by T. M. Cromer
“Your parents didn’t block your powers. The Witches’ Council is responsible for the action against you,” Alastair revealed.
Ryanne’s shocked face mirrored Nash’s.
His son’s response was understandable. He worked for the Council, and Alastair doubted that Nash had heard tell of the Caldwell scandal of years past.
“Why?” Nash demanded, ever Ryanne’s champion.
“Years ago, Paul and Marsha manipulated the girls into using magic to break into depositories and safes for their personal gain and to amass their fortune.”
“I don’t understand.” Ryanne looked between him and Nash. “Why don’t I recall that part of my childhood? I remember my parents well enough.”
“The Council wiped your memory clean at the same time they bound your powers.”
She wrapped her hands around her stomach as if to comfort herself. “I was a thief?”
“No, child. Your parents were thieves. You and your sister were their tools.”
A sheen of tears coated her eyes, and she dropped her gaze to the floor to hide her emotions.
“Ryanne.” Nash drew her into his chest and kissed the crown of her shiny head. “Don’t take this upon yourself. You were a small child.” He looked to Alastair for confirmation.
“Indeed. This is not your fault, dear girl.”
After she wiped a shaky hand beneath her eyes, she met Alastair’s direct gaze. “Will I be bound for life?”
“Between Nash and myself, we can reverse the spell. But it means going against the Witches’ Council, which my son is always hesitant to do.”
Nash’s stormy gaze snapped to him. “Don’t presume to tell me what I will and won’t do.”
“Did I say you wouldn’t do it?” Alastair shrugged. “I’m almost positive I didn’t.”
“I’m willing to help her regain her powers,” Nash informed them.
Alastair studied him for a brief moment before he nodded. “All right. But I’d like a word in private before we continue.”
“Anything you say to me, you can say to her.”
Ah, young men in love. They were clueless at times. They were also quick to defend their women without ever having the facts. “Nevertheless, I will not reverse the spell without a few moments of your time, son. Your choice.”
He imagined he could hear the grinding of his son’s teeth. He was under no illusions that Nash held him in contempt. How it must have grated to call for his help.
Nash faced Ryanne. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not.”
When they were alone, Nash turned to him and snapped, “What was that all about?”
“Are you certain this is the course of action you wish to take?” Alastair moved away to study a shelf of ancient artifacts. He noticed a few he might utilize, but knew his tight-assed son would never part with the items in his inventory. Not if it meant upsetting the Council. “Do you trust her?”
“What kind of question is that?” Nash scoffed. “Not three hours ago, you were encouraging me to go after her.”
“True, but then I didn’t fully know about her past.”
“I trust her.”
Alastair pivoted on his heel to face his son. “Then call her in and let’s get started. But know this; if she hurts you, I will smite her from existence.”
“Don’t you dare threaten her!”
He cocked his head and smiled. “It does my heart good to see the fire in you. It’s like you’re a chip off the old block.”
“Goddess forbid,” Nash muttered.
Five minutes later, they merged their magic to remove the spell. For Alastair, who’d seen the original spell when he scried, it was a matter of reversing the process. When they were done, he lifted Ryanne’s hand in his and sent a test arc from his fingertips. “Do you feel any different, child?”
“I feel strange.”
“In what way?”
“Overly warm, as if I’m heating from the inside out. Does that make sense?”
“It does. That’s the regeneration of the magic within your cells.”
“Will this be a constant feeling?”
“No. Only when you conjure, teleport, or perform spells. Most times you will feel normal,” he informed her.
A shimmer in the air around them caught his attention. “How strong are the wards protecting this room?”
Nash was by his side in an instant. “Why?”
“Someone’s trying to spy on you.”
“Shit! Achoo! Damn! Achoo!”
A laugh shook Alastair. “If you continue to swear, we will have the entire population of trash pandas from North Carolina on your doorstep in minutes, son.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Nash growled.
“When you swear, you sneeze and raccoons appear?” Ryanne made an admirable attempt to contain her humor. “Is that normal?”
Nash shot a glare o’death in Alastair’s direction, and he struggled to hold back his amusement.
“Yes, and no,” Nash finally confessed. “It’s a gift from my sperm donor to all his children. Remind us, Father, what is the result of your swearing?”
Alastair dusted his hands together. “Right. On that note, I will leave the two of you to carry on with your evening. But do remember to reinforce your wards, boy.” He walked to the shelves containing the magical objects and selected one. “My payment for services rendered.”
“You can’t take that!”
“Can’t I? Hmm.” With a snap of his fingers, Alastair returned home. His manservant, Alfred, was there to greet him. “Here, my man. Stow this away for safekeeping, won’t you?”
“Yes, sir. Right away.”
“That sneaky sonofabitch! Achoo!” Nash clenched his hands into fists.
Ryanne shoved down the laughter threatening to erupt. “What was it he took?”
“A rare thirteenth-century Japanese jar.”
“And what does it do? I mean, he didn’t take it for its beauty, that’s for sure.”
“It can transform any liquid into a toxic poison. If you want to murder your dinner guests, you can serve wine from that particular decanter.”
