That undeniable love for life, lived in a wild, witch way, led the family to ignore Ophelia’s escapades, or at least not talk about them in front of the children. Her parents kept their distance from Ophelia, and as a result Cassie had never met her.
With a whooshing sound, a peregrine falcon dove from the sky, and hovered right in front of the car’s front window for a few seconds. Cassie jammed on her brakes. Sid arched her back and hissed. With a flick of his blue-gray wings, the bird rose and disappeared into the morning sky. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. As she watched the majestic predator fly away, a prickly sensation ran up her spine.
Cassie took a deep breath and drove on down the main street. The morning mist had lifted and sunlight brightened the landscape. A new day had started. In a couple hours she would attend her great-aunt’s wake in the funeral hall and later she would see her aunt’s lawyer about the will. Although Cassie had five sisters, three living parents and a cauldron full of aunts and uncles, she would be the only family member attending these events. Everyone had something else to do, or so it seemed, and, to be truthful, none of them did death well. Her birth father told her she had pulled the proverbial short straw of the broom and been designated the family representative. Cassie could have said no, but she saw this as her opportunity to create some karma-points with her parents, especially if she found out more about Ophelia’s death. It had all seemed like a good idea the night before. But in the light of day, she wasn’t so sure.
Oh well, she thought, once she finished with the formal stuff she would leave this strange town and return to Amsterdam. She had a Sunflower painting to finish and a strained relationship with her boyfriend to repair. There was no reason for her to stay in this small town any longer than necessary.
Sid swivelled her head this way and that way, as if she sensed something, but if she did, she kept it to herself. Cassie shrugged. Cats!
There was no reason for her to stay in this small town any longer than necessary. With a little magic, she would sort and pack Ophelia's estate and belongings and be on her way within a day. While she put things in order she would find out more about Ophelia’s death. Someone in this town had to know something.
Sid, whose full name was Lady Obsidian Black, sat up straighter than usual and pawed the air. They had been driving for a couple of hours. Cassie slowed the car as they approached a coffee shop. “I need caffeine,” she said as she flipped on her turn signal and backed her car into the space beside the curb.
The crunch of buckling metal reached her ears, and her stomach knotted. With the thought of all she had to do on her mind, she had lost her concentration and backed right into a car. Fudge. She turned and looked closer. Double Fudge. It wasn’t just any car. It was a restored classic MGB—a real beauty, polished to perfection. A large yellow, Labrador retriever sitting in the driver’s seat howled. Cassie leaned forward and rested her head on the steering wheel.
A minute later, knocking on her car door caught her attention. Denim blue eyes, blazing with anger, stared down at her. If human looks could kill, she thought. Cassie opened her car door, and stepped out. The howling mutt jumped onto the pavement and trotted over to stand beside the angry man.
“I’m so sorry,” Cassie said.
As the dog padded closer, the hackles on Sid’s back rose. Even on good days, she didn’t care for the canine species, and howlers never lasted long around her. They had a way of mysteriously disappearing. Cassie gave Sid a mental nudge to behave.
The handsome, human, six-foot male stared down at her, which she wouldn’t have minded under different circumstances. He had an unsettling alpha-intensity, short, black curly hair and stubble on his square chin. His tight black tee shirt spread nicely over broad shoulders; the kind a woman could lean into for a long snuggle by a wood fire. Cassie reminded herself that she had no time to be thinking of such things. His scent, rugged and oh-so-male, tugged at her senses waking up all her female body parts. She already had a boyfriend. Alessandro wasn’t talking to her at the moment, but still, they had an agreement.
Avoiding his stare, she cast her eyes down. His cowboy boots looked worn and comfortable, his jeans well pressed and his belt buckle impressively ornate.
He squinted. “Who are you?”
She looked up at him. “Cassiopeia Black. Cassie for short.”
“What are you doing in my town?”
“Look, I’m really sorry …” She pulled out her wallet.
He shook his head. “I asked you what you’re doing in town?”
She leaned back. “I said, I’m sorry.”
“Got that.” He strutted back to study the damage to the front of his MGB. As he leaned over his sport’s car to trail his hand along the metal of his bumper, she examined his derriere, a sight she wouldn’t soon forget. Not that she was looking. But it was truly magnificent.
