“More inferred,” Jennifer said as if trying to downplay the seriousness.
“And I never thought that about ya,” he said.
“She’s said worse about others. She tried to imply my boss is in witness protection from the mafia and running drugs out of the back room. I don’t think anyone believes her. I actually kind of feel sorry for her. She must be lacking something inside to feel the need to lie about her neighbors like she does.”
“That’s very understanding of ya,” he said. “Still, something needs to be done.”
A car passed, and she stared at the driver through the window, turning her head to watch the vehicle. “Turn toward the Crimson Tavern, then keep going. My place is pretty much a straight shot from there,” she said.
Rory smiled to himself. She might be relaxing around him. Though he couldn’t fault her for being cautious. Women living on their own needed to take extra precautions. He had to remind himself that humans were not like warlocks. As a human, she would have been very shaken at having woken up in a motel with no idea of how she arrived there. In contrast, when Rory woke up tied to a tree with no memory of his abduction, he had felt like it was another family prank.
Whoever had bespelled her might try again. He needed to protect her.
He turned the corner and drove past the tavern. “Maybe ya should stay at my family home for a while or the motel if you’re more comfortable.”
“That’s a…” She frowned, studying him. “Either a very inappropriately strange or a very kind offer. Either way, no thank you. I have a home.”
“I don’t seem to be articulating myself very well this morning.” He gave a small laugh. “Maybe I shouldn’t have spilled that coffee since it sounds like I need it. What I meant to say is, if ya don’t remember what happened, it might be a case of better safe than sorry. My sister won’t charge ya for the room. I can drive ya back there after ya pick up some of your belongings if ya like.”
“I appreciate the kind offer, but I’ll be fine,” she said. “You can stop here.”
Rory pulled over to the curb. There were several houses in the neighborhood.
Jennifer opened the car door and put one foot outside the door. “Thank you for the ride and for helping me out last night. If you’re ever at Crimson Tavern, I’ll buy you a plate of nachos.” She got out of the car and shut the door.
Rory watched as she went to the sidewalk. He was going to make sure she got home safely, but she stood staring at him. She lifted her hand in a small wave, and it became clear she wasn’t going home until he left.
With a sigh, Rory gave a small wave of his fingers and obliged. He pulled away from the curb and watched her through his rearview mirror. She didn’t move as she waited for him to turn out of sight.
“I will be seeing ya again, lassie,” Rory whispered. “That is a promise.”
Chapter Six
Jennifer popped the lid off her coffee and took a long drink. It was more for the caffeine than the taste. Half was gone when she finished, and she put the lid back on for the walk home. She was about a block away from her trailer. Since she didn’t want Rory following her there, she waited another minute to make sure he didn’t turn back.
There was nothing wrong with where she lived. Sure, it wasn’t a mansion on a hill overlooking town like royalty over its flock, but it was hers for now. She paid her rent, kept it clean, and when she was inside, she was safe from the outside world.
Even now, Jennifer felt the simmering anger that surfaced when she was near him. In the car, it had become difficult to concentrate on anything else. She had done her best to be polite, if not nice to him when she had really wanted to throw her hot coffee in his face.
Jennifer felt terrible for her unwarranted feelings. Violence was not in her nature. That rage was reason enough to stay away from him.
“If you’re ever at Crimson Tavern, I’ll buy you a plate of nachos,” she mocked herself under her breath. Why the hell didn’t she say thank you and leave it at that? She couldn’t see him again—not with her irrational temper.
Had he done something to her, and was this her body’s way of reminding her of an event she couldn’t remember? It didn’t feel like that was the case, but then, she’d been unconscious. How could she know?
She cut between two houses to where the trailer home was parked near an alleyway. The light blue paint covering the bottom half of the unit was chipped and dirty. Someone had painted the top half white much more recently. Lattice covered the bottom edge of the trailer to hide the fact cinderblocks supported it. Bowed stairs led to a windowless front door. A pair of double doors were a few feet away from it, but they had been bolted shut long ago and no longer provided a way in or out of her bedroom.
