Vincent: Her Warlock Protector Book 5 (2 page)

Paulina’s expression remained carefully blank. “The tarot.”

“Total crap,” Amanda said. “I still have no idea what I am doing.”
 

“Keep trying, dear. Now, if you don’t mind I need to borrow Vincent here for just a moment." She already had Vincent’s right elbow in a bone crushing grip, encouraging him to stand up and come with her.

"It's all good,” Amanda said, thankfully not noticing. “We can catch up later."
 

She stood and gathered her things as Paulina guided Vincent away from the table.
 

PAULINA’S EYES LANDED on the silver double-pentacle tie tack in the center of Vincent’s chest.
 

"You’re a Captain, now. I see the Magus Corps is still rewarding failure."
 

Paulina’s tight hold on Vincent’s elbow did not relent as they walked the circumference of the courtyard.
 

"What have you heard?" he asked.

"Same thing everyone's heard. Can we just get the formalities out of the way?”
 

She waved her right hand in a gentle circular motion near the mid-point of the heat lamp they stood under, the lamp dimming before turning off.
 

“Amanda is not untrained. She is here, learning. Right now it's tarot. Soon it will be aromatherapy, again. She is signed up for a Wicca certificate. So, whatever brought you here is finished. You can go home now.”
 

They came to the next lamp, which she turned off with another wave of her hand.

"We both know that isn't sufficient training,” he said.

"No, you think it isn't sufficient. I think her talent may be so rare it may never be found. Kind of like being an exorcist."

Vincent smirked, "It's more useful than you think."

"Really? Let's talk about your hair or the witch you lost in St. Louis."

Vincent changed tack. "Why are you being like this? I know we’ve had our issues, but–”

"Like that night in Agadir when I road you like Secretariat and all you could do was complain about having sand in your crack?" Her left eye narrowed, a warning of danger for the man the eye focused on. "Or how about when I woke up the next morning with a pissed-off myrrh dealer pounding on the door looking for you? And no you. You mean those issues?"

"It was a frankincense dealer."

A look which predicted Vincent’s imminent death crossed Paulina's face.
 

"I was young."

"It was last year."
 

With the last of the lamps extinguished, Paulina began to drift with Vincent toward the gate. Certain that Amanda had gone, Vincent was tired of the game.
 

"I’m trying to play nice here. We both know compliance is required. Just give me a copy of the notarized paperwork confirming Amanda is a member of your coven and I will go."

“There isn’t any. She’s not one of mine.”

Vincent blinked. “Then why is she here?”

Paulina shrugged. “Because she has an interest, but no real clue what she is. Are you going to take her to coffee before you kill her?"

"Paulina, godd–"

She held up her right hand in surrender. "You're right, that was unfair. Murder is not your usual MO. Has Amanda come to the attention of the Templars?"

"No." He was quick to answer. The community here was under the radar and there was no need to sound the alarm. "No one has done anything to draw their attention. All is well. All I need to do is bring her into the fold and get out of town."

She finally relented her hold on Vincent's elbow at the garden gate.
 

"You’re good at the leaving town bit."
 

She gave him a little shove through the gate. A quick sigil with her left hand and a snap of her fingers with the right and Vincent could see the electric blue glow of the ward around the gate.
 

If he wanted back in, he would have to hop the eight foot fence.
 

From the parking lot behind him came Amanda’s welcome voice.
 

"Hey, sailor. Wanna get coffee?"

He turned to see Amanda in her wool coat and purple scarf, hair golden under the halogen street light, smiling at him from beside her Mini.

Well, hell yes.

LIONEL STEERED THE white Porsche through island traffic down Seawall Boulevard. The usual beach town collection of board shops, t-shirt stands and restaurants interspersed with the ruined shells of the buildings abandoned after the last hurricane passed by. Galveston was the dirt poor cousin of South Beach, the Cozumel wannabe with neither the right kind of beach nor the money to compete. Not that it mattered. Lionel was not here to mingle or make friends. These were not his people. His people were in New York, London, Amsterdam—he would even admit to knowing a few in Chicago. When his people went to the beach, it was because they owned a house there.
 

