Logan: Her Warlock Protector Book 3 (8 page)

Hopping over the railing between their split porches, Caitlin hurried forward and grabbed at Logan’s shoulders. It didn’t do much, just made her realize how strong he was, and that she had no hope of pulling him off just because
she
wanted to.
 

“Damn it, Logan, stop!”

He turned to her and shook his head. Darren was going scarily limp in his grasp and she didn’t have much time to convince him to stop being so crazy.
 

“You have no idea who he is,” Logan said. “This is a Knight Templar. He’s one of their most dangerous lieutenants.”

“He’s my damn neighbor and you can’t just go around choking people!” she shouted, slapping his face. “Stop now or I’ll call the cops myself.”

Pain flashed through Logan’s blue eyes, draining them to grey. “You wouldn’t. You know they don’t understand these affairs.”

“They understand you trying to strangle my friend. Now stop!” she said, pulling her phone back out and starting to dial 9-1-1.

Logan hesitated, glanced over his shoulder at the crowd, and then, blessfully, let Darren go. “You don’t understand.”

She rushed over and started rubbing on her neighbor’s back. The color was returning to his cheeks. Caitlin could hear people shuffling down the street, the crowd dispersing now that the spectacle of violence was through. Darren was still limp in her arms, but was at least taking in steady breaths.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah but who is this psycho?”

She shuddered and looked back at Logan who was pacing. He’d brought her pleasure, connected her to her heritage, and explained about the Magus Corps, but how much did she really know about him? She only knew that Knights were bad and the Corps were saviors because he had said it. It was harder to believe that he was just the good guy here when he’d almost strangled a man in front of her. Caitlin had known Darren for over a month. He was a good man and just a visiting lecturer at Hopkins. There was nothing about him that screamed Knight of the Round Table or whatever the Templars were supposed to be.
 

She knew him far more than she knew Logan, no matter how she swore she’d thought their souls had touched.

Glaring up at him, her voice still raw with pain and confusion, Caitlin added, “Logan, I need you to go or I’ll call the cops. Believe that.”

“I’M SO SORRY,” she said, handing Darren a cold compress and easing herself down onto the other side of his sofa.
 

His place was the same size as hers and the same layout, just reversed. Other than that though, it was as different as night from day. Her place was just thrift store furniture finds and fabrics with Far East or Wiccan patterns on them. She’d be the first to admit it had a Bohemian vibe. Her neighbor, however, had nice, plush leather furniture, clearly some Eddie Bauer matching set, that a visiting lecturer salary could afford. That didn’t mean Mr. Castle didn’t have his own quirks. Oh no. There was a carved oak book case with old tomes that looked like original editions in bound leather. Additionally, along the far wall were different paintings of coats of arms. She was most impressed with the collection of medieval weaponry displayed on the shorter wall of the duplex. It included a mace, a broadsword and a few things she had no words for but had seen in movies.

All looked well polished and pristine.

“Wow, what is it you lecture in?”

He blushed and held the compress to his forehead. Soft brown eyes twinkled back at hers. For a moment, she was taken aback by his shy smile and the dimples that dotted his cheeks.
 

“History of the Dark Ages. I do a lot of genealogy work too. Those are all crests that feed into my family line.” The blush spread to the tips of his ears. “And I must be the biggest nerd in the world.”

“Not at all,” she replied. “If I had a family to speak of, I’d definitely be interested in following the past lines. It’s important. I understand that more than anything.”

“May I ask what happened?” he added, leaning closer toward her.
 

Caitlin didn’t know who to trust or where to turn and, to top it all off, her senses were on overdrive. Reaching over, he brushed his fingers over the scar on her eyebrow.
 

“That looks pretty deep.”

“I got it when I was a teenager. I…someone killed my parents and left me with that. It’s why I think what you do is cool. Like I said, you only have to ask an orphan to find someone who agrees with you that family is important.” Caitlin sighed. “I’m so sorry about Logan. I thought he was–”

“Not a raving psycho?” Darren asked, gesturing toward his throat. “I gathered that.”