Her eyes widened in shock. She couldn’t fathom desiring to murder anyone, much less guests. “Why would he want something like that?”
“Because he’s Alastair Thorne and no one knows what the heck goes on in his head,” Nash grumbled. “But he’s right about one thing. I need to strengthen the wards protecting this room. He was able to teleport out. That shouldn’t have been possible with one of the objects, even for him.”
“Is there something I can do to help?”
“No. You have much to learn before that happens, babe. If you’ll wait for me in my office, I’ll wrap things up here and take you for that dinner.”
Before he could step away, she latched on to his wrist. “What’s the result when your father curses?”
She’d never seen such an evil grin in all her life, but Nash took great delight when he answered. “Locusts.”
Thunder boomed and shook the building.
“Then you shouldn’t have stolen my vase!” Nash yelled toward the ceiling.
Ryanne eyed him warily. What the hell had she gotten herself into? Was she buying into the belief she was a witch? Denying what she’d witnessed with her own eyes and felt within her own cells was difficult. A small part of her hoped she’d wake up and find it was all a dream. But a larger part of her was excited by the prospect of magical abilities. What were the limits to her powers?
While she waited on the white leather loveseat in Nash’s office, her thoughts turned to her parents. Larceny. Wow! Just, wow! Who would use their six-year-old daughters in such a despicable manner? If she could get Rylee to return her phone calls, she’d ask her sister what she might or might not remember.
For certain, their adopted parents didn’t know what they were, or that they’d had two witches in their midst. Chris and Hazel Jones had been two of the strictest, old-school, religious people o
n the planet.
Sadness crept in. Last year, a house fire took Chris’s and Hazel’s lives. Ryanne missed the steady love and support Hazel had always shown her. Maybe it was better that they’d passed. They would never discover what their daughters truly were.
Hot tears burned behind her lids, and she blinked to dispel the building moisture.
Despite their stringent, no-nonsense attitude, they had been good people, and she had loved them. The same couldn’t be said for Rylee. Growing up, her sister had rebelled every chance she could. After Rylee took off for New York, all that the twins shared was a handful of phone calls and the occasional secretive visit.
Her sister returned after the Joneses’ funeral. That was about the time Rylee went to work for Victor Salinger, claiming she needed to be close to family.
Ryanne snorted.
She still rarely saw her sister, and when she did, Rylee only talked about herself and how great her life was. Once or twice she tried to turn the conversation to Nash Thorne, but for whatever reason, Ryanne hadn’t been willing to discuss him or what she did at Thorne Industries. Something was off about Rylee’s obsession with Nash.
“Are you ready?” Nash’s deep baritone voice pulled her from her musings.
“Yes, and absolutely starved.”
“I could teach you how to conjure a meal.” His mischievous grin tickled her insides.
“Conjure a meal?”
“Yep. It’s something you’ll have fun with in the coming days—conjuring whatever your heart desires.”
“Like what?”
“What is your favorite food?”
She laughed. “Is this a trick question? I’m a woman. That would be wine and chocolate.”
“Watch and learn.” So saying, Nash held out his hands, and within seconds, a box of Swiss chocolates rested in one palm and he gripped a bottle of Krug Private Cuvee Champagne in the other.
Although both were out of her price range, even Ryanne knew expensive items when she saw them. “Holy crap! Is this for real?”
His deep laugh boomed. “It’s for real.”
One thing bothered her, and she voiced her concerns. “That is a private label Champagne, Nash. Did you steal that?”
“No. A good friend of mine works for Krug. She keeps me supplied. This was procured from my collection.”
“She?” Jealousy curled in her belly, making her insides a jumbled mess.
With great care, Nash set aside the bottle and the box. He stepped in front of her and used one knuckle to tilt up her chin. “She. But she is simply someone I grew up with. Our mothers were best friends.”
“So you never had a relationship with her?”
“Does spin the bottle count?”
Ryanne shoved his chest. “Why do I get the feeling you used your magic to always have the bottle land in your favor?”
Nash grinned and drew her close. “Maybe because you are starting to know me too well.”
“Mmhmm.”
“If it makes you feel any better, she is happily married with the two-point-five kids, a dog, and the white picket fence.”
“It does.”
“There you go.”
“Fine. Now kiss me and feed me because I’m starving.”
“Starving for the kiss or the food?” he asked in a silky, seductive voice.
“Both,” she admitted.
Nash dipped his head and settled his mouth on hers. The soft, lingering touch of his lips made Ryanne hungrier still.
She curled her hands around his neck and wove her fingers in his soft, blond hair. This time when his lips came in contact with hers, she opened her mouth to allow him full access. The taste of him was more addictive than all the boxes of Swiss chocolate he could conjure.
Nash pulled back just as Ryanne would have taken things a step further.
“Let’s get you fed and re-address this after dinner. I have something to propose to you, and I don’t want you to feel I’m taking unfair advantage.”
Chapter 6
“No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’?” Nash wanted to smash something. “Ryanne, this is serious.”
“I don’t care. I’m not doing it.” She held up a hand to stem his protests. “It’s not like you’re asking me to put on a French maid costume and play some sort of sex game. You are asking me to pretend to be my sister and seduce Victor Salinger into giving me a necklace.”