“What were you thinking?” he said over his shoulder.
“I wasn’t.”
“Clearly,” he muttered.
“Look, let me explain.”
He stood his full height and folded his arms. “I’m listening.”
There was a familiar quality to his voice, she couldn’t quite nail. Was it from a movie? She loved movies. His voice had a low, gravelly edge to it, a bit like Johnny Cash, a bit like John Wayne, and a whole lot like …. Oh dear. “You’re a cop!”
“Yep. Gavin MacGregor, at your service.” His stare intensified. “I am a cop, and this is my car,” he leaned closer, “which I’ve worked on every day for the last year.”
“It’s just a bumper.” A cop! She wished for the thousandth time in her life she could conjure the magic needed to fix all things, but she couldn’t. Her magic was of the garden variety, a little of this and a little of that and not at all what anyone might call dependable at the best of times. If she tried to hex him, he would more likely turn into a toad with a wart on his nose than an agreeable guy.
His eyes widened. “License and registration, ma’am. I’m calling this in.” He whipped out a cell phone. The yellow lab wagged his tail as if to say, “Gotcha.”
Sid hissed.
Ma’am? Did he call me Ma’am? She reached into her glove compartment for the documents and felt his eyes appraising her body. In one fluid motion, she scooped up the papers and handed them over to him, making a silent prayer that her name wouldn’t flag an ongoing Interpol investigation. As she pulled the documents out of the space, her gun came out with them, and fell with a clunking sound to the floor of her car.
The cop winced, and raised his right index finger in front of her face.
Does he think I’ll respond to hand signals? Why did this man set off so many of alarms for her: good, bad, and hot?
A tingling sensation at the base of her neck alerted her to the approach of magic. Down the street, a slender man wearing a black leather jacket walked towards her crash scene with a bad boy swagger. Beneath a thick, mane of wavy, dark-brown hair, warm marmalade eyes blazed gold for a milli-second, signaling his power. A warlock!
Keeping with supernatural etiquette, she acknowledged him with a nod as he passed.
His thin lips stretched into an amused smile as he strolled past her and slid into the coffee shop.
The coffee shop! She did a double-take as the man-witch entered beneath its sign. It read: The Perfect Brew. Below the title, the spectral signature protecting its domain read, Ophelia Magnolia Black, and above the sign sat the peregrine.
Gavin MacGregor hesitated before returning Cassie Black’s documents. According to standard, police procedure, he should tell her to behave herself and let her be on her way. He had her cell phone number and her insurance details. When he called in her particulars, nothing came up on the computer. Her gun was registered, and she didn’t look dangerous. He would remind her that she couldn’t legally keep a gun in her glove compartment. It needed to be secured at home, and she was required to notify the authorities whenever she moved it … blah, blah, blah. He d
idn’t need anything else from her. And yet, he hesitated.
Quickly glancing back at his car, he pinched the top of his nose where a headache brew. How long would it take to find another bumper? Today had been the first day he’d driven her through town.
Give the lady a break. Accidents happen, Gavin thought. His anger wavered, while her papers suddenly felt heavy in his hands.
Looking back at the woman, the cop in him made a second assessment: thirtyish, five foot six, Caucasian, green eyes, shoulder length blond hair, medium build, good clothes … from out of town. The man in him continued the appraisal: nice curves—the kind to keep a man busy all night long, and she smelled good, damn good, like flowers. No doubt, this woman spelled trouble, but not the kind he could ticket. He clung to her papers. Why did they feel as heavy as bricks?
“So, why are you in my town?” he asked again. Marlowe, his dog, gave him a look of extreme canine exasperation and lay down on the sidewalk with a groan.
Her eyes narrowed. “I have things to do, officer.” She snatched her papers from his hand and marched into the coffee shop.
“What do you think, Marlowe?” he said to his retriever.
The dog groaned and put a paw over his eyes.
Gavin turned to follow Cassie into The Perfect Brew coffee shop. After all, he hadn’t given her his best gun lecture yet. But after his first step, his cell phone rang. He winced and stopped to answer it.
3 Reasons To Not Kiss A Warlock: Beware, Bewitched, Bewarlocked (Mystic Keep Universe Book 2) Page 9
