Witch's Diary: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 4) (8 page)

“The Coven of Light—that’s the name of the coven.” Lizzie shared a quick look with John. “John and I hoped your mom had mentioned them. We don’t know much about the group.”

John cleared his throat. “But we do know Margot has worked with the Idaho branch of the group. She has contacts in the organization. We just don’t know the specifics: who, how many, or how powerful.”

“It’s been two days. We’ve barely talked about my training, let alone anything else.” Kenna’s hand hovered briefly over her midsection. “We had other priorities.” Her eyes narrowed. “But if they’re a coven, that means they’re witches, right? Why would other witches have a problem with my mom?”

“Gwen actively crusades against the Coven of Light. She has some deep-seated political differences with the group, but I’m not sure exactly what they are or the nature of her actions.” John sat down at the kitchen table with Lizzie and Kenna. His voice grim, he said, “It’s enough.”

Jack cleared his throat. “And if Lycan are any kind of example, being the same magic-user type doesn’t remotely guarantee cooperation.”

Kenna rubbed her forehead. “Yeah, good point. So what do we know? Where’s the video? The message?”

Three faces looked back, but no one responded.

“What? I thought you said Mom was fine.” Panic crept into Kenna’s voice. Geez, all this stress could not be okay for the kid.

“She is.” Lizzie tapped the screen of her tablet, bringing up the video. “But they tied her up—and you can see she’s been in a fight.”

An image of Kenna’s mom in her witch clothes—skinny jeans, T-shirt, and black leather jacket—appeared on the screen. She sat in a chair, arms stretched tight behind the chair back and restrained in what had to be a painful position. The bridge of her nose and upper lip looked swollen. High on her right cheek, directly under her eye, a bluish-black color started, fading into purple. Blood had trickled and dried from a split in her lip. Each ankle was tied to a chair leg, spreading her legs apart in a humiliating position.

Only after Kenna had taken all of that in did she realize someone spoke in the background. “St-stop it.” She cleared her throat. “Start it again.”

“Kenna.” John pushed a crisply laundered handkerchief next to her clenched fingers. She clung to the edge of the table so hard, she could feel them cramping.

She looked at him in confusion then blinked. She pried her fingers loose and smacked her palm hard against the table. Tears soaked her face and her nose was running, and she hadn’t noticed. She blew her nose and wiped roughly at the tears on her face.

“Play it again.” This time there was no stutter.

A woman’s voice overlaid the video footage, masking whatever small sounds Kenna’s mom might have made around her gag. “Gwen McIntyre, formerly known as Gwendolyn Lucille Brown, is charged with conspiracy to undermine the Coven’s authority, attempted assassination of a Coven leader, and terroristic threat. I believe that makes the good witch Gwen, a terrorist, doesn’t it?”

The voice paused, and Kenna’s eyes flew back to her mom. She was working her mouth around the gag, but that only caused her split lip to reopen and bleed.

The even-toned female voice continued, as if she was reading from a menu or an informational pamphlet. “Gwen has no representation, no contacts within the Coven, and very little chance of escaping conviction and a death sentence.”

Kenna gasped, covering her mouth, fearful she’d miss something important.

“…a trade. My father’s assets in exchange for my influence with the Coven. I can arrange representation for Gwen, whisper a few words in the right ear, and she’ll be released. You’ve got ten days. Or, rather, Gwen has ten days. But sooner is better for dear Gwen.”

The video stopped.

“That’s Margot? On the video clip?” Kenna asked.

John nodded. “She’s voiced over the clip. None of the original soundtrack remains, just her message.”

“It’s like she doesn’t even care, one way or the other.” Confused, still in shock, Kenna couldn’t wrap her head around it. “I mean, Margot had to have set this up. Otherwise, how can she deliver what she’s promising?”

“She’s…dispassionate. That’s been our experience with her.” Lizzie frowned at John and gave a tiny shake of her head. “Yes, I’m sure she’s behind the charges. But there are no guarantees with Margot. She’s incapable of anything but self-interest and is completely untrustworthy.”

“I’d say circumstance and convenience met,” Jack said.

Jack sounded much too confident in his conclusion for Kenna’s comfort. Was she the only one who had no idea what was going on?

“How do you, as the one completely magic-free guy in this room, have any insight? And what the hell does that cryptic statement mean?”

