Misadventures of a Tongue-Tied Witch: Boxed Set Humorous Witch Series

by Livia J. Washburn

  He waved off my objection. “We do it all the time for the high rollers,” he said.

  “We’re not high rollers,” Donovan said.

  “No, but I like you. And since I own the place…” Flynn spread his hands. “I can pretty much do whatever I want. In fact, if there’s anything else that can make your stay better, just let me know.”

  Hand over that magic talisman, I thought. That would make things better. At least I hoped so.

  I couldn’t very well ask him that, though. In fact, before I could say anything, one of the doors into the room opened and the old man who had wandered into the middle of the floor show came in. Before he had been wearing a tan suit and a white shirt without a tie. He had taken off the jacket but still wore the same trousers and shirt. He stopped short at the sight of Donovan and me and mumbled, “Sorry, Mal. I didn’t know you had company.”

  Flynn looked irritated by the interruption, but only for a second. Then his expression softened and I saw what appeared to be genuine fondness in his eyes as he looked at the old man.

  “It’s all right, Foster,” he said. “Come on in. I’ll introduce you to my guests. My hope is that they’ll become our friends as well.”

  The old man shuffled closer. He nodded to me and Donovan. I figured he was in his seventies. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up a couple of turns, revealing forearms that must have been brawny and powerful at one time. They still had a suggestion of strength about them.

  I wondered if he had Alzheimer’s. He had certainly looked confused when he was on stage. But then, any man who found himself surrounded by nearly naked showgirls might be a little flustered, I thought.

  “Foster, this is Aren McAllister and Donovan Cole,” Flynn said. “Ms. McAllister, Mr. Cole, my uncle, Foster Flynn.”

  “Mighty pleased to meet you folks,” Foster said. He was closer to me, so he held out his hand to me first. I took it.

  As soon as I did, it was like an electric charge shot through me. Not painful, but surprising enough that I had to make an effort not to gasp. I kept my reaction as controlled as possible, but I couldn’t deny what I knew to be true as soon as I gripped his hand.

  Foster Flynn was a warlock.

  And if that was the case, he had to be equally aware that I was a witch.

  Chapter 17

  “Hello, Mr. Flynn,” I forced myself to say as if there were nothing unusual about this meeting.

  “Call me Foster,” he said. “Mr. Flynn just sounds too stuffy, especially when it’s coming from a pretty girl.” He let go of my hand and turned to Donovan. I could tell their grips were firm as they shook. “Good to meet you, son.”

  I watched Donovan to see if he felt the same mystical connection with Foster Flynn that I did. If he did, he concealed it as well as I hoped I had.

  “You folks didn’t happen to see my little misadventure earlier, did you?” Foster went on.

  “They did,” Flynn answered for us. “Everyone in the auditorium saw it.”

  Foster shook his head and said, “I get turned around easy these days. I tell you, sometimes it’s not much fun gettin’ old. Beats the alternative, though, as they say.”

  “The audience didn’t seem to mind,” Donovan said in a kindly tone. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “Oh, at my age I don’t worry about much.” Foster shot a meaningful glance at his nephew. “It’s other folks who do most of the worryin’.”

  “Somebody’s got to,” Flynn said. “Why don’t you fix us some drinks, Foster?”

  The old man’s whiskery face creased in a grin. “Now that I can do.” He looked at me and added, “I was a bartender for a while when I was a young man, when I wasn’t out cowboyin’ or prospectin’. Still got the knack of mixin’ drinks. What would you like, miss?”

  I didn’t really want anything, but I didn’t want to disappoint him, either. I said, “Maybe a glass of white wine?”

  “That’s not much of a challenge, but I can sure do it. How about you, son?”

  “Scotch and soda,” Donovan said.

  “I’ll have the same,” Flynn added.

  Foster shuffled toward a large, well-stocked bar under one of those big Western paintings. Flynn said quietly, “I apologize for my uncle.”

  “Don’t,” I told him. “I think he’s adorable.”

