Logan: Her Warlock Protector Book 3 (4 page)

“That’s Darren Castle. He moved in about a month ago. I guess his family’s old school. He’s very nice for what it’s worth.”

“Sis, he’s not just nice. He is fine with a capital ‘f.’”

“Next you’ll tell me to break me off a piece of that. He’s sweet.”

“So you’ve got other offers?” Sheila prodded while adding the final seasoning to the meat. The spices tickled Caitlin’s nose and her mouth watered. “All I know is unless he has taxidermy listed as a pastime or still lives with his mom as a roommate that I’d have started flirting at mach three with him by now.”

Shrugging, Caitlin sat down at her kitchen counter and started spreading the sour cream and cheese into the shells. If she licked her lips a bit, could you really blame her?
 

“I’m not saying there’s anyone else.”

“Ooh,” her sister chirped picking up a few tomato bits with her hands and shoving them in her mouth. “That means you’re playing coy. Who else is more smoking than Mr. Castle?”

“Just this guy from the casino. He came in to play, I mean, and he asked me out for Italian tomorrow. I don’t usually say yes to customers. There’s rules and–”

“But let me guess: he’s tall, dark, and handsome? There’s something special about this one?”

Oh you could say that, definitely.

This is where Caitlin hit that familiar wall again. It was always the same. Those things she couldn’t quite say, ever since she was nineteen and found her connection to Wicca, ever since she’d discovered she could learn things about the future no one else could hope to know. Sure, she could dish on the basics and let her sister know how irresistible looking Logan was, but she had no way to explain that flash of such intimacy with him in the future, or that he touched something inside of her she only hoped to glimpse during rituals at her altar. She could no more explain that than she could talk about her grief over her spell book being hijacked.

“He makes my heart hammer way too hard, let’s put it that way.”

“Then you know there’s only one thing to do to cure that, right?” her sister replied, chomping into crunchy shell.

“What?”

“We, Big Sister, have got to find you the lowest cut red dress to impress him.”

“Hey!”

“Look there’s a reason ‘harlot’ red lipstick is always a big seller, all I’m saying.”

“MS. MONROE, I appreciate you coming in like this,” Lt. O'Healy replied.
 

Her dark hair was pulled up in a tight, efficient bun and her facial expression said she’d rather be anywhere else. Caitlin couldn’t blame her. She had more experience with the Baltimore P.D. than the characters on
The Wire
and
Homicide
combined. It wasn’t because she wanted to, but because someone had to. If she read a future that had tragedy coming in it, someone destined for a robbery gone wrong or a bad car accident, then Caitlin worked hard to divert fate. That put her on the other end of yellow police tape more than most people would ever see in ten lifetimes put together. While she’d always been cleared, some in the department assumed it all had to do with a savior complex gone too far. Caitlin figured that O'Healy was just waiting to find a way to bust her for setting up the victims somehow.

If only things were that simple.

She was anything but a psychopath. The people for whom she’d been unable to alter dangerous futures…well, that grief haunted her dreams.

“Ms. Monroe?” O'Healy barked again, waving a hand in front of her face. “Do you have something better to do? I do have about ten other cases I’m actively pursuing.”

“I get that. I’m sorry. It’s just I had nightmares last night about him coming back and you saw me the night before that. I’ve been pretty drained.”

“Did you increase security? Call a locksmith?”

“I rent so I had the landlord on it, but Saul’s not always the fastest on anything. You should see when my pipes burst from cold in winter. I didn’t have a flushing toilet for two weeks. My sister insisted I get some mace though.” And gave her a spare taser, metal baseball bat, and one of those cheesy swords from the Ren Fairs and Celtic Festivals Sheila loved so much. These were probably not things the lieutenant needed to know, especially since she didn’t exactly have taser training or licenses. “I’d feel better knowing what you were doing to stop him.”

“Well the perp wore gloves and we had no prints. However, in that hole where you said your family heirloom was stolen…”

“Yes, the, uh, book was from my grandparents.” A lie again but it sounded a lot better than the fact that she’d liberated it from a college but never bothered to return it. “So he left a calling card?”

