Bait N' Witch (Legendary Consultants Book 3)

by Abigail Owen

  Bluff, her mind screamed as she scrambled for a suitable answer.

  “Of course,” she said, stalling for time. “However, I am a firm believer children should be taught to fix their own messes or live with the consequences.”

  “But I can’t fix this,” Chloe whined under her avalanche of hair.

  Rowan spread her hands in an “oh well” gesture. “Maybe walking around looking like the green version of Big Foot for a while will teach you not to use magic against your sisters next time?”

  “We don’t use magic against other people, ever, in this house. Adults included.” Greyson’s gaze slashed toward her, and she knew his admonishment was aimed at her as much as the girls. No wonder he needed help with the triplets if that was a rule.

  “How’s that working out for you?” Oh hell, hexes, and damnation. If she could’ve reversed time and held back that comment, she would’ve.

  “Ms. McAullife, are you this much trouble in all your households?”

  She’d never nannied before, but she couldn’t tell him that. All part of her cover. “I wouldn’t classify it as trouble, exactly.”

  “Of course, you wouldn’t,” he muttered under his breath. More loudly, he said, “What would you classify it as?”

  “Helpfulness?”

  “Hmmmm….” His tone said otherwise. Conversation ended, he turned to the girls again. “This is Chloe, Lachlyn, and Atleigh.” He indicated each girl with a wave.

  Rowan gave them a smile, though she wasn’t sure if Chloe could see her.

  “The girls have school during the day. Teleportation is one of my gifts and how we travel most often. However, I will arrange for a transport key for your use on those occasions when I’m not available to take them and for weekends.”

  So far so good.

  “It is your job to get them up and ready in the mornings. After school you will take them to an hour of magic practice with their Aunt Persephone next door to the east through the woods. She’s licensed to teach them. Afterward you’ll return here, where the girls will complete any homework. They may read in the evenings.”

  Was he serious? No hint of teasing penetrated a rather grim expression. Yup. Serious.

  Oblivious to her thoughts, he continued. “You’re in charge of all meals. Breakfast will be just you and the girls, you’ll send lunch with them, and I’ll join you for dinners. After dinner you’ll clear up while the girls prepare for bed. They have an hour in the evenings to themselves before bed. Any questions?”

  Tons. None he’d appreciate, she suspected. “Um…do the girls have any time to play or relax? What about TV? Or do they have friends they visit or who come here?”

  He lifted an imperious eyebrow. “I’m not a monster. Once homework is complete, they can do what they like as long as they stay within a mile or two of the house. I’ll let you know if friends schedule visits. Saturdays you will arrange to take them to various educational activities. Sundays, they visit their grandparents. That is your day off.”

  He glanced at her jeans, white t-shirt, and sneakers. “I expect you to dress appropriately at all times.”

  Glancing at his own immaculate grey pants and ironed button-down all tucked in, she surmised he meant more formal than jeans. She pictured her limited wardrobe—she’d been a prisoner for some time, and, since her release, hiding out for months, after all. She gave a mental groan. This job just got better and better.

  “I’ll go shopping this weekend,” she murmured.

  “Excellent.” He flicked a glance at his watch. “I will be in my office the rest of the day. I suggest you get settled and get to know the girls.”

  What kind of father spent Saturday working when it sounded as though he barely saw his children during the week? “Fine.”

  “Any questions?”

  “Which room is mine?”

  Despite the extra sugar she’d imbued in the words, he still narrowed his eyes. Was her sarcasm leaking through?

  “Yours is the only bedroom in the basement.”

  Relegated to the basement. Good thing ghosts didn’t tend to haunt her.

  He paused in turning away to cast her a final assessing look. “Dinner is at seven.”

  “And not a second later,” she muttered under her breath. Jeez, this guy was wound tighter than a pocket watch.

  He gave her a hard stare, which she returned with a guileless expression which apparently had no effect on him.

  “You may call me Mr. Masters.” With that the infuriating man turned and calmly left the room.