  A smile tugged at Flynn’s mouth. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll follow you around like a puppy the whole time you’re here. And even though he may look harmless, when the mood’s on him my uncle can be something of a lech.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Donovan said.

  “Believe it. When he latches on to someone as attractive as Ms. McAllister here – “

  “Why don’t you c-call me Aren?” I suggested. I knew that was moving things along pretty quickly, but I felt the urgency of knowing that my father was trapped in that bleak, lifeless realm.

  Flynn nodded and said, “All right, Aren. You don’t want to give Foster any encouragement. You’ll regret it if you do.”

  “I’ll k-keep that in mind,” I said.

  I wanted to talk to Donovan about Foster being a warlock, but it appeared that would have to wait. Right now I looked around admiringly as the penthouse living room to set up what I said next.

  “You have a llovely place here, Mr. Flynn.”

  “Now, if I’m supposed to call you Aren, you have to call me Malcolm,” he said with a smile.

  “All right. As I was saying, you have a lovely home. How about a t-tour?”

  “Of the rest of the penthouse?” Malcolm shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

  That didn’t sound to me like a man with anything to hide. I glanced at Donovan and saw that he was keeping his expression carefully neutral.

  Before we could leave the room, Foster brought over a tray with four glasses on it. He handed my wine to me and the Scotches to Donovan and Malcolm. I wasn’t sure what was in his glass. It could have been water, or it could have been vodka. I wouldn’t have bet on water.

  Malcolm said, “Thanks, Foster. I’m going to show Aren around the place. I’ve noticed Donovan eyeing those monitors. Why don’t you show him our security set-up?”

  Donovan opened his mouth to say something, and I knew he was going to protest that he’d planned to come with Malcolm and me. But before he could, I said, “That’s an excellent idea. Donovan loves computers and c-cameras and things like that.”

  He scowled for a second, but the reaction was so swift I didn’t know if either of the other two noticed it. Then he said, “Yeah, Foster, that’d be great.”

  I let Malcolm put a hand on my elbow to steer me toward the other side of the living room as Donovan and Foster drifted toward the bank of monitors. “Right through here is the kitchen,” Malcolm said as we went through a door. “State of the art, of course.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “My uncle and I don’t use it much. Most of our meals are sent up from the kitchen downstairs. But sometimes I like to get in there and grill a steak.”

  The kitchen had just about every gadget known to man, I saw as Malcolm took me through it. To one side there was a small formal dining room, too, with another door that connected to the living room.

  Malcolm opened a door on the far side of the dining room and led me out into a rooftop garden dominated by cactus, which was suitable for the surroundings. But there were some shrubs and flowers, too, and in the reflected glow from the Strip, it was beautiful. I could hear the traffic noise from the street below, but other than that it seemed almost isolated up here.

  As if reading my mind, he said, “The traffic eases up about four in the morning, and then for a couple of hours it’s actually peaceful up here. I come here a lot at that time of day and just sit by myself to unwind before I go to bed.”

  “You go to b-bed at six o’clock in the morning?”

  “What can I say, I keep Las Vegas hours, if there is such a thing.”

  “Your g-garden is beau
tiful.”

  “Thank you. Your presence makes it even more lovely, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  “I don’t m-mind,” I told him, “but I thought you said your uncle was the lech.”

  That brought a chuckle for him. “Sorry. When you live in a town full of beautiful women, I guess you just get in the habit of flirting.”

  “I said I d-didn’t mind. But you have all those showgirls around, and I’m n-not in their league.”

  “Again, don’t underestimate yourself.” He strolled toward the edge of the roof. “Come over here.”

  The thought that he might be a crazed killer who planned to throw me off the building flashed through my mind. I didn’t know where it came from, and I didn’t know of any reason why I would feel that way. So far, despite that somewhat shady reputation Donovan had mentioned, Malcolm Flynn seemed to be a fairly nice man. Maybe a little too inclined to flirtatiousness, but he himself had admitted that.