“Or he got sloppy, we can’t tell. I’ve been on the force twelve years and never seen anything like this at any scene,” she said, pulling the small vial out of her pocket.
 

The liquid inside was clear but that wasn’t what held Caitlin’s attention; it was the gold cross etched onto the vial’s front.
 

“Is it acid? What the Hell?”

“Water. We had the lab do tests. It’s just regular tap water, but, and this is the old catechism talking, I’d say it was Holy Water. Is it yours?”

“No, I’ve never seen anything like that in my life and I’m agnostic. My parents never took us to church as kids. It’s just not my thing.”

O'Healy nodded. “We’re not sure what this means. It might be something cult related or just that he’s got his own religiosity and is possibly delusional to carry the vials around. I’m checking the database to see if anything like this has been left at crime scenes before. Whatever’s going on, it’s weird. Of course, that’s not any stranger to you is it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Someone’s after you, Ms. Monroe, and it has nothing to do with just a robbery. I’d watch my back.”

“YOU LOOK NICE,” Jonathan noted coming to stand at the bar across from him.

Logan sighed and adjusted his tie. The steel interlocked pentacles were now a tie tack holding it in place. Even if mortals had no idea what it meant, he had to wear something that showed off his rank. Certain orders and traditions mattered, displaying what he’d earned as a general was important. After all, if he didn’t respect his rank, why should his men. Still, last night had been a terrible night. It was filled with memories of watching Adam die and what-if’s of losing even more of his men in the battle that had been. Mixed in with it were even more troubling visions of Caitlin, of watching him help her tap into her gifts and strengths, only to watch her be tortured by that same mad Knight who seemed to have an axe to grind specifically against him. He’d already watched a dear friend’s blood be shed. There was no way that Logan would let the woman he was coming to value so dearly join him.

“I’m working the case as I promised. I made contact yesterday and now I’ll be introducing her more to our world per Corps orders. I don’t need help.”

“I know you’ve introduced more than one witch to our ranks.”

He snorted and tapped on the polished oak of the bar with his index finger. It gave him something to do besides stare at his commandant, to show doubt.
 

“More than a few over the centuries.”

“But this one’s special?”

“Haven’t you ever met a witch and known she was the one to truly initiate?”

“Are you saying that’s what this is? I never knew you for so much sentimentality.”

Logan sighed and kept tapping out the tattoo on the bar’s wood. “It’s not just her powers. There’s something that just keeps drawing me in. Maybe I am getting nostalgic in my old age.”

“You’re still a kid.”

“Only to you, old friend,” Logan conceded finally looking up at Jonathan. “I just think there’s so much more to Caitlin than our current seers anticipated. She’s too good for this life. For the struggle of it.”

“You know all that from one conversation?”

“I know that from having touched her. It feels like I touched her soul in that one grasp, and she deserves more than a constant fight.”

Jonathan sighed and lit his cigarette, agile fingers flicking his lighter shut. The smoke encircled him and Logan didn’t cough, but he noted the fragrance of something special Jonathan had rolled, clove-based and a pleasant aroma in a sea of nicotine. “I’ve never fallen deeply for a witch. I do my job, but I stay protected for it. I know what others have said and what I’ve seen over the years, but I’ve never seen it in action for myself. Maybe the Fates want more for both of you, maybe you’re still reeling, or maybe it’s something else. What I do know is she’s critical for our war, and you’ll bring her into the fold within the week or you won’t like the consequences.”

“I’ve been around too long to court martial. You certainly won’t kill me.”

“I’d never, but we can take you off this case and put you back in the fighting field, demote you as well. You’ve fought too long and too hard for those,” Jonathan reminded him, his fingers tracing lightly over the steel tie tack. “You’ve worked too hard. You wouldn’t want to be busted down to one of those or something in iron.”

“And some days these badges,” he added, leaning back. “They just feel too heavy. I do my duty. It’s what I’ve always done, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling something’s different this time. And she’s the reason.”

“Would it help you to know that she pokes her head around in police business on a regular basis?”

“Does she?”

“She may not understand her gifts completely or be aware of her true Wiccan heritage, but she has the right spirit. She’s interjected herself in more than one person’s fate.”