He pulled the Porsche into the parking lot of the St. Walpurgis Universal Contemplative Center, looked at the address on his phone, the sign on the building and back to his phone. The addresses matched. He parked the car, exited, and proceeded quickly to the sanctuary.
 

In moments, Lionel, in his light gray winter wool suit and matching dress shirt stood in the office of Hugh Murphy in his jeans, Aran sweater and sandals. Neither was a happy camper. Far from being the aged clergyman Lionel had expected, Hugh was maybe twenty-three, bearded, and had shaggy hair. In the space of one sentence, he’d managed to refer to Lionel as “dude" twice.
 

 
"I've never worked with a Unitarian before,” Lionel grumbled, intending it to sound like an accusation, which it was.
 

Amused, Hugh looked through his eyebrows at Lionel. "Yeah,” he said, taking a seat behind the desk.

Lionel smoothed his suit jacket as he took a seat in the guest chair opposite the desk and was comforted to see the crucifix which peeked out of the collar of Hugh's sweater. He was able to let go of the flask of holy water in his left pocket.

“You seem to have an unusual number of witches in your congregation,” Lionel said.

"A few,” Hugh said smiling. "Mostly it’s teenagers playing around. A few untutored who have no interest in pursuing magic. Best place to keep an eye on them." He spread his hands out in a wide welcome. "Our doors are open to all."

“What use is an untutored? They have no knowledge and do not associate with other Wiccans. Why has no one been sent for?”

“You’re here.”

“Untutored Wiccans are outside my current mission. If I get bored or have extra time, maybe. I assume you can perform the necessary functions required. Do you have holy water?"

"Yeah, I can hook you up. Except the waterboarding thing, I'm not down with that.” Hugh leaned back in the office chair with his fingers laced behind his head. The chair’s springs groaned under the stress of the extreme angle. “You know holy water doesn't work on witches, that's vampires."

Lionel's features hardened, teeth grinding as he glared at the near prone Hugh. "Do you have the water?”

"Sure." He shrugged one shoulder as he looked down his nose at Lionel.

"Are you ready?" Lionel said, jumping up.

The sooner this meeting ended the sooner he could report that Hugh Murphy needed to be re-evaluated before being allowed contact with other members of the Templar Order.
 

"For what?"

There are so many parts to play, which one am I today?

"For the show and tell,” he snapped, the sharp edge of exasperation in his voice.
 

Since beginning this assignment eight months ago, the ability to mask his emotions had been destroyed. Every unintentional slip further embittered him, each a reminder he was not the same man he had been before the assignment began.

"The ride along thing? Sure, just give me a minute. We're having an aromatherapy and essential oils class in the annex, and I need to make sure there is nothing on fire before we can take off."

AMANDA SAT ACROSS from Vincent at a booth in Drogo's Coffeehouse. Through the window she could see the four-lane feeder road and the dark and empty parking lot that the salon shared with a taco stand, a chain bookstore, a tattoo parlor and a knock-off dollar store. None of it was as interesting as Vincent.
 

"I am a special investigator for the Magus Corps. Have you heard of them?"

"No,” Amanda said, without a touch of sarcasm. “What do you investigate?"
 

She remembered that Vincent had always been a bit of a storyteller, but he was fun, so she played along.
 

"This," he unsnapped a silver tie tack of two interlocked pentacles and handed it to her, "is–"

"Oh, you're a Wiccan, too."
 

Vincent's eyebrows raised, and he leaned toward her across the booth. Over the coffee, she caught just a hint of his cologne, musky and sweet.

“You know you’re a Wiccan?” he asked, his voice low.

She’d been staring at his lips but caught herself.

"Full-on Wiccan might be a bit of a stretch for me,” she said. “But I agree with the principles. Living in harmony with nature, acknowledging the inner and outer worlds, to live without harm to others, natural healing. I've tried casting spells. Nothing has worked, but," she shrugged, "I keep trying."

