Time Spell (11 page)

I focused on my hand and lifted my palm in front of my chest.

“Illuminate,” I whispered, and a soft glowing orb of light formed in my hand and hovered.

I let it float in the air for a few seconds, just long enough for Jack to study it. It bobbed up and down, illuminating my face and the space around my hands. Then, I dropped my palm to my side and the orb’s light disintegrated. Slowly, I lifted my eyes to meet his and I could feel a tear sliding down my cheek.

I had broken my family’s bond. I had shared my magic.

J
ACK DIDN’T
move. He stood firmly anchored with his arms crossed. I was afraid of what I had done, afraid that I had terrified him. What did I expect him to do after I showed him a magical glowing orb in the palm of my hand?

Whenever I was around Jack and I wasn’t deploying flirty tactics on him in the office or participating in relentless arguments over chapter rewrites, I studied him. I loved the way he analyzed the words I had written, the way he could change only one little word and an entire page came to life. He understood great literature and quoted my favorite writers. He was the perfect combination of super smart and ruggedly sexy.

We had spent late nights cooped up in his office, ordering bad pepperoni pizza, laughing about how tired we’d be the next morning, and trudging through my manuscripts. He had coaxed me out of my shell as a writer. He coached me through chapter after chapter, challenging me to be better, pushing me to take chances.

Jack was smart and pensive—I’d even dare to say brooding—when it came to novels he was focused on. He was sure and confident about the choices he made and never wavered on the direction of the story.

I knew what it felt like to rely on your own instincts. I trusted mine infinitely more than anyone else’s around me and I admired Jack for always standing his ground. Publishing houses were a business that needed customers. Those customers wanted sex, love, and intrigue, but he wasn’t always ready to feed the masses. He tried to protect the writing, protect the craft, and even in my short stint in the writing world, I knew that type of loyalty was rare.

Before my whirlwind trip to New York for the
Vegas Star
premiere, I was so engrossed with selecting outfits to pack, scheduling my stylist appointment, and setting up press interviews that I didn’t call Jack before I left for the airport. I had just enough time to lock the front door, hug Cooper good-bye, and lug my suitcases into the back of the cab before racing off to make my flight. I needed to blend in like a normal girl, and flying in and out of airports added to that normalcy factor. Plus, what a pain to conjure up a flying spell for my luggage and me.

Gina informed me a few weeks before the big trip that no one else from Raven Publishing would be accompanying me to New York. There were little funds for marketing, and the accountants deemed it more important to send me to New York with first class arrangements versus sending Jack or Gina with me on a low-rent budget. My heart sank when I heard the budget cuts would keep Jack in Sullen’s Grove. I wanted to see the city with him. I really wanted to see him in a tuxedo at the premiere of
Vegas Star
. Maybe it would even be a chance to chip away at the professional wall he had built between us. I pushed the disappointment to the side and focused on what was ahead of me—a fabulous, all-expense paid trip to New York City and a stroll on the red carpet. I told myself as long as I kept writing, there would be another chance to see Jack out of the confines of the office.

On the way to the airport, I wrestled with the questions that kept sneaking into my mind. Should I contact him before the flight? Should I call when I landed? Outwardly, I tried to respect the boundaries he’d established for us as working partners, but on the inside, I let my daydreams cross boundaries with him at every encounter. Maybe I could call once I got settled in my hotel or maybe right before the premier. Loaded with my laptop, I boarded the plane. I stretched out in my reclined first class upgrade seat. Thank you, Raven Publishing. I smiled. One last email check before takeoff, and there it was sitting in my inbox, a message from Jack Coleman:

Ivy,

Sorry I’m going to miss your big debut. The world is going to love
Vegas Star
and you. I’m just glad I got to know you first. See you when you get back—let’s start on the sequel.

Jack

I blinked hard and stared at the screen again while the coiffed flight attendant requested all electronic devices be turned off before taxiing. The two gentlemen across the aisle mumbled under their breaths and powered down their laptops while reaching out for another Bloody Mary refill. I tucked my phone in the front pocket of my purse, and shoved it under the seat. I couldn’t think of a better way to start my New York weekend.

That trip was weeks ago and tonight everything had changed. In this moment, it was hard to imagine Jack and I working together on my next book. I couldn’t imagine he wanted anything to do with me. A growing emptiness churned in my stomach.