  His imperious tone decided it for her. She was going to enjoy thwarting this arrogant warlock at his own game.

  CHAPTER 2

  Rowan breathed a tiny bit easier at Greyson’s absence, a reaction she put down to who he was, rather than her odd attraction to the man. No way was she giving that any legitimacy. The spark was magical—and not in a metaphoric sense. Powerful witches and warlocks gave off a sort of electric charge. She’d cast a spell to mask hers and hopefully make him think her powers more minimal than they were. But that didn’t mean she was unaffected by his own aura.

  What had Delilah been thinking?

  Strangely, Rowan trusted Delilah. Other than Tanya, who’d trained her in magic, no one else had come close to gaining her trust like that, which is why she agreed to the crazy plan.

  Not for the first time, she questioned her sanity.

  Pulling her gaze from where Greyson Masters had disappeared, she glanced down and realized she was rubbing at her wrist, where he’d shocked her earlier. The spot still tingled, a warmth spreading outwards, though the burning sensation had let up. Upon closer inspection she discovered a faint white line in the center of the heat.

  “Are you really going to leave us like this?” a small voice sounded from behind her, pulling her focus away from her wrist.

  Spinning around, she faced down her new charges—three miniature witches who watched her with wary curiosity. Rather than seeing before her three wayward girls she had no idea how to control, instead, three little girls who needed attention and love stood. She knew because she’d seen that look before. Her own parents, from the little she could remember, had been equally focused on her magic, more on that than on her as a person who needed cuddles and bedtime stories.

  Things had changed with Tanya. She may have adopted Rowan, but she was the only true mother she’d ever known.

  She gave the girls a gentle smile. “You got yourselves into it. You can get yourselves out.”

  Rowan had to hold in a laugh at the disgruntled expressions tipped her direction.

  “I need to get my bags and unpack.” At the doorway, she paused and stuck her head back in the room. A head full of green hair and two pairs of wide eyes, with a touch of resentment now, stared back at her. She gave her head a jerk. “Come on, then.”

  She left shaggy, blondie, and baldy eyeing each other on the couch and headed outside. Not much to gather—exactly one suitcase, bag and clothing both provided by Delilah. They couldn’t risk going back to Rowan’s place to get her stuff, not with the Greyson hunting for her. The Mage Council might not know who she was. Yet. But that didn’t make her apartment in New Orleans safe.

  She rubbed at an itch on her nose, still getting used to the dry climate of Colorado, then heaved the suitcase over the side of the truck bed. Leaning to one side against the weight, she swung around, only to stop short at the sight of all three girls, appearances back to normal, watching her from the front porch.

  Interesting.

  “Is that all you brought?” one of the triplets asked, Lachlyn at a guess, based on a slightly lower timbre to her voice than the other two, at least when she was yelling.

  “Yes.” Rowan made her way up the steps, uneven and worn into smooth dips with thousands of steps over the years. She paused at the top, taking in their appearances. Greyson Masters was going to have his hands full with these three beauties. Long, honey blond hair, aquamarine eyes, peaches and cream complexions. And three
of them. Rowan cocked her head as she picked up a faint mark on each of their foreheads.

  A kiss of protection? Why would they need such a spell? And who had placed it there?

  She continued inside. “Maybe you should come shopping with me? You can help me choose.”

  One of the girls, Atleigh maybe, rolled her eyes. “Our last nanny wore black all the time. Are you going to do that, too?”

  Not her first choice. “Is that what Mr. Masters prefers?”

  “No. Daddy never said anything about how our other nannies dressed.”

  Probably because each had dressed like a perfect nanny. How long would it be before Greyson figured out Rowan was a total fraud?

  “Which way is the basement?” Wandering the house searching did not sit well with her.

  “This way.” Chloe, who’d been silent up till now, led the way through the house to the kitchen and pulled open a white painted door, which could easily be mistaken for a cupboard.

