousins had each called Sydney the night of her appendicitis attack. None of them had been sure who was actually in distress because the pain had mirrored in each of them. They’d all met at the hospital to get a true diagnosis.
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