Jennifer reached into the front of her shirt and pulled a chain from around her neck. It held her house key. She glanced around before unlocking the door. Inside, brown carpet and beige walls created a bland palette. A blue couch had been there when she’d moved in. The middle cushion sank lower than the two that flanked it. The small television didn’t get reception, but the built-in VCR worked. She could watch movies from the 1980s collection someone had left behind in the bedroom closet.
One picture hung on the living room wall of Jennifer with her father and brother. Presumably, her mother had taken it.
“Hi, guys. How was your night?” she asked the photo. “Mine was…”
She let her words trail off with a deep sigh. Somehow talking to ghosts seemed too sad this morning.
The living room led to a small kitchen. Jennifer put her coffee cup on the counter and emptied her apron next to it. Then she dug into the food bag. They had messed up her order, but in the end, it didn’t matter if it was a sausage biscuit or a bacon one. It was food in her stomach.
She ate the biscuit on her way down the hall, holding it in her mouth as she stripped out of her smelly clothes. A portable washing machine used for camping was outside her bathroom door. A water hose was hooked up to the bathroom faucet, and the drain hose disappeared into a hole in the floor, filled with caulk. It made it impossible to close the bathroom door, but it hardly mattered since she lived alone. Shoving her work clothes and apron into it, she started a fast-clean cycle.
Her clean uniform had dried on the shower rod, and she pulled the items down before starting the shower. The routine was automatic, and she had shampoo in her hair before she’d even thought about what she was doing.
Today felt lonelier than most. It started as an ache in her chest, squeezing her throat. She closed her eyes and let the water hit her face to hide any tears that might try to fall.
Seeing Maura, Rory, and Bruce had reminded her what it had been like to have a family. Their closeness was evident in the way they teased each other. The anger she’d felt faded. Rory seemed like a nice guy. He’d given her a ride, bought her breakfast, didn’t leave her unconscious in a forest. All of those were very nice-guy things.
Then why the rage?
It made no sense.
“There you are.”
The gravelly voice sounded like it came from outside the shower. Jennifer gasped, nearly falling as she whipped the shower curtain open, ready to fight. “Who’s there?”
She fumbled for a weapon, only finding a shampoo bottle. She held it like a club.
“What are you doing in my house?” she demanded.
About right now, she regretted not taking a phone with her everywhere.
“I’m calling the cops. They’ll be here any moment,” she lied.
Jennifer didn’t hear anything but running water. She swatted at the handle, keeping an eye on the open bathroom door. The water blasted her with cold before she finally managed to turn it off.
Shaking, she stepped out of the shower, still wielding the half-empty bottle. Water dripped from her body onto the floor. It ran from her hair into her eyes.
The washing machine made a clunking noise as it agitated the load. Jennifer tried to listen past it for movement. Slowly, she g
rabbed a towel and used it to wipe the water from her face.
She hadn’t imagined it. Someone had spoken.
Had she scared them off?
Were they waiting in the hallway?
Her hands shook as she dried herself, still gripping the shampoo bottle. She dropped the towel on the floor and quickly pulled the shirt over her head.
“The cops are coming,” she yelled. “You better be gone.”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The portable washer kept spinning.
She crept to the bathroom door and slowly looked out, ready to strike as she glanced in both directions. No one was there.
Jennifer grabbed her clean clothes and held them against her stomach. She took a deep, terrified breath as she rushed toward escape. Gazing into the living room, she half-expected someone to jump out at her. It was empty.
Her shoulder slammed into the front door, but it didn’t open.
She made a weak noise, something between a moan and a scream as she hit it again. It took several attempts before her fingers managed to pull the handle. The door swung open, and she tripped down the stairs.