Jack politely ignored her accusatory tone. “Margot and Sylvester, third and second respectively in Worth’s organization, have been fighting for leadership over the last several weeks. I’d say her circumstance must not be improving as quickly as she’d hoped, and she’s looking for an advantage.” Jack looked to John for confirmation. John nodded.

Jack’s tone turned grimmer. “And I’d guess that your mom showed up on an ally’s property at just the wrong time, looking like the perfect sacrificial lamb. That was all Margot needed to leverage IPPC. Or leverage people who have influence with IPPC.”

Kenna bit her lip. “We’ll never convince Harrington to release all of Worth’s frozen assets to Margot. We’ve got to be talking about massive sums of money. Does anyone know the total value of the seizures?”

If she could just keep thinking about the next question, the next task, she could ignore the gut-wrenching panic.

“Millions—but how many?” Jack shook his head.

“Hundreds,” Lizzie whispered.

“What?” Kenna turned a laser focus on Lizzie. “What did you say?”

Louder, Lizzie said, “Hundreds of millions. Even if we could persuade Harrington, and then he in turn convinces IPPC, the logistics alone would be prohibitive within a ten-day period.”

John placed a hand on Kenna’s arm. “She knows that. Margot is anything but an idiot. She’s looking to negotiate.”

“Oh my God, this is impossible. And did you see her? Did you see my mom in that video?” Kenna cried. “She can’t stay there for another day, let alone ten.”

“She’s fine.” John was trying to comfort her, but he just sounded condescending.

Kenna said, “And you’re full of shit.”

Lizzie looked ready to defend him, but John held up his hand. He flipped the tablet around into Kenna’s line of sight. “Pay attention. Does she look hurt?”

“Are you a crazy man? She’s bleeding. Her jeans are ripped to shreds around her knees. They obviously beat her up—look at her face. Shit. She’s sixty years old, John.”

“Look at the video.” John muted the sound before playing it again. “Does she look seriously hurt?”

Kenna gave John a nasty look she hoped he interpreted as “you’re a douchebag.” But she also couldn’t help but watch the screen right in front of her. It made her heart hurt, until… “Holy shit. She is crazy-ass pissed. Like, I stayed out all night for prom, didn’t come home till ten a.m. pissed. Whoa.”

“Yes,” John said quietly, without any additional fuss.

Smart man.

If her mom was that angry, chances were good she wasn’t seriously hurt. Her eyes were sharp, her posture good—for a tied-up person. Damn. Her mom took serious badassness to a new level.

Kenna’s brain hurt. She couldn’t think, let alone plan. “So what do we do next?”

Lizzie said, “Call Harrington. Beg for help. Or at least some way to stall. Though she didn’t give a timetable, John and I both think we need to contact Margot right away. Let her know we’re working on it.”

“Argh.” Kenna hated it, but Lizzie was right that they needed to beg. “Harrington is such a sneaky bastard. How do we not have any other contacts with IPPC?”

Lizzie smiled weakly. “You know we do. But Harrington’s the biggest fish.” She wrinkled up her nose. “I don’t think he’s sneaky. He’s…” She shifted her head from side to side, clearly looking for a more charitable adjective. Firmly, she said, “He’s committed to IPPC.”

Right—that was what made him move everyone’s lives around like they were so many chess pieces in a game. He was “committed.” Shit—her mom was one of those pieces. Kenna massaged the muscles in her jaw. Her mom was fine. Totally fine. For now. “Who gets the honors?”

“Oh, definitely Lizzie,” John said. “She’s the only one with an official connection to IPPC.”

Kenna stopped rubbing her aching jaw muscles. It wasn’t helping; she’d have to stop rabidly clenching her teeth. “Crap. I’m sorry, Lizzie. I forgot about your consulting gig with them.”

Lizzie lifted a hand then pulled out her phone. After a few seconds of waiting, she had Harrington on the line.

“John, Jack, and Kenna are with me… Yes.” Lizzie tucked a few stray curls behind her ear. “We have a problem. Kenna’s mother, Gwen McIntyre—yes, that’s her. Sure. Hold on.” Lizzie set the phone down on the table and tapped the speaker icon. “The Coven of Light are holding her. They’ve charged her with a number of serious offenses, per Margot.”

“Margot? Marguerite Brasseaux?” Harrington said.

“Yes,” Lizzie replied. She kept her eyes pinned to her phone on the table.

