Rekindled Magic

by T. M. Cromer

  “Mr. Buchanan, what is the first thing you are going to do with all the millions you’ll make when Hollywood comes calling?” she had teased.

  “You’re crazy, love. Put the camera down and come here,” he’d said.

  “Is that a ‘no comment,’ sir?”

  He had shot a quick glance around and snapped his fingers. The camera flew from her hands, and he turned it on her. “We could always cloak ourselves, and I could take nude shots of you.”

  His suggestion sparked a fire in her lower abdomen. Quentin had a low, wicked way of speaking that tore right through her objections and made her body come to life.

  In recent years, in self-preservation, Holly had erected mental pictures of him in Michelle’s arms. Then, whenever he’d came on to Holly, she’d been immune to his charms. But now, she was forced to erase her false images and look at the real man. It was easier to see that he hadn’t betrayed her and that she had betrayed him by not believing in him. In them.

  Sucking in her breath, Holly opened her eyes. She viewed the old four-by-six photograph through misty eyes. How could she be so blind? Not now, not due to her blurry vision from her tears, but then, when it mattered and was important to see the truth? To see that Quentin would kill for her; would sacrifice his freedom when it came down to it; would head halfway around the world on a fool’s errand to obtain a magical object for the benefit of her mother?

  Yes, she needed to make it right. If she could turn back time and go back to that horrific day when she’d caught Michelle putting the moves on Quentin, she wouldn’t have stormed out. She would have stayed, throat punched that vicious twatsicle, and thrown herself into Quentin’s waiting embrace. Because he would’ve had his arms open, ready and willing to hold her as he always had.

  Reflection hurt like a bitch.

  “I’m sorry, Quentin. So very sorry, my love.”

  She pressed the open album to her chest and let the long-suppressed sobs take hold.

  Chapter 6

  Quentin sipped the black sludge the diner called coffee, and idly watched the many passersby outside. It was symbolic that this was the booth where he had previously sat on what he considered the last happy day he’d spent with Holly. In his mind, he’d always associated this table with her. Their first date, the night before her engagement, and the night she’d been stabbed, he’d been seated here. Yeah, maybe it was fitting that he sat here now when he was finally going to exit her life. It had gone downhill from that first moment anyway.

  If he closed his eyes, he could recall in great detail their initial date.

  She’d been wearing a vivid teal V-neck button-down top that brought out the color of her eyes, and a pair of ass-hugging jeans that made his hands itch to touch. Her chestnut hair, lightened by coppery highlights, had been left loose about her face and shoulders. But it was her eyes, those sad, soul-destroying eyes, that had called to the orphaned boy in him. This lovely girl had known heartbreak and loneliness.

  Across the table, she chattered on with an animation that lit her from within and made Quentin want to capture her unique loveliness for his own. And he had to a large degree, but Holly Thorne had been a force of nature who couldn’t be contained for long.

  She rambled about the day’s events, none of which were important to him, but they’d mattered to her, and he listened with rapt attention. He was quick to tease her if she became too worked up over a particular topic.

  The chime of a bell brought him back from the past to see Alastair Thorne stride through the diner entrance. Although he’d probably never say, Quentin admired Holly’s father. The guy was self-assured and wore his power like a cloak of royalty about him. Non-magical humans wouldn’t see his light, but they could understand the air of a man in charge. As such, Alastair commanded respect and a healthy dose of fear.

  Quentin stood to shake hands. “Sir.”

  “Son.”

  “You look a little upset.”

  Surprise sent Alastair’s dark blond brows skyward. “How so?”

  The question was legit because Holly’s father was the master at hiding his feelings. Quentin could only hope to achieve that level of perceived indifference one day.

  “The tiredness in your face and the tight lines around your mouth.” He shrugged. He made a study of faces to watch for enemies, his own when he was young and then for Holly after they’d hooked up. Of which, her family had plenty.

  “In a word—Holly.”

  “Dare I ask?”

  Alastair seemed to struggle with how much he wanted to say. In a rare moment, he openly shared his thoughts. “I said goodbye to her yesterday. She professed her distaste for me, and I thought to do her a solid by disappearing from her life for good.”

  Never mind that Alastair had said “do her a solid,” which in itself was flabbergasting, the fact that he’d said goodbye to his beloved daughter left Quentin with his mouth hanging open. Recovering from the shock of these two things took a minute.

  “Wow! I bet that took the wind right out of her sails.” He shook his head and took a sip of his coffee. He grimaced his distaste.

  “Why do you drink that swill?”

  His head came up, and he pinned Alastair with a stare. “You always did when you visited Holly.”

  The transformation of cool indifference to vast amusement on Alastair’s face was a sight to behold. “Son. I’m a warlock. Do you honestly believe I didn’t change the contents of my mug?”

  Quentin grunted and took another sip. He’d be damned if he’d admit to being a chump for love. He’d already been that for too many damned years to count.

  “What do you have for me?”

  “If you want to be free of my family, you don’t have to do this. I can find another way.”

  “What else do I have to do with my time? It’s one last hoorah before I go find a life.”