Air hit her damp, naked lower half as she looked around the area. No one was outside, and the open space gave her comfort. The alley rarely had traffic, and the surrounding houses with their old fences provided a little bit of privacy. She dropped her clothes on the grass-patched dirt that doubled as a yard.
Jennifer fumbled as she tried to quickly dress, pulling on her panties and black slacks for work. She kept glancing around the area to be sure nobody watched her. The door to her trailer home hung open. She pulled her arms inside her shirt and kept it on so that she could thread her arms into her bra while maintaining minimal privacy.
Jennifer stared at the trailer, watching for the curtains to move, for a sign that someone was in there. She found comfort in being dressed as she pulled on her socks and shoes, doing her best to brush the dirt from her feet. Her wet hair dampened her shoulders and back.
She wasn’t crazy. She had heard a voice.
Part of her wanted to run.
Part of her knew she should look inside.
Another part told her to call the police, which was difficult without a phone. Where had she put hers anyway? Probably uncharged in a drawer somewhere. She could rouse a neighbor and ask to borrow one, but then it would become a big ordeal.
“Fuck,” she muttered to herself, picking her apron off the ground. She thought of Rory’s offer to stay at the motel and wished she had taken it.
Jennifer crept toward the open door, still debating on what to do. The steady thump of the washer came from within. Without taking the stairs to go inside, she reached to shut the door. It remained unlocked, but aside from the meager tips sitting on her counter from the night before, there was nothing to steal.
Jennifer tried to peek around the curtains hanging over the bolted double doors to her bedroom. From what little she saw, no one moved inside.
A feeling of dread crept its way along her spine. She couldn’t force herself to go back inside.
Jennifer stepped backward, moving to the path between the two houses that led to the street. Only when the trailer was out of sight did she turn around. She ran to the sidewalk and hurried toward work. Never had she been so thankful for a double shift in all her life.
Chapter Seven
“Aye, we found a bog wench in the forest.” Raibeart’s voice drifted from the dining room.
Rory frowned and paused on his way up the stairs to listen. What was his uncle doing now?
Rory studied his hand against the oak banister. It looked brand-new, even though it had been splintered when their home was invaded by a run of bad luck—fairies, ghosts, demons, and goblins. With sixty-plus rooms in the mansion, the restoration had taken their collective magick to repair all the damage the infestation had done.
“She tried to kill Rory, but I’m not holding that against her,” Raibeart continued. “She wouldn’t be the first lassie to take offense to him, and I daresay she’ll not be the last.”
“Raibeart, what nonsense are ya talking now?” Rory grumbled to himself. He turned to look toward the marble floor below, watching to see who might come out of the dining room. No one did.
There was something very special about this home, unlike the others they’d had in the past. Being inside the walls made him feel powerful. The house was always full. MacGregors were always coming and going. Like Rory, some lived in the home full time, while others—like his cousins Iain, Erik, and Niall—lived close enough to be available but far enough that the rest of them couldn’t monitor them. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Niall and his wife, Charlotte, had an apartment in town but were currently traveling the United States in an RV.
Upstairs were mainly bedrooms and then access to the roof. Downstairs was the main foyer, dining room, and library. Beyond the dining room was the kitchen, offices, and an entire back wing sprawled out with more bedrooms than he cared to count and access to the back gardens.
“I think this one might be the one,” Raibeart said.
“The one what?” his ma’s voice asked.
“The one I ask to marry me,” Raibeart answered.
“A bog witch?” his ma insisted. “Ya want to bring a bog witch into the family?”
Rory sighed and started back down the stairs to defend Jennifer’s honor before Raibeart accidentally tarnished it.
“Fly, Uncle Chicken!” The youngest MacGregor's shout caused Rory to whip around to face the open balcony of the second level. Jewel had more power than all of them combined bundled into her little body. She inherited phoenix magick from her mother. The woman had died in ritualistic childbirth, leaving Jewel to be raised by her father, Kenneth. Very long, long, loooong story short, Jewel kidnapped a woman named Andrea. Kenneth fell in love with Andrea, and the two were now married. Andrea also inherited the power to contain Jewel’s magick…which apparently wasn’t working at the moment.
