Witch's Diary: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 4) (7 page)

Max decided now wasn’t the time to point out that he was here and definitely not a useless twit. Hopefully she’d figure that out without any pressure from him. And if she didn’t, he’d do his damnedest to help her reach that conclusion without beating it over her head.

He flagged the waiter and asked for a check.

While they waited, he couldn’t help himself. “Anything you need, anything—”

She nodded curtly. “I know.”

And then the check came. And he paid the check. And they left separately. And his life would never be the same. He was going to be a father.

Chapter 5

Gwen tipped the man who would carry her bags up to her room and thanked him. She couldn’t help but look forward to a quiet drink in the hotel bar. The flight hadn’t been the best, and as much as she traveled, she’d never learned to enjoy flying. It was an inconvenience to be endured. So she always treated herself when she arrived at her destination with a stout drink from the hotel bar or a wonderful meal at the hotel restaurant, depending on her mood and the time of day. And she always stayed in a good hotel. She didn’t dip into her family trust money often, but a decent hotel was one of the few extravagances she allowed herself. She felt a lengthy flight in coach deserved a reward.

She settled into a seat at a quiet table near the back. While she waited to order, she pulled out her phone and sent Walter a quick text: Arrived at hotel.

When he didn’t immediately reply, she figured his flight hadn’t landed.

Gwen smiled at the pretty young waitress approaching her table.

“What would you like this evening, ma’am?” the waitress asked.

“I think a cosmo this evening.” Gwen paused, giving the question the serious consideration it deserved. “Yes, a cosmo.”

“You’ve got it.” The girl wrote in a small notebook. “Room number?”

“Three-twelve.”

Walter still hadn’t returned her text when a different waiter delivered her drink.

Gwen was halfway through her drink when she saw the young woman who’d taken her order mixing a drink at the bar. She gave the shaker one last flick with her wrist and then poured. Coming around the bar, she delivered the drink a few tables away. If she was doing double duty as bartender and waitress—okay, it was a quiet night in the bar—where was the man who’d delivered Gwen’s drink?

Some time later, Gwen looked down to see her drink gone—but she didn’t remember drinking it. When did she finish it? How much time had passed? Had she fallen asleep? She was so tired. But she couldn’t sleep here. She wasn’t at home. She was in a hotel. Her eyelids were heavy. She tried to rub her eyes, but she couldn’t lift her hand. Drunk? But just one drink.

A man put his arm around her. “That’s all right, Mom, I’ll give you a hand up to your room.”

She tried to say no. Say that wasn’t right. She didn’t know him. She blinked. She did. He had delivered her drink earlier. And then—she knew. Drugged.

Goddammit. How could she be so careless?

She knew she was angry, but she didn’t quite feel it. The emotion was like the arm wrapped around her shoulders, there but not.

They were walking. Maybe? She couldn’t feel her feet. She’d feel her feet if she were walking. She must be floating. Her eyelids fell closed.

~*~

Gwen woke slowly, a cottony feeling in her mouth and a gritty feeling in her eyes telling her something wasn’t right. She tried to swallow, but that only made her throat hurt. As she lifted a hand to rub her eyes, pain shot through her fingers and then her head. Dammit. Memories of her abduction rushed back. Drugged. She was an idiot. No, she’d become complacent.

Eyes still closed, Gwen took silent stock of her situation. Hands and feet bound, which explained the numbness in her limbs. Her ass was numb from sitting on the floor of the vehicle. She cracked open her eyes just enough to see that she was in the back of a delivery van. Two drivers. She winced as the van hit a rut, sending pain shooting through her skull.

As soon as the pain subsided, she called her fire. If she could burn the cloth around her wrists—

Her heart stopped and she smothered the choked sound trying to escape her lips. Panic streaked through her, followed by a cold burn on her wrists. No fire. Dammit. She twisted her wrists and the cold burned again. But the pain helped clear her head.

Her restraints were imbued with some kind of magic that kept her fire at bay. A magic that felt wrong and burned, but like ice instead of fire. Now that she was fully awake, now that she knew the restraints had some magical property, she could feel the wrongness crawling on her skin. Gritting her teeth, she blocked it out. She needed to plan.