  “You really are ready to move on from Holly?”

  “Yes.” He stared down moodily into the black liquid. The dark reflection was of a morose man. “What choice do I have? Besides, you did. Maybe Holly can find happiness when the two people who annoy her the most disappear from her life.” He lifted the mug. “Cheers.”

  Alastair slid a manila envelope across the tattered Formica surface. “Here.”

  “And on another note, you’re richer than God. How about you fix up this dump?” He tapped the table to emphasize the need.

  “You are in excellent form, boy. I’m not sure I’ve ever borne witness to you in such a surly mood. But to answer your question, the locals like the ambiance. The chef’s kitchen, however, is state-of-the-art.”

  Quentin shot a glance around the empty diner and then toward the snoozing Pete in the corner booth by the kitchen. “If you say so.” He picked up the package.

  “The envelope contains images of the museum, vault, all the key players, and a hotel reservation. Selene is intelligent, beautiful, and vicious when the need arises. Although she works for the Council, it’s my belief that she is loyal to Victor Salinger. Don’t underestimate her.”

  “Duly noted. I’ll be back before the week is out.” He tapped the thick envelope against his palm. “I’m assuming there is at least a description of the scroll in question?”

  “There are images, and a formula to test the paper to make sure it’s authentic. You’ll also feel the power of the item, but that could be spelled. Don’t take chances. Make sure it’s the correct item before you get out. Also, there is a fake in that envelope to replace it. You’ll need to use the incantation I’ve added to make it appear like the original.”

  Alastair straightened his tie. A sure sign he was bothered or, at the least, a bit nervous. Quentin doubted Holly’s father realized he had a tell.

  “Any questions?”

  He could only think of one. “What did Holly say to you yesterday that you felt the need to vacate her life?”

  The look on Alastair’s face switched to a calm, neutral expression even as his sapphire eyes darkened to gray. Ano
ther tell. Iris changes were unique to witches. “She said she hated me and that I ruined her life.”

  “Jesus!” Quentin felt the impact, and he wasn’t even the recipient of her anger. “That had to hurt. I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for, and neither does she. She feels how she feels. But if it makes her happier to have me gone, so be it.”

  For once, they sat in perfect accord. Each willing to exit Holly’s life to lessen the pain of all involved.

  “I’ll get your scroll, Alastair. One of us deserves to be happy. I hope you are able to wake Holly’s mother.”

  “Thank you, son. I wish you happy as well.”

  “On that note, I have plans to make.”

  “What do you intend to do when you return? I can guess, but humor me.”

  “Sell my home. It was designed for Holly anyway. Then, who knows? Maybe I’ll like Greece and stay there. Or maybe I’ll take the time and travel Europe again. It’s always been a dream to live there.”

  “I see.”

  Quentin stood and threw money on the table. “It’s okay, you know. None of this is on you, sir. You have to know that, right?”

  “To a degree, it is.” Alastair rose gracefully to his full height of six-four, a few inches short of Quentin’s massive frame. “I drove her into Beau’s arms.”

  “No. Michelle did that. You cemented her marriage to that asshole when you drew a line in the sand in your attempt to prevent her from making the biggest mistake of her life. But again, that was Holly’s immature choice, not yours.”

  “You’ve always had the ability to see things for what they actually are, son. Don’t let your mind be clouded now.”

  “I’m not sure what that means, but I’ll take the words to heart. See ya on the flip side, Alastair Thorne.”

  Chapter 7

  Holly stared at the colossal mahogany door of her father’s palatial home. How long had it been since she’d been back here? Months and months, it seemed. And that time had only been to visit her mother’s corpse-like body. Nerves ate at her belly, and the sensation felt like a thousand butterflies flitting about inside.

  With a few hours to kill before she could check into the hotel in Greece, she figured there was no point teleporting before that time. She’d be stuck wandering Athens when all she really wanted to do was find Quentin and smooth things over. That gave her plenty of time to patch things up with her father—something she desperately needed to do. It was well past time to set their relationship to rights.

  Working up her courage, she banged on the door.

  Nothing happened.

  Again, she lifted her fist to the wood.

  Nothing.

  What the hell? It wasn’t like her father not to be home. Not with her mother lingering in a coma in one of the upstairs bedrooms. At the very least, his manservant should be around.

  With a deep breath, she reached for the knob. It turned easily under her hand, and while her father had once stated she would always be welcome, Holly felt a little weird arriving unannounced.

  “Hello?”

  Her tentative voice echoed throughout the foyer, circling back around and making her wince at the loudness.

  “Dad?”

  A sound from the wide marble staircase caught her attention.

  A surprised Alastair paused halfway in his descent. “Holly! Is everything all right?”

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  His worried expression eased, and he cast a glance upward as if to judge if he should leave Aurora.

  “It’s important, Dad.”

  The three choked-out words drew his scrutiny.

  “Of course.” In an out-of-character move, he ran a hand through his blond hair and mussed his perfectly coiffed do. “Tell me what you need.”

  “I don’t need anything,” she snapped. Why did everyone always assume she needed help? It was as if they couldn’t believe she could fend for herself.