Iain came flying from the top balcony in his bird-shifter form, followed by bursts of rainbows and bubbles. All of Angus and Margareta’s sons had the ability to shift. That MacGregor line had been tainted by a spell, or at least that was Rory’s best guess. The problem with Iain was, once he shifted, he tended not to want to come out of it.
“Pretty Uncle Chicken!” Jewel tried to climb onto the railing to jump from the second floor.
Rory didn’t move, not wanting the girl to notice him. It wasn’t that he didn’t love the five-year-old, but Jewel was one scary kid when she was in play mode. One of the last times she’d “played” with him, he’d ended up with a painfully tight ballerina bun and a shimmering tutu. His natural athletic abilities leaned toward golf and shinty, not pirouettes and leaping across the floor. That was actually the reason he’d cut his hair.
Of course, that had been in Jewel’s previous life. As a phoenix, her powers came with one very ugly catch. Without Andrea to temper it back, the child would flame out to be reborn. The family hoped that this time she would last into adulthood.
“Sorry!” Andrea came running out of one of the bedrooms in a bathrobe. She snagged Jewel around the waist before she could leap after Iain. Since he was the only one in the front room, she gave Rory an apologetic look. “I thought she was sleeping. I took the binding bracelet off just long enough to take a shower.”
Still holding Jewel, she pulled a bracelet out of her pocket and slipped it onto her wrist. Jewel’s eyes flashed, and Andrea placed her on the floor.
The rainbows and bubbles stopped. Iain circled the foyer before coming close to the floor. He shifted and landed on his feet.
“Is everything all right?” Margareta called from the dining room entryway.
“Yep, got her,” Andrea yelled, leading Jewel back toward the bedrooms.
“Iain, when did ya get here?” Margareta asked. She was a petite woman but mighty. Anyone who knew her knew not to cross her.
“Hey, Ma.” Iain went to his mother to kiss her on th
e cheek. He acted as if nothing had happened. Considering the MacGregor household always seemed to be in a state of chaos, his attitude wasn’t surprising. “Just came by to grab my formal kilt. Taking Jane out tonight. It’s a surprise, so don’t tell her.”
“Family dinner Sunday,” Margareta said.
“We’ll be here.” Iain took the stairs two at a time. “Hey, Rory. I see you’re back. Heard ya were being sexed up by a bog witch. Can’t say I blame ya for trying to hide your slumming from the family.”
“What?” Rory frowned. “That’s not—”
“Methinks my lady doth protest too much,” Iain teased with a laugh as he disappeared down the hall. His muffled voice shouted, “Ya should bring her to Sunday dinner. We’ll put plastic down on her seat, so she doesn’t muddy up the nice furniture.”
“Don’t ya dare, laddie,” Margareta scolded. “I’ll not have a bog witch at my table. It’s bad enough Kenneth brought those mountain witches into our lives.”
Rory turned to his aunt and ignored the comment about Kenneth. “Jennifer is not a bog witch. She’s just a woman who needed help.”
“A woman you’re dating?” At that, Margareta smiled and stepped fully into the foyer. “Perhaps ya should bring her dinner. Let us get a look at her.”
“Don’t give me that look,” Rory admonished, keeping his tone playful. “Just because ya got all of your children married off doesn’t mean it’s my turn.”
He smiled as he said it, but secretly the words stung. Jealousy filled him each time he saw the happy newlyweds together. He wanted what they had. He wanted a wife he could spoil with surprise dates. He wanted to hear his name whispered in the night, knowing that it came from a place of intense love.
But he didn’t want to enchant just any woman. He wanted the love to be real. After hundreds of years, he was more than ready to take that step. Until Green Vallis, he had never really dared to hope it might happen, but the town was special.
A Dash of Destiny (Warlocks MacGregor Book 8) Page 5