A few minutes and several jarring bumps later, she had a plan. Not a great plan, but better than having her brain shaken into jelly and her ass turned black and blue waiting for some less-than-desirable fate. If they’d drug and kidnap her, who knew what else they’d do.

She needed her hands hidden from view as she worked at the restraints around her wrists, and that wasn’t happening propped up against the wall of the van with her hands in her lap. She allowed the jostling caused by the van’s poor shocks to mask a fall onto her side. The pieces of cloth tying her hands together burned as she twisted her wrists, testing for any give in her restraints. She pulled the knot tighter, giving her hands just a little more room. Room to at least try to untie her feet. And if she untied her feet, maybe she could run.

Gwen worked surreptitiously, making only tiny, incremental movements. The driver and his passenger hadn’t stopped the car or even made any noise when she’d fallen over, so she was taking that as a good sign. They must believe her still unconscious. It took several minutes, but her three-times-weekly yoga paid off and she got her feet untied.

And now, to gamble or not. That the van doors weren’t locked. That the van wasn’t traveling faster than she’d estimated. That she’d survive the fall. That someone would be on the other side of those doors. That some traveler would stop.

Fuck it. She threw the die and rolled toward the van doors.

She fumbled with the latch. It opened. She took a deep breath for courage, tried to relax her body, failed, and hit the ground hard. Her last thought before blacking out was to hope she’d bounce half as well at sixty as she had at thirty.

Gwen felt a deep ache in her cheek first. Then hands under her arms, grabbing. She let her body go limp, and tried to rip her fire from deep inside. She jerked as the wash of cold passed through her whole body this time, making her convulse. She did the last thing she could as they dragged her dead weight, knees scraping on the ground—she screamed “fire” for all she was worth.

One of the men let go long enough to punch her. He’d just punched a woman old enough to be his mother; shame on him. The thought slid through her mind as she tasted the copper-salt of blood in her mouth. She spat on the ground and then screamed again.

Chapter 6

Kenna figured she had a good week to ride out the “flu” she’d reported at work, but after that… She sank further into the living room sofa. Well, she’d be spending a lot of time this week deciding what exactly her future plans were. But today was only Tuesday, day two of her fake flu, so she cranked up the volume on her TV and went back to binge-watching
Supernatural
.

She planned to catch up on a few episodes—at least until her OB appointment in the afternoon. She grabbed a handful of popcorn and stuffed it in her mouth. How her mom managed such a quick appointment… Kenna shook her head. She had more than one kind of magic, her mom.

Her phone rang for the second time in the last few minutes. She picked it up and looked at the caller ID, sure it would be Lizzie again. She wanted to mope, be pathetic, watch TV, and eat salty foods. Not talk to her best friend. Jack’s name popped up on the screen. She touched the ignore icon on her phone and frowned in annoyance. Weird, first Lizzie, and now Jack. The world apparently didn’t think the pregnant, witchy version of herself could handle a morning alone.

She shoved another handful of popcorn in her mouth. And again her phone rang. Ugh. She reached to silence it and saw that it was John. What the fuck? When the Texas Pack leader was calling you—even if he was her friend’s fiancé—that was bad. She wiped her hands on the hem of her old T-shirt and answered.

“Hello?”

“Thank God. I thought you’d never answer.” Lizzie’s voice was strained. “Are you home? Uh, sitting down?”

Even more annoyed, Kenna stood up and walked into the kitchen to wash her hands. “Sure. What’s wrong?”

Silence followed.

“Lizzie? Are you still there? What’s going on?”

“Yeah. First, your mom is fine.”

Kenna stopped. “I’m sorry—what?”

“We—John and I—just got a…” Lizzie’s next words were garbled. “A message. We just got a message about your mom. We’re driving over right now. And Jack should be there in a few minutes. Don’t leave the house.”

Something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

A pounding at Kenna’s door startled her from her frozen position in the kitchen entry. Jack’s arrival was good. She nodded numbly. And looked at the cell phone still in her hand. She frowned at it, confused. Again, the pounding. She jumped, then remembered, Jack. That was good. She moved to open the door. She could hear Jack yelling her name on the other side. The world snapped back into focus.

“Dammit, Jack. Shut up.” Kenna unlocked and opened her front door. Jack huffed, out of breath, on her porch. “Geez, man, come in. Did you run?”