She jabbed him in the chest with her index finger. Hard.
Nash winced. He caught her hand and drew her close. “Okay, we’re going to get back to the French maid costume and sex games right after this, but I said nothing about seducing Victor. And for what it’s worth, I’m highly opposed to that course of action.” He sighed his frustration. “I know what I’m asking goes against your sense of right and wrong, but hear me out. Victor has a necklace dating back to the time of Isis. That one piece of jewelry has the power to topple dynasties and induce chaos throughout the world.”
“That sounds a little extreme, don’t you think?” She scoffed her disbelief.
“I have in my possession a journal that states otherwise.”
“You have hundreds of journals. I’m not sure how you keep everything straight in that head of yours.”
“I was gifted with a high IQ.”
“Yeah, it goes right along with all those cool superpowers. So why can’t you use magic to steal the necklace from Salinger?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Look, Nash, I can’t get my sister to return a phone call. It’s doubtful she’ll agree to this plan.”
“Yeah, about that… I don’t think we should ask her.”
“What?”
Nash winced again for an entirely different reason. The ear-piercing octave of Ryanne’s voice set his ears to ringing.
“You cannot be serious? What do you plan to do, kidnap her and put me in her place?”
He remained silent. Color crept up his neck due to her accurate guess. When she put it that way, it sounded a bit asinine.
“No! Not just no, but hell no!”
“Ryanne, babe, please be reasonable.”
“I’ll give you reasonable, you…you…you…”
Nash had done it. He’d officially broken Ryanne. Liz was going to kill him. “Look, it’s not like she’s going to come to any harm. We grab her, put her under a sleeping spell, and you take her place until we can swap the necklace.”
“What happens when she wakes, goes back to Victor, and then has to face the music because it’s discovered the real necklace is missing, Nash? Did you ever think of that? You’re putting my sister’s life in jeopardy.”
“Okay, so maybe I didn’t get that far in the planning stage of this little scheme.”
“Gah!” She threw her hands up and headed for the door. When she reached it, she wrenched it open. “Get out!”
“Ryanne—”
“I said, get out! I mean it, Nash. I want you to leave.”
“Please listen to me. This goes much deeper than you know. Let me show you.”
Ryanne silently studied him. Nash could see the wheels turning in her brain. Inasmuch as she was pissed at him, she was also bright and logical. Eventually, she’d agree to the proper course of action. Or so he hoped.
She closed the door. “Show me how?”
“Be right back.” Nash teleported to his study. When he returned, he brought with him the journal he’d mentioned a few minutes before. He opened it to one of several bookmarked pages and set it on her dining room table. “Here.”
“I’m never going to get used to you disappearing into thin air,” she muttered as she picked up the book. While Ryanne read, the frown line between her eyes deepened, as did the compression of her lips. Five minutes after she started, she looked up. “Holy hell!”
He knew what she’d read. He’d read it himself—many times. It discussed how influential the object was in the second World War when it fell into the hands of Adolf Hitler.
&nbs
p; “And look here…” Nash brushed her shoulder as he reached past her to turn to another marked section. The resulting zing he experienced nearly caused him to chuck the book across the room and sweep her into his arms to make long, leisurely love. Shoving aside all thoughts of sex, he tapped the page for her to read. “Prior to that, Napoleon Bonaparte sent an unscrupulous character to Egypt in an attempt to acquire it. According to Lady Hester Tremayne, Napoleon had already escaped Elba at that point. His hired henchman stole the necklace from her in his quest to help Bonaparte defeat England.”
When she turned toward him, he cupped her face between his palms to emphasize his urgency. “I’m not crazy, and I would never do anything to hurt you or Rylee, but you’re the only one who stands a remote chance of getting that necklace from Victor.”
“Why can’t we bring Rylee into this? Why not tell her what’s going on and get her help?”
How did he tell her that he didn’t trust Rylee as far as he could throw her? Or that he secretly believed her sister was behind the fiery death of Ryanne’s adopted parents?
He didn’t need to. Ryanne guessed his reticence in mere seconds.
“You don’t trust her,” she stated flatly. “Why?”
“I don’t know her enough to trust her.” As far as evasions went, his answer was extremely lame, but Nash didn’t wish to offend her any worse than he already had by not believing her sister was the be all, end all.
“You’re lying.”
His brows slammed together as he glared down at her. “You can’t possibly know that!”
“I know you, Nash Thorne. And I certainly can tell when you aren’t giving me the full truth.”
He opened his mouth to swear, but she slapped her hand over his mouth.
“I also know you are about to curse up a storm and call North Carolina’s entire population of raccoons to my apartment.”
The wry twist of her lips struck him as funny. Yes, maybe she did know him better than he thought. He gave her a single nod, at which she slowly removed her hand. Had he imagined her regretful sigh and how her eyes had dropped to his lips?
“Fine.” He sighed his frustration and ran a hand through his hair. It was imperative to get her on his side with this project before any romantic overtures because he didn’t want her to believe he was only seducing her for his personal gain. “I don’t trust your sister.”