“He’s never done anything like that before.”

“Not to sound awful, but how long have you known him?”

Her eyes narrowed, even if she’d had those same thoughts herself.
 

“I guess not long enough. I know you’re not someone out to harm me. You’ve been too good a neighbor for that. I can’t ever apologize enough. I mean, you have every right to hate me.”

He nodded and touched her knee. Caitlin fought the urge to scoot away. Somehow, even with the way he’d scared her, Caitlin felt she still belonged to Logan, that the connection between them was that sharp. It felt wrong to be sitting here just chatting with Darren, even if it was platonic.
 

Still, she sat there quietly as he continued, “You’re a good neighbor too. You can stay here tonight on my sofa if you’re scared of him coming back.”

She stood and gathered up her sweater. “No, I know he won’t be, but thank you for understanding and not involving the authorities. I owe you one.” With that, she started to the door, passing by what looked like an honest-to-god iron shield. “Wow, again, you have quite the collectibles!”

He grinned and, for the first time since she’d met him, the expression didn’t put her at ease.
 

"They’re more than that.”

BY THE TIME Caitlin was back home, her head was pounding. There was too much going on in her life: the expansion of her powers, Logan’s rage and her still incessant burning need for him, and even her sister’s cagey nature on the phone. Throw in Darren’s odd coldness as she left, and her whole world was spinning around her. Sighing, she shuffled to the bathroom. Tossing back a few aspirin would at least help alleviate the headache pounding through her brain. Then, hopefully, she could focus and figure out a plan to deal with the Magus Corps and any other trouble they might be bringing with them.

Besides the desperately needed medicine, Caitlin took a moment to then brush her teeth. Looking out her window, she smiled at the collection of white on the sill. Snow. Some people hated the bitter winters of Charm City and the icy sidewalks and lack of parking that they brought with them.
 

She wasn’t like that.

Maybe it was because some of her favorite memories with her parents involved sledding and hot cocoa or maybe it was the leftover love all kids had for snow days, but Caitlin had always adored the white stuff. Smirking to herself, she quickly dressed, tended to Schnapps’ litter box and food, and then hurried out the door. She’d even made a point to put on gloves.
 

Except it hadn’t snowed.

Everything was clear and bright, all the way down to the pavement.

Confused, Caitlin blinked at everything before her. Then, turning around, she spied her doorway. It had the same white substance on it. Leaning down, she stuck her hand in and took a quick sniff. A sharp tang filled her nostrils, and she realized it was nothing more than table salt. A quick flick of her tongue confirmed it.

“The Hell?”

Why would anyone put salt at her doorway and windowsills?

It had to be the same person who stole her spell book and moved her altar around, but why even bother with the salt. Looking up, Caitlin’s blood froze. The salt wasn’t the only change to her apartment.
 

No.

On the side of her house by the front door, emblazoned against the grey siding, was a phrase written in bright red spray paint. She didn’t know what it said because it was in Latin. She’d had a bit of catechism as a kid and seen a few horror movies since then. At least she could place the language, not that it made her feel any better. The one word she could make out was
mori
and that made bile rise in her throat.

She’d have to call the cops and wait for someone to give her the official translation, but Logan wasn’t wrong about the Knights. It might not be Darren, but someone out there was hunting her and, if her Latin was correct, they wanted her
dead
.

LOGAN WANTED TO stay with her. He’d have concealed himself in the bushes if he thought he could get away with it, keeping a vigil for her, but he couldn’t. Even if most of the neighbors had scattered once he’d headed toward his car, there was no way to obscure his large frame there without drawing attention to himself. Hampden might still have some stray Christmas decorations that were up, but a hubcap Christmas tree wasn’t something he could hide behind. Still, everything within him was still on fire, raging against what he’d seen.

He was here.

That bastard who’d murdered Adam was living next door to his…no, not his, not judging by the death glares she’d sent him
.