The ring from Jack’s cell phone broke the silence that had settled over the room. He reached into his front pocket and looked puzzled at the number flashing on the screen.

“Yeah? Yes, we got it.” Jack raised his voice and roared into the phone, “Who do you think you are? … Wait, just wait… Yeah, I understand.” Someone had cut him off, and he shoved the phone back in his pocket.

“Who was it?” I searched his eyes for an answer. “What did they say?”

“Them.” He pointed to the letter on the table. “He wanted to make sure we got the package and we agreed to the terms.”

“Terms? What terms? We have to do what they’ve told us or else they’re going after our families and us. Did you recognize his voice? Was he old or young or did he have any identifiable traits in his voice?” I searched for any tiny morsel of information to lead us to the identity of our tormentors.

“No, I don’t know who in the hell he is, or who they are. I didn’t recognize anything in the voice.”

The phone call had interrupted Jack’s concentration on the illumination orb, but I sensed he didn’t want to ignore it. It wouldn’t be that easy. “Ivy, how, how could you make that light? I’ve never seen anything like that in my life.”

“I tried to explain it. It’s magic. It’s one of the many talents I have.” I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. I couldn’t read Jack. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling about the orb or me.

He left his post in the doorway and walked toward me. I stiffened as he put a hand on each of my arms. He gave me a slight squeeze.

“I get it now. I’m starting to understand. We can’t take this to the police. We can’t tell anyone else, but I think you know more than what you’re telling me. There is more to this, and I know you have to have more answers. I will do anything to keep them from getting to my sister.” He sighed. “Emily, her name is Emily. She doesn’t deserve this. I have to protect her from these people. Help me, Ivy. Help me keep her safe. Can you do that?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a silver frame positioned on the edge of one of Jack’s bookcases. A picture of a young girl with flowing hair, a wide headband, and the contagious smile of a sixteen-year-old beamed at me from the end of the room. Jack had his arm wrapped around her shoulder. He was proudly donning a graduation cap. It struck me in that moment I didn’t really know anything about Jack’s family or his life outside of work. I certainly didn’t know he had a younger sister. The picture of the happy siblings captured in that milestone moment at Jack’s college graduation made me think about Ian and how close we are. We had been together for all of those life moments too. Now, Ian was in danger just like Jack’s sister. The only difference was that Ian had magic on his side. Emily was vulnerable, and her life was in danger because of me.

“Can we do this together? Can you help me keep them away from her?” he asked.

The feelings he had for his sister outweighed anything he thought or felt about the revelation I had shared with him. He didn’t care if I was a witch or a waitress. He wanted to protect Emily.

I looked into his chestnut brown eyes and reassured him with a smile. “Yes, Jack. We can do this.”

The hollow pit receded. I felt like, for the first time all night, I could breathe. Suddenly, the danger I was in didn’t seem so threatening. He needed me. Jack needed me. Not the regular girl who wrote words for him, but the real me, Ivy the witch.

I
RUMMAGED
through the piles scattered on top of Jack’s desk. His workspace was tucked in the corner of his study. I needed paper and a pen. A legal pad with several pages of notes was buried under a stack of letters, and I rolled back the pages, grabbed a pen, and pushed them into Jack’s hands.

“Ok, just like at work, you take the notes, I’ll think through the story,” I directed.

He sat in the leather chair and started making charts on the yellow-lined paper. I stood in front of the fire, forcing my brain to think harder, think through all of the details of that 1968 trip to Las Vegas.

“Maybe you should retrace the steps of
Vegas Star
. What else did you see that you didn’t write? Is it possible someone did see you? Maybe you misunderstood what was going on with Helen and Simone. How do you know for sure you’re invisible when you travel? What if it faded?”

Jack had more questions than I had answers. I could tell we might end up spending more time on deciphering the ends and outs of my magic than on who the nefarious people were who sent the threatening letter. I had to be careful. I had already shared too much. There were consequences I would have to face.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, but I can’t answer everything for you right now. I’ve already shown you and told you more than you can imagine. I’ll go over the story again, but this isn’t about my magic right now. It’s about finding these people before they get to us. And from what I heard on the phone, they may have already shortened the clock.”

I picked up the letter and traced the ink stains with my finger, swirling around each sentence, making a figure eight.