  So I didn’t see any reason not to join him at the four-foot-tall brick wall that ran around the edge of the roof garden. From there the view of the Strip was even more spectacular, but Malcolm put his hand on my arm and turned me to face the other direction.

  “You can’t see them very well right now,” he said, “but over there are the Spring Mountains. My great-grandfather made a silver strike in those mountains, and without that this town might not be everything it is today. I know my life would have turned out a lot differently. But what I really like about those mountains is the way the sun makes them look in the morning as it’s coming up and shining on them. Everything is red and gold and beautiful. It’s like a rebirth. The phoenix of a new day rising from the ashes of night.”

  I wasn’t expecting anything quite so poetic and introspective from him. The cynical part of me warned that it was just a line calculated to impress the pretty tourist lady he wanted to coax into his bed.

  But if it was, he didn’t follow up on it. That would have been the time for him to try to kiss me. Instead he turned away from the wall and said, “Come on. I’ll show you my library.”

  I didn’t expect him to have a library, either, but he did. He collected first editions of American literature, he explained as he took me into the book-lined room.

  “Along with big thriller novels,” he added with a smile. “I have a fondness for them, too.”

  Another Western painting hung on the wall, this one by someone named Bama. “You must collect art,” I said.

  “Only what I like. I don’t care for a lot of modern art. Too phony and pretentious for my taste.”

  When he mentioned having a library, I’d had high hopes that was where I would find Cearul. That seemed like the sort of place that might have a fireplace and a stuffed family heirloom on display. But there was no sign of the falcon in here, so I was forced to ask, “Is that all?”

  “Well…except for the bedrooms.”

  “You p-promised me a tour of the whole place,” I reminded him, and now I was the one who was acting flirtatious. It was an act on my part, of course, and I hoped he couldn’t tell how nervous I really was.

  He smiled and said, “So I did. I like to think I’m a man of my word. We’ll let Foster have his privacy, but I don’t mind showing you my bedroom.”

  The library connected to it. He opened the door and stepped back to let me go first. I stepped in, and under the best of conditions the room might have taken my breath away.

  It was nearly as big as the living room, or at least it seemed that way. That could have been because two walls were glass, so that the room seemed open to the night on both sides. In front of me on the far wall was a huge bed. On the wall just to my right hung a TV as big as the one in the living room.

  Beyond it, tucked into the corner of the room, was the fireplace. I wasn’t sure if it was functional or just for show, and I didn’t care.

  All that mattered was that the green falcon sat on the mantle above the stone fireplace, looking as lifelike as it had in the pictures I had seen of it that morning…the morning that seemed almost a lifetime earlier after everything that had happened since then. I caught my breath. It was like Malcolm Flynn could thrust his hand out and have the falcon take off from its perch and soar over to land on his arm.

  “Aren, is something wrong?” he asked. He must have noticed me staring at the talisman.

  “No, n-nothing’s wrong,” I forced myself to say. “That bird…it just looks so real.”

  “Yes, it does,” he agreed. “And it has ever since I was a little boy. It belonged to my great-grandfather. Lord knows where he picked it up. I would have thought it be a little moth-eaten by now, but it never seems to change.”

  There was the proof of everything that Donovan and I hoped for, right in front of my eyes. I knew the falcon was a lot older than Malcolm thought it was. Centuries older, in fact. I felt something pulling me toward it, almost like magnetism and every bit as impossible to resist.

  “Do you mind if I t-take a closer look at it?”

  “Be my guest,” he said, then laughed. “No, wait, you already are, aren’t you? Well, then…feel free. That’s how we’ll put it. Feel free to take a look at it, although I’m not sure why anybody would be all that interested in the dusty old thing.”

  Malcolm Flynn was either a consummate liar, or he had no magical ability at all. If he had, he would have known that Cearul wasn’t just some “dusty old thing”. It was one of the most powerful talismans on the face of the earth. As I approached it, I found myself hesitating. I could almost feel the mystical energy crackling from it.