  Hefting her suitcase, Rowan clumped down a steep set of worn, wooden stairs. To her surprise, all three girls followed. In the basement, she found a suite complete with comfy couch and TV in the living area. The far wall boasted windows and a private door leading outside, possible by the way the house was built into the side of the mountain. The windows let in light, creating a cozy, bright atmosphere.

  Perfect.

  Off the living area, which she assumed was meant as a private area for her, she spied a spacious bedroom with a queen bed and an en suite bathroom. This space was larger than her apartment in New Orleans.

  She made her way into the room, tossed her suitcase up on the bed, and proceeded to unpack. The girls stood around the room, silently watching.

  “Where are you from?” Lachlyn asked.

  “I’ve moved a lot, but I lived in Scotland until I was fifteen.” The source of her slight brogue.

  “How many families have you nannied for?” Chloe asked now. Only Rowan caught the searching glance the girl sent her. Was intuition this girl’s gift?

  Rather than answer her, Rowan turned it back. “How many nannies have you had?”

  Lachlyn’s lips pinched. “You are the seventh. The first one lasted until we turned five. The other six have been since then.”

  Rowan paused in hanging up a shirt and raised her eyebrows. “Why so many?”

  The girls exchanged a glance, and Lachlyn shrugged. “They didn’t like it here.”

  The smugness in their shared look said it all. They’d run off their nannies. Jeez, they were young to be doing that. But why?

  As she reached for another shirt to hang, a black and white cat jumped up on the bed and rubbed against her outstretched hand. Rowan smiled. “Hello there.”

  The cat nuzzled her hand again. “Aren’t you a queen among felines.”

  In response the cat curled up beside her suitcase and set to purring with a loud rumble.

  “Her name is Cleopatra. She doesn’t like people. Usually. Do you speak with animals?” Atleigh asked.

  Rowan stilled. Dragonfly wings and barnacle butts. The idea was not to give away her true abilities that could help Greyson identify her.

  “I have a slight ability.”

  “What is your gift?”

  “I have no particular gift.” True. She possessed many.

  Chloe elbowed her sister. “She wouldn’t be a nanny if she was fully gifted,” she hissed.

  “I guess.” Lachlyn’s suspicion reflected in her narrowed-eyed gaze. “You stopped our spells pretty easily.”

  Rowan continued to unpack. “My skills lend toward raising magical children. Not too difficult. I’m surprised Mr. Masters didn’t stop you himself.”

  “Using magic against other witches is against the rules,” Chloe said.

  “And Dad is all about the rules,” Atleigh tacked on.

  “Ah. I guess this is a good time to discuss my rules.”

  All three groaned, and Rowan held in a grin as she zipped up her suitcase and stashed it in the large closet.

  She turned to the girls, hands on her hips.

  “I expect you to call me Rowan. I expect responsible magic use, which I did not see today. I expect you to know that if you need something, you can always ask me.”

  Given the wary gazes aimed her way, Rowan felt it a safe bet none of the other nannies had said anything similar.

  “We don’t need a nanny,” Atleigh said. “We’re big girls.”

  The old souls staring at her from young eyes about broke her heart. These girls needed love. Lots of love. Rowan nodded her head slowly, as if considering that statement. “Fine. Then I’ll be chauffeur, cook, and helper when you need it.”

  “A nanny,” Lachlyn grumbled.

  Rowan could have spelled them, forcing their compliance or opening their hearts, but she’d much rather earn their trust.

  Besides, she needed to reserve her energy for their father. For now.

  CHAPTER 3

  Greyson shut the door to his office with a sigh of relief, followed by a flash of guilt. He loved his daughters with every cell in his body, but, even after ten years without his wife, he still had no idea how to deal with three little girls. He had to admit his position as lead Enforcer for the Mage High Council had not remotely prepared him for wrangling with three tiny females. Of course, based on seven previous nannies’ performances, the girls were a handful for anyone, a fact which made him feel marginally better.

