Broken Bonds (Lizzie Grace 3)

“They never do.”

“And whatever it is they’re sensing,” she continued, ignoring me, “it has a very old feel.”

“Well, that totally clarifies everything.” I took another drink. “It’d be rather nice if they gave us a heads-up the next time a dark witch stepped onto the reservation.”

“They’re here to offer advice, not do our work for us.” Her tone was filled with an old-fashioned primness—an echo of whatever spirit guide was currently chatting to her. There were several who tended to follow us around, which in itself was rather unusual. They—no doubt through Belle’s connection with me—obviously heard that particular thought, because she added, “They also wish to remind you that lower house witches generally aren’t graced by the presence of spirit guides, and that you should be grateful they deign to help us at all.”

“I’m being chastised by spirits? Seriously?”

“They’re merely stating a little appreciation every now and again would not go astray.”

I smiled. “I do appreciate. Seriously.”

“They’re unconvinced.”

“Then I’ll try to curtail my sarcasm for at least a day or so.” My phone beeped. I dug it out of my purse and saw a text from Ashworth. I read it quickly and then said, “The new witch arrives at the airport around five.”

“Does he know who it is yet?”

“Apparently not.” I hesitated as a second message came through. “Oh, great—there’s not one witch arriving, but two. The second is a possible candidate for the reservation position. He’s to be interviewed by the council.”

“Because things weren’t already interesting enough,” Belle said, voice dry.

“Apparently not.” I shoved the phone away then finished my coffee and swung my purse back over my shoulder. “I’ll run upstairs and get changed, then come back down and help you.”

Belle nodded. I dumped my clothes in the washing basket then changed to jeans and a T-shirt and headed back down. The café was busy all day, with spare tables being snapped up almost before the previous patrons had fully left. Which, with tomorrow night being Christmas Eve, was a good thing. We were closed for three days—the two traditional days of Christmas and Boxing Day, as well as the reservation-wide holiday on the twenty-seventh—but busy days like this gave our bottom line a nice little boost.

And the congratulations we kept getting over being allowed to stay were much-needed morale boosts. Our cake prowess had obviously spread farther than we’d figured.

We closed at three. By the time we’d cleaned up and done the prep for the next day, it was close to five.

Belle gathered the dirty tea towels and kitchen cloths to take up to the washing machine. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard from Aiden yet.”

I wrinkled my nose. “He said there’d probably be a chunk of paperwork to do and that I shouldn’t expect to hear from him until at least seven. You want a drink?”

She nodded and disappeared down the corridor to dump the washing into the machine. I grabbed a couple of glasses and opened a bottle of white wine, then walked across to the table.

As I did, energy whisked into the room, bright and sharp, and filled with an odd sort of cognizance.

Not just wild magic, but the portion controlled by Aiden’s sister.

It spun around me, filled with an odd sort of urgency as something clattered to the floor. I glanced down sharply and saw a watch sitting next to my feet. A man’s watch.

“What the...?” I bent and picked it up.

Images and emotion hit, so thick and fast that I didn’t have a chance to throw my shields up before they dragged me deep into the mind of the other.

They are coming. Still coming. Running isn’t losing them, isn’t shaking them. I can hear them, laughing, joking. Anticipating. Heat. In my body, in my heart, in my brain. Legs won’t obey. I fall. Still they come, still they laugh. Their excitement fills the air, thick in my nostrils. I try to get up. Can’t. Try to tear at them with teeth. Can’t. Immobilized. Burning. Silver flashes