“Is there any way to verify the charges?” Harrington asked.

“John here. The only contact the Texas Pack has had with the witches has been through Gwen. The Idaho Pack reached a settlement with the local Coven of Light branch near them. But the agreement focuses primarily on mutual non-interference. I also wouldn’t trust any information originating from that particular branch, because we have proof that they’re allied with Margot.” John paused then added, “At least a few members of that branch.”

Something, some important piece of information, nagged at the back of Kenna’s mind.

Lizzie had been quietly tapping the table with her forefinger. She stopped suddenly and shot an exasperated look at the phone. “Don’t you have any contact with the witch community? For the love of Mike—you even have contacts with the dragons. Isn’t there someone, somewhere that you know?”

“I understand your frustration, but that doesn’t change my answer: I do not.”

Just as it looked like Lizzie and Harrington might get into a virtual throw down, that little niggling idea blossomed and popped fully formed into Kenna’s head. “My mom has a crew. I’ll bet you naming rights to the munchkin that they’re either witches or connected to Mom’s crusading in some way.”

Dead silence ensued.

“What?” Kenna looked around, bewildered.

Jack spoke first: “Nothing. What crew?”

“Ohmygosh,” Lizzie exclaimed. “The conferences. The craft conferences that she goes to with her little old lady friends.” Lizzie wrinkled her nose. “Really? You think they’re witches? Her buddies from the craft festivals?”

Kenna raised her eyebrows. “Who’s to say they’re little, old, or ladies? Mom’s been telling more than her share of lies. And we’ve already discussed how unlikely it was she was going to a craft conference this week of all weeks.”

“Dang it. We have to get her address book.” Lizzie glanced at John and said, “The pink one, in her study.”

John dug his cell out of his pocket and stepped out into the hall.

“If there’s nothing else…” Harrington’s impatience vibrated down the line.

“There is.” Lizzie’s tone turned snippy. “Although how you can’t have a single decent witch contact, I cannot fathom.”

Kenna interrupted Lizzie’s tangent before she went too far afield, or pushed him past annoyed to angry. “Margot’s extorting us. She says she can get my mom released if we can get her dad’s funds released to her.”

Silence. Had she managed to shock Harrington? Kenna sure as hell hoped not. He was one of the least shockable people she knew.

Finally, he said, “The trade hardly seems equitable. IPPC effected the seizure of close to three hundred million in assets.”

Kenna heard the crack of breaking glass before she even realized exactly how angry Harrington’s blasé response had made her. The way he’d devalued her mother’s life, she wouldn’t mind if he showed up with a few second-degree blisters out in his office in London, or Prague, or wherever the hell he was. Too bad it didn’t seem to work that way. She blinked at the shattered phone.

But she was sorry about Lizzie’s phone.

John joined the group from the hall, his business on the phone apparently completed.

Jack’s phone beeped. He glanced down and announced, “International number. I don’t suppose one of you gave him my number?”

No one bothered to reply, and Jack answered before they could try, anyway.

“Harrington?” On receiving an affirmative, Jack said, “Gwen’s facing a death sentence if convicted, assuming the information we have is accurate.”

They heard Harrington release a sigh. “That wasn’t clear. My sincere apologies. I was referring to the indefinite nature of Margot’s offer of help.” Keyboard keys clicked in the background. “Even though I’m sympathetic to your need, there is no possibility that we could release those funds to Margot.”

Lizzie had been picking through the pieces of faceplate glass, trying to get to the phone itself for the last minute. She chimed in now, with a peppy tone. “But I’m sure there’s something you can do. A delaying strategy? Release a portion of the funds? Something. Right?”

“Can I have a private word, Lizzie?”

Three pairs of eyes locked on her. Lizzie shrugged and gestured that she didn’t know what was up, either. “Of course.”

Lizzie picked up Jack’s phone and flipped the speaker function off. After listening for a few seconds, she pointed to the back door and let herself out into the yard, closing the door firmly behind her.

“Anyone else think that’s weird?” Kenna asked.

“Not weird,” John said through thin lips. “Ominous.”

The conversation stalled awkwardly—because, really, what did one say? Sorry your fiancé works for a spymaster dick who could get her killed at any minute? And extra sucky that he likes to manipulate her into doing shit that was dangerous? And, um, sorry to have given him serious leverage over the person you love best in the world? No, Kenna wasn’t having that conversation with John.