  What would happen if I touched it? Would the power manifest itself in such a way that Malcolm couldn’t fail to notice? Would that give away my real reason for being here?

  Suddenly I was too nervous to go on. Touching that talisman would be like unlocking the door of a cage containing a giant tiger and swinging it wide open. There was no way of knowing what might happen, but most of the possibilities were…not good.

  I couldn’t believe I was chickening out. Donovan and I had come all the way from Texas. We needed the talisman to free our loved ones. And now here it was, almost within reach, and I was too afraid to reach up and grab it.

  “Aren…” Malcolm said quietly.

  I turned to find that he was a lot closer behind me than I had thought, close enough to put his right hand on my upper left arm and slide it slowly and sensuously along my skin.

  “I don’t know what it is,” he said, “but you look even more beautiful now than you did before. Like there’s a glow coming from inside you, lighting you up so that you’re more gorgeous than any sunrise I’ve ever seen.”

  “Th-that’s a g-good line,” I forced myself to say.

  He shook his head. “It’s not a line. It’s the truth. And it’s why I have to do this.”

  He leaned forward and kissed me.

  I’d been halfway expecting him to do that almost since I’d met him. You would have had to be blind not to see that he was attracted to me…and neither Donovan nor I were blind. We had played along with him, though, because he had what we needed.

  Now the question was how far was I willing to play along?

  I couldn’t answer that, not at the moment. I couldn’t even think. The kiss was that good, sending waves of heat rolling through me and causing me to glide even closer to him until we were pressed together in an intimate embrace.

  Look, a month earlier I’d been an awkward virgin who’d never had a serious relationship, and since then I’d not only slept with a handsome, charming warlock, but I’d also had to fight for my life on several occasions and had lost my father, maybe for good. I had found out that I possessed a great power, but I’d also discovered that I had a tendency to use it to make things even worse than they’d been before. This morning I’d been in my own apartment, in my own pajamas, about to eat oatmeal, and now I was in the penthouse of a rich, powerful, semi-shady casino owner. My life wasn’t just moving fast. It was clipping along at freaking light
speed.

  So is it any wonder that at that moment I clung desperately to something normal? A kiss…a hot, passionate, curl your toes and shake the earth under your feet kiss, to be sure…but still something that happened between people all over the world, billions of times a day. The ultimate magic, and anybody could do it.

  “Aren?”

  Donovan’s startled voice made me jerk away from Malcolm Flynn. I whirled toward the door and saw him standing there with Foster. He looked stricken, and for a second I was filled with anger at him. He had made me fall in love with him by using magic on me. He had no right to be jealous now. It didn’t matter whether his feelings for me were genuine or not. I would always question whether there had been anything real to what I had felt for him. And that was his fault, his and his alone.

  Then his gaze jumped to the mantel over the fireplace and recognition leaped into his eyes.

  “Cearul!” he cried.

  That shocked me back to reality and reminded me of why we were here. The masquerade was over. Our goal was within reach. Time to end this.

  I lunged past Malcolm and reached for the falcon.

  “Stop!” bellowed Foster Flynn, the word rolling out of him in a powerful voice like thunder.

  And just like that I was frozen, my hand outstretched toward the talisman but still a couple of feet away as I was no longer able to move.

  Chapter 18

  I was paralyzed, but my brain and all my senses were still working. I knew that Foster was responsible for this, and that told me he was well aware of my own abilities and that the green falcon was a talisman of great power.

  He didn’t want me touching it, because he was afraid that if I did, he wouldn’t be able to get it back from me.

  I wanted to explain to him somehow that we had no intention of stealing the falcon. We just wanted to use it to free the three people trapped in the realm of the witches’ council. We wouldn’t take away something his family had protected for a thousand years.

  But could I swear that was true? Within that talisman was the ability to tap into power the likes of which I had never even dreamed of. I had spent my life thinking of myself as a loser, believing that things could never really be any better for me.