  A mental image of the latest in a long line of nannies popped into his mind—creamy skin, wide dove grey eyes, red curls everywhere, and a body that wouldn’t quit. Unbidden, his body hardened.

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  Even as he’d raised his hands, ready to defend his daughters when Rowan had appeared as if conjured, lust had inconveniently roared through his veins—just at the sight of her. He’d never responded so strongly to a woman. Ever. Not even his sweet wife. Guilt twisted inside him.

  Discovering Rowan was his nanny had been like being dunked in a frigid mountain stream. Inappropriate. Wrong on more than one level.

  Then she’d opened her mouth and, rather than the meek and mild woman he expected—like every other nanny sent to him—sass had flowed out from between those pouting lips.

  Helpful. He’d had a hard time not laughing at that one.

  And the more she’d spoke in her husky voice, the slight brogue lilting her words, the harder he’d become, straining against his zipper like a teenager unable to control his body.

  And what was with that strange spark of electricity when he shook her hand? Living in the mountains, he could put it down to static charge, but that bolt felt stronger, sharper. A glance at his palm—which still tingled from the contact, even now—showed no mark. He closed his hand in a fist, then chided himself for being stupid to even look. Of course, that had been static electricity or residual power from the energy balls he’d formed perhaps—simple.

  Greyson reluctantly admitted he’d bolted. He’d had zero intention of working today until Rowan McAuliffe had showed up.

  His reaction had to be an aberration. The girls had been fighting. Again. As usual, he had no idea how to deescalate the situation. His emotions already heightened, he doubted he’d react the same way to Rowan when in his usual controlled state.

  Having satisfactorily explained away his odd behavior, Greyson decided he might as well get work done while he was in here. He’d give his nanny time to get settled before he tested her out.

  Crossing the small office, he sat behind the old pine desk, a wall of bookshelves at his back. Natural light poured in from a set of double doors which led out to a small side patio. Greyson flipped open the lid of his laptop and logged in. After a couple of clicks, he brought up the file for his latest assignment.

  Unfortunately, the case had come to a screeching halt before it ever got started. For the thousandth time, he reviewed the information available.

  They’d had two grave abuses of magic instigated by the same creature. Kaios
, an ancient werewolf, now deceased, had first employed a warlock to attack a group of nymphs not far from where Greyson lived. With the help of a demigod, the warlock had been captured and held by the nymphs.

  The Mage High Council had dispatched a different Enforcer to bring the man in for questioning. But Greyson knew the warlock, had history with him. He’d taken upon himself to enact a different penalty—death.

  Usually, Greyson refused to mete out that kind of punishment. Banishment, removal of powers—those he could do. But death? Such an act scarred the soul. In that particular case, he’d disagreed strongly with the Council. He’d killed that warlock against their direct orders. Nothing could have stopped him.

  Not long afterward, the same werewolf had attacked Castor Dioskouri, the same demigod who’d captured their warlock, as well as Lyleia Nyaid, a nymph and now Dioskouri’s wife. That time, though, Kaios had used a witch to turn off their powers. Only luck and good planning had the Banes and Canis packs of werewolves there to help. Otherwise, Greyson suspected a feud between weres and gods would have been the result. Kaios had been killed, but his witch accomplice had survived.

  Or so Greyson thought.

  The Mage High Council had dispatched Greyson to deal with the witch in the situation, but she’d disappeared. No one was talking, almost as though they were protecting her. Why would they do that?

  At this point, all he had to go on was a physical description, a woman, long red hair, green eyes, or maybe grey, heart-shaped face, not tall but not short either. Unfortunately, the description fit many witches. Unlike the rest of the world’s population, the red-haired gene cropped up almost fifty percent of the time in those magically-inclined. Hell, the woman now living under his roof matched that description.

  But he knew her background. After the seventh failed nanny provided by his community of mages, he’d turned to Delilah at Legendary Consultants for help. She’d provided a full dossier on Rowan’s background and skills. No picture though. That might’ve been helpful today.