“John told me you stopped talking on the phone.” He grimaced, gasping for breath. “I thought something… Never mind.” Putting his locked hands behind his neck, he looked up at the ceiling. “And you’re getting me a spare key.”

Kenna shook her head and moved out of his way, waving her hand for him to enter. “Lizzie has a key.”

He walked in and glared at her. “Lizzie doesn’t live five streets away.”

“What do you know about my mom?”

“Just that she’s being held by a coven, but she’s okay. John and Lizzie have more information.” Jack studied her. “Where’s your phone? John said they lost you.”

Shit. She’d dropped it. She looked around on the floor and found it near the kitchen. The connection was still live. Picking it up, she spoke into the phone. “Sorry. Jack’s here. I’m fine. How far are you?”

“A few minutes. Just…just drink some of that tea you have. Sit down and be calm. We’ll get there as soon as we can,” Lizzie said, and hung up.

“Right, tea. I can do that.” Jack walked into the kitchen and put her kettle on to boil.

“What? Now you have super hearing?”

“Jesus, Kenna. You need to sit down.” He took her arm gently and led her to the kitchen table. “You had the phone on speaker.”

Kenna sat down then rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. She needed to get it together. For her mom. Her chest tightened. What would she do if something happened to her mom? Dammit. Kenna couldn’t do this—magic, a baby—without her mom.

Jack set a pot of her tea and a cup on the table. He sat down and poured her tea.

“I am the worst possible daughter ever.” She removed her hands from her eyes and gave Jack what she was sure was a pathetic, needy look. “My mom is who knows where, and I’m terrified of losing her for my sake. Of being a single mom without her. Of lighting the city of Austin on fire.”

“I’ve seen your fire magic. I think you can cross that last one off your list.” Jack rapped his knuckles on the table. “Listen. You’ve known for two days that you’re pregnant—hell—that you’re a witch. Give yourself a break. Of course you’re terrified of being alone. Look at me.”

Kenna shrugged and looked him directly in the eyes.

Jack said, voice low and intent, “You’re not alone. And we’ll sort out this mess with your mom, whatever it is.”

“I know. I do. You and Lizzie will make great babysitters, I’m sure.” Kenna shoved back the note of hysteria that had crept into her voice. “Even John will stand behind me, because Lizzie would kill him with guilt if he didn’t.” Kenna closed her eyes, let her head roll back, and released a deep breath. “I hope she’s all right.”

Her front door opened before Jack could respond. And, honestly, her incessant need for reassurance exhausted her. Pregnancy sucked. The feeling of helplessness and the emotional instability accompanying her pregnancy, more accurately. But those were big issues that colored the entire experience, and it was too soon for her to separate them out. She looked over her shoulder to the door as Lizzie was shutting it behind her.

“John, Lizzie. What can you tell me?” Kenna kept her voice even with some effort.

“The Coven of Light arrested her and have brought charges. She’s being tried in ten days.” Lizzie sat down next to Kenna and gave her hand a quick squeeze.

“We think.” John scowled. “We received the information, a video”—Lizzie pulled a tablet out of her purse as John explained—“and a message with the details, from Margot.”

“Margot, the psycho killer? Worth’s daughter, the one who set up her dad to be assassinated by you guys? That Margot? What the hell does she have to do with this?” Kenna’s head swam.

Lizzie cringed. “That’s the twist. Gwen’s being charged, but Margot claims if her terms are met that she’ll intercede with the Coven of Light on Gwen’s behalf. She wants us to persuade the Inter-Pack Policing Cooperative to release all of her dad’s frozen assets to her.”

“That’s insane. IPPC will never release the money, probably don’t even have access to it any more. They may be the magical, underground, shady version of Interpol, but they’re still cops. They won’t cooperate with a criminal, especially one who’s involved in a struggle for leadership of a criminal organization.” The words left Kenna’s lips before she realized exactly what that meant—no help for her mom. “Shit. Shit. They can’t help, can they?”

“I’m not sure until I speak with Harrington.”

Dammit. That was not reassuring. Harrington, Lizzie’s boss and one of the top brass at IPPC, was a self-interested dick.

“What kind of pull does Margot have with this coven?” Kenna felt her nails biting into her palm and unclenched her fist. “Can Margot do what she says? Can she influence the coven?”