"There's a bit more to it than that. What I do is find witches who are not in compliance with Corps codes. Like," Vincent's eyes glanced around the room, "not being in a coven."

When his gaze returned to her, he seemed to fixate on her forehead. She looked quizzically at him until he reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. If she hadn’t been sitting, she might have fallen. His touch was at once something bold and incredibly caring.

"If I were a witch not in a coven, what would you do?" In a wild moment of courage, she leaned over the table. "Can you arrest me? Tie me up and throw me in a dungeon? Handcuff me in the back of your car?”

His eyes seemed lit from within, the fire from them heating her skin. Amanda’s eyes glazed over as she stared at his mouth.

“I’m here to protect you,” he said.

Though she knew he’d said something, she didn’t hear what. She watched his mouth move, red tongue gliding over perfect white teeth. His tongue looked like it would taste good.
 

She sat back, a little surprised at the thought. Being this comfortable with a man didn’t usually come so easily. Then again, it had been a while. It also didn’t help that he was drop-dead, good looking. His silver hair shone over the deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen. Eve now, she could feel the ghost of the brush of his fingers on her skin, that single spark of sensation, a teasing taste of the possibilities.

“How long are you here for?” she whispered.

“Don’t worry. I’m not leaving town without you.”

THE "SHOW-AND-tell" had gotten off to a rocky start after Lionel insisted they take his heated Porsche rather than Hugh’s Civic with the missing passenger’s side window. He steered the Porsche through the narrow streets around The Strand, weaving between potholes and parked cars, careful to avoid the abandoned trolley tracks that striped the cobblestone streets. He fought the car as the tires slipped, and the steering wheel pulled with each new surface. The car was built for highways and race tracks, not cobblestone and steel.
 

"What is that?" Lionel asked.

Hugh turned to look through the back glass over his left shoulder. It was the third shop on the left with the blacked-out windows. "Coven Tree" painted in white script across the glass.
 

"That's where we get a lot of the herbs and essential oils for the aromatherapy classes." The vein at Lionel's temple throbbed, but Hugh continued to talk. "Not everything is black and white in this town. A lot of gray, man, a lot of gray."

The sound of Lionel’s grinding teeth filled the car.
 

"Just so I understand, you have places like that," he said, pointing at Coven Tree as they passed it for the third time, "as neutral ground because," mocking Hugh, "a lot of gray, man."

Hugh shrugged. "Yeah."

His grip was tight on the steering wheel, the seams in the leather digging into his palms.

"And you're fine with that?"

"Look, this is a really small town. Someone is seen with me and turns up dead, I am going to get away with that,” he held up his right hand, fingers forming a zero, "number of times. The police force we have doesn't care what you believe as long as the same number of people wake up as went to bed the night before, ya' know? We show up missing people, everyone better have a serious alibi."

“As far as alibis, we can buy–” Hugh's laughter interrupted Lionel, and came close to getting him punched in the face. "What?"

"Loyalty you pay for is no loyalty at all, man. You’re gonna end up in the clink for trying to bribe an officer. Ya’ know, think about it. Why not find a way for the problem to disappear? But try something here? The cops will have the two bridges blocked and the airport shut down before you can say, 'twenty-five to life.’” He paused. “But there are bonuses."

 
Lionel’s clenched jaw clicked as he said, "Like what?"
 

"Because we have to parlay every so often, I have the name of every witch on the island. Where they live, work, you know, that sort of thing."

"Now we are getting somewhere."

"Paulina, the coven leader, and I have coffee every other Wednesday. It's part of the truce."

The car skid to a stop in the middle of the intersection.
 

"
Truce?
"

"Yeah. It's this ceasing of hostilities thing we've worked out, not that there were really a hostilities to cease." Hugh saw the angry drivers piling up in the intersection around them. "We should probably move. This is not cool."

"You can't..." Lionel took his foot off the brake and pulled out of the intersection while taking a deep breath. "There cannot be a truce. They stand for everything we are against."