The only thing Logan could hope was that Darren Castle wasn’t dumb enough to strike her when neighbors had seen her enter into his apartment. As for her own place, Logan would hope until then that her familiar, that cunning weasel, would be able to help her as well. He’d return at night with spells and incantations of his own to help fortify a barrier so secure that no cleric the Knight could bargain with would be able to bring down the walls. Still, it tore at him to leave her, to have to keep up what respectability he had left.
 

Caitlin was his in a way that even he couldn’t quite understand. The thought of that monster slitting her throat or decapitating her as he had Logan’s best friend and lieutenant made him boil with anger. Darren would pay—pay for his myriad of crimes against the Corps, other witches, and now for stalking Caitlin and playing to her sympathies. He just had to make her see that she was mistaken and that things didn’t look like how she assumed. No, losing his temper wasn’t the smartest thing, but nothing had been more visceral for him than seeing that murdering bastard smiling back at him on the porch.

Sitting down on the bed of his hotel room, trying to get Jonathan on the phone, Logan was afraid he’d blown his chance to save her, driven her directly into that man’s arms. No, not a man, a monster.

Finally, after six rings, Jonathan answered his cell phone:

“Logan, you’re supposed to be working closely to bring Ms. Monroe in. Where are we on this plan?”

He gritted his teeth and refrained from shouting at his leader. While they were friends, even he understood the necessity of keeping up the lines of command. He resented it as well as Jonathan’s focus on the war and what they needed to win it. Of course, as commandant, the lives of every witch and warlock were on his head, even the ones who had not yet been located for protection. The novices and uninitiated, especially, needed his calm head leading the Corps to survive, even if they didn’t know that yet.

“
He’s
here. I need reinforcements and I need them now, Jonathan.”

“Who?”

“Darren Castle. He’s the Knight casing everything. I don’t know if it’s fate or if their clerics somehow foresaw I’d be assigned, but he’s been on surveillance longer than I. He’s her goddamn neighbor!”

“Castle’s here?”

“He’s next door to her, probably plotting the easiest way to slit her throat after torturing her.”

“You left her?”

“I lost control of my emotions. There was a scene in front of the neighbors, and she was going to call the cops. I know he won’t strike before night fall because of witnesses. The Templars want to stay secretive even more than we do. But one of their most proficient assassins is on this case. I don’t know how they know about her.”

A long measured sigh was his only answer on the other end for a while. Then Jonathan spoke.
 

“I can send you Charles and Montgomery, but they’re in D.C. currently with that coven. There’s been trouble there too so it might be a day or two. You get to Caitlin and you protect her. She could be our lynchpin.”

Logan swallowed and reminded himself to be contrite with his leader. “You’d have to use force to keep me away. I just needed to avoid arrest. I’ll be on this. Darren won’t win again.”

“Good. If I had to have someone up against him, even after Adam… Look, this isn’t about vengeance. This is about saving the newest potential initiate. You don’t go for blood, you save her. Is that understood, General?”

Logan nodded and squeezed the phone tighter to his ear. “Trust me. No matter what, I want Caitlin safe.”

THERE WAS A frantic knock on Logan’s hotel door only about thirty minutes after his new orders from Jonathan. Leaping up quickly, he rushed over and flung the door open. Caitlin was staring back at him. Her eyes wide, hair tangled from lack of washing, and a few large photos clutched in her left hand. Logan didn’t think, just swept her up in a hug, holding her small, soft body to his chest. He was going to protect her now, no matter what qualms she had. Logan had been rash before, scared her with his protective instincts. He could do better,
would
for her sake.

“I made a mistake,” she whispered, her voice so muffled.

He reached down and stroked back her hair, soft red curls that even unwashed felt so good in his hands.
 

“I was wrong,” he said. “You don’t understand everything that’s happened between Darren and the Corps and you certainly don’t know everything that happened between him and me. I do best never thinking about it, but I could have explained it so much better than by assaulting him and scaring you. He deserves justice but I need your trust more first.”