Broken Bonds (Lizzie Grace 3)

I didn’t bitch. I paused, thinking about it. Not much, anyway.

I think our definitions of “not much” are vastly different.

Amusement bubbled through me. I cleared my throat and tried to concentrate on Mrs. Potts’s problem. “Have you told your lawyer you intend to personally serve the divorce papers?”

“Of course.” She opened the purse sitting on her lap and carefully pulled out a gold watch in a plastic bag. “He was wearing this until a few days ago. I presume he took it off because he didn’t want the floozy seeing it.”

I plucked the bagged watch from her fingertips. Even though the plastic was quite thick, I could feel the pulse of life. That my psychometry skills were picking it up so strongly without direct touch was a good sign.

“Why wouldn’t he want his girlfriend seeing it?”

“I gave it to him for our fiftieth wedding anniversary, and it’s inscribed,” she said. “Besides, given the amount of money he’s been taking from our account on a regular basis, she’d probably have it off his wrist and spent inside two seconds.”

Meaning the floozy is also a gold digger? Belle said. This just gets better and better.

I undid the bag and slid the watch into my palm. While the reading room—a small, dedicated space at the back of the café—was packed with a multitude of artifacts and spells specifically designed to counter arcane forces seeking to enter or attack, they didn’t interfere with our psychic talents. The metal warmed my skin, and the beat of life grew stronger. It was pretty clear I’d be able to find the errant Henry without much problem.

“Well,” Mrs. Potts said. “Are you getting anything?”

I nodded and met her gaze. “You know how this works, though. I may not be able to give you something as specific as an address.”

She frowned. “But you were the one who found Marjorie’s daughter in the forest, weren’t you?”

“Yes.” And too damn late to save her life. I thrust away the images of alabaster skin and bloody neck wounds and added, “But I used a different level of psychometry to track her down.”

One that involved me using a personal item to form a much closer connection to the mind of my

target. Doing so generally made tracking them easier, but it was not without its dangers. While such connections were generally only light, there were some occasions where I’d been drawn so deeply into the mind of the other person I experienced whatever they were feeling or doing. Which was fine if they were doing something innocuous, but far less so if they happened to be in a life-or-death situation. It was not unknown for psychics to be so caught up in such events they lost their mind or even their life.

Which wasn’t likely to happen in this situation, but I still had no desire to risk a deeper connection with Henry, especially if he and the floozy were getting intimate.

Considering your lack of late, maybe it’d ease some tension.

Will you shut up and let me concentrate.

Her laughter ran across my thoughts as Mrs. Potts said, “Yes, but if you can find Karen in the middle of a forest with just a locket, you can surely repeat the results here. I know this situation is nowhere near as urgent, but he’s betraying me—betraying the memory of our daughter—and I just need this done.”

Now, while I still have the courage. She didn’t actually add that bit, but it was nevertheless evident in her expression and her eyes. The annoyance that had briefly flared disappeared. For Mrs. Potts, it really was just as urgent; her whole life was about to change even if her life—and Henry’s—wasn’t physically on the line.

Besides, given the steady pulse coming from the watch, it was likely I wouldn’t have to go deep. I could simply use that pulsing as a psychic GPS signal to locate him.

I took a deep breath and then nodded. “Okay. But it means you’ll have to drive—I’ll need to concentrate on the vibes rolling off the watch.”

Her eyebrows rose. “I don’t drive. You know that.”

I knew a silver-haired man generally chauffeured her to the café, but I hadn’t realized she didn’t have a license.

“Freddie always drives me,” she continued blithely. “You’ve said hello to him often enough. Lovely chap, he is—can’t do enough for me.”

Suggesting Mrs. Potts might also have a bit on the side, Belle said.

I don’t even want to think about it. To the older woman, I said, “It mightn’t be best to serve your husband divorce papers in the company of another man, Mrs. Potts.”

“I guess it might give rise to unnecessary presumptions. I’ll call Gina. She’ll help.” She dug her phone out and then paused, frowning, “You will be able to do it this afternoon, won’t you?”

“Yes.” I pushed upright. “You call Gina and I’ll go tell Belle what’s happening.”

She nodded and started calling as I headed out the door. The stairs to the left of the reading room were blocked by heavy plastic, which stopped most of the dust if not the noise coming down from the renovations. The main café area—a warm and inviting space filled with mismatched tables and colorfully painted chairs—was half-full, which wasn’t bad considering we’d only announced our reopening two days ago. The Christmas lights strung across the ceiling spun color throughout the room, and there was a small but pretty Christmas tree in the corner close to the kitchen. We’d also hung a bunch of mistletoe over the doorway for a bit of fun, but so far only one young couple had stopped to kiss underneath it.