Logan smirked at that. He had known from the first time he’d laid eyes on her, waiting for a bus at the corner of Pratt Street, that his little firebrand was spirited. Even if Jonathan was using that point against him, Logan was grateful to be proven right.
 

“So she works to fight some pre-crime?”

“Not necessarily successfully. And she’s also easy pickings for the Knights. Do this to save her, and remember that not all of us end up like Adam, Goddess bless him.”

“Yes,” Logan replied, standing and heading back to the hostess and, presumably, his ready table. “But too many of us are going that way of late.”

“Then turn the tide.”

LOGAN HAD LIVED three centuries, traveled from the Far East to most major cities in North America, and he’d had more than his fair share of mortal women and witches. Still, he was glad there was a table between his lap and Caitlin’s line of sight when she sashayed—there was no other word for it—into the restaurant. His heart pounded in his chest and blood flowed south at a rapid pace. Her red hair was piled on her head in beautiful ringlets and held back with a few stray sparkling pins. Caitlin’s creamy skin was exposed to maximum effect in a low-cut, red dress with a flamenco style skirt that came up high enough on her hip to leave other women in the restaurant scowling in jealousy. Every breath she took seemed to draw attention to her ample breasts and the tear-drop, faux-diamond necklace nestled near them. Even her bright crimson lipstick transformed a face that had already been irresistible to inhumanly stunning.

“You made it. I was starting to get worried you’d stood me up, lass.”
 

He winked and took her hand as she sat down. Kissing its back, Logan hoped that was enough to distract her from the fact he couldn’t stand and maintain his dignity.

She blushed, her cheeks almost matching her fiery red hair, but then sat down. Biting into a breadstick, she started fiddling with her menu.
 

“You wouldn’t exactly have to worry about that.”

“Wouldn’t I? We didn’t leave it on the best of terms.”

She sighed and sipped at the water at her place.
 

“You gave me the hands down best kiss of my entire life. You might be completely bizarre, Logan MacCulloch, but I think I have to see how far the rabbit hole goes.”

He nodded and waited for the waiter to come over and for them to finish up with orders before continuing. No point in having a mortal interrupt their momentum.
 

“So you’re not completely denying what I told you anymore, are you?”

Caitlin set her glass down and placed her hands in her lap.
 

“I know something’s off about you. I thought at first it was just some way you’d rigged the casino, which no one can actually do no matter what Hollywood wants you to think. Then that kiss and the connection… I’m willing to hear you out because this is far from the first time things I can’t explain have happened to me. I think these types of incidences are just increasing all the time.”

He arched an eyebrow at her and offered his hand, palm out, to her on the table. There was a sense of both relief and pure heat rushing through him when she accepted. For a moment after the contact, Caitlin’s eyes glazed over and her pupils dilated. Her breasts bounced up and down a few times with her sharp, labored breaths and, finally, she snapped out of her vision. Once again her cheeks were flushed and Logan wished he knew what she saw. He could guess, but, his mission aside, he had no reason to hope that she’d care about him beyond what was necessary for her survival.
 

“Goddess, how do you do that?” she breathed.

“I don’t know. I’ve never had that effect, not exactly, on any woman before. Some things even I’m new to.”

She frowned back at him but didn’t loosen her grip on his hand. “So what’s actually going on here?”

“You’re gifted, but you know that. If my suspicions are correct, and I wager they are, you can see the future. However, you seem to also see
something
whenever we touch.”

“That’s never happened to me before,” she admitted, smiling at the waiter as he set down her soup. “If I try and work very hard at it, I can read the future in other methods. I used to have a spell book for just incantations for calmness or rituals for the goddess, more for centering myself. It’s not like I can turn someone into a frog.”

“Well no Wiccan can do that.”

“I went to Salem a couple years ago on vacation, just to check that out. Those, um, witches were nice but most of them were just into rituals. None actually had powers or visions haunting them. I felt so out of place that when I got back to Baltimore, I just assumed I was the only one actually like this. Sure there’s a religion and even descendants of witch trial sufferers, but there aren’t actually witches and wizards. That’s stuff out of kids’ books.”