  He froze at the bottom of the stairs, and all emotion disappeared from his face. It hurt Holly’s heart to see formality replace the caring his countenance had held seconds before.

  “Then, once again, I’m at a loss as to how to help you.” She opened her mouth to respond, but he forestalled her with a raised hand. “Hear me out, Holly.”

  It was the second time he’d used her given name in as many days. When had he ever called her anything but child or darling girl? The fight to hold back her tears was a hard-waged battle, but with great effort, she barely managed to win that little war.

  “At every turn, you reject me. My help, my love, my money. I’ve tried to give you everything, to ease your plight in whatever small way I could. This is the last time. Say what you have to say, ask whatever it is you need to ask, and then go.”

  “Y-you don’t want me to come back?” Where did that scared voice come from? It wasn’t like she hadn’t been on her own for years on end. Hadn’t she survived Beau’s betrayal and a knife to her chest? She was a strong woman, dammit! “I apologize. I guess I shouldn’t have come. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “You were thinking you fucked up royally with your young man.” Alastair’s forceful sneeze echoed around the foyer as her earlier greeting had. He clenched his hand to stave off his own particular curse—locusts. “Now you don’t know how to fix it. What do you want me to say? Whatever advice I might provide, you’ll do the exact opposite. Tell me, Holly, what’s the point?”

  Time ticked away as they stood staring at one another. Was it true? Did she always do the exact opposite of whatever advice he gave her? When had that started? It was time for Holly to swallow her pride.

  “I won’t, Daddy. I won’t this time. Please, don’t send me away. I need you.”

  Holly couldn’t see for her own tears, but the air around her moved and strong arms enveloped her in a comforting hug. For the first time since she was a small child, she let her father console her. “Please forgive me, Daddy,” she sobbed.

  “Shh, child. It’s all right now.”

  “I don’t hate you.” When her father didn’t respond, she pulled away to gaze up into his beloved face. He appeared tortured. It was as if he longed to say things but was afraid he’d upset the apple cart. “I don’t. I know you think I do. I know I said I did, but I love you. I was being the petty bitch Quentin said I was.” She didn’t sneeze due to the word “bitch,” and she gave him a half-smile. “Did you notice what happened there?”

  “You admitted you were wrong?” he asked dryly.

  “I cursed and didn’t sneeze.”

  Surprise lit his face. “How did you discover this?”

  “Summer. If we are touching, we won’t sneeze. I didn’t realize it could work with anyone else besides her.”

  “I wonder how I never discovered this?”

  A wave of sadness crashed over her. She knew exactly why. Her father, the black sheep of the family and the most feared individual in the witch community, remained an island unto himself. “You’d have to touch another person to have it work. I don’t imagine you let many people that close.”

  He drew her tightly to his chest. “Hell, you could be right.” When he didn’t sneeze, he laughed. “It’s a sad state of affairs that this is the only way I can swear without causing a plague of locusts on mankind. Although, there are those who deserve it.”

  “Why did you never set the locust on Zhu Lin’s ass?”

  “The magical shackles. Plus, I refused to utter a sound while being tortured.”

  Holly’s stomach flipped. It was the first time he’d openly discussed his imprisonment during the war with the Désorcelers. Lin and his group of anti-witches had done a number on the magical population of the world. Those who may have sworn allegiance to the Thornes had been systematically wiped from the planet or turned against them with the exception of a select few. “It must have been horrific.”

  “It’s the past. Lin is dead. Soon enough, I’ll target the others involved, but I need to make sure my fami
ly is safe from repercussions and Aurora can take care of herself.”

  She gave him one last squeeze and backed away. “You have a plan?”

  “I do.”

  “I want to help.”

  “You know I will never willingly put you in harm’s way. Not after what happened with your sisters.” Alastair smoothed back a lock of her wayward hair. “But I will help you and Quentin.”

  “I’m afraid he hates me now.”

  Her father’s lips quirked. “You couldn’t be further from the truth, child. That man would walk barefoot over burning coals for you if you asked him to.”

  “He really didn’t cheat?”

  “He really didn’t. And honestly, I can’t see how you could have thought he would. He can’t take his eyes from you long enough to look at anyone else. The boy is a besotted fool.”

  Holly pressed a hand to her stomach. “It makes me sick to think I wasted all these years believing other people’s lies.”

  “I’ve waited for twenty years for your mother. Love has no expiration date.”

  She nodded and looked away as tears welled up again. She’d cried more in the last two days than she’d cried in her entire lifetime.

  Alastair’s large warm hands settled on her shoulders and gave them a light press. “You’re young, and you have your whole life ahead of you. One with Quentin if either of us has a say in matchmaking the two of you.”

  A bubble of laughter unexpectedly arose with her next thought. She spun around to stare at him as the truth hit her. “You’ve been matchmaking all my sisters, haven’t you, you old softie?”

  A slow, wicked grin transformed his features. “Maybe.”

  “Alastair Thorne, you are one wily S.O.B.”

  “Don’t disparage my sainted mother by calling her names,” he admonished teasingly. “But you aren’t wrong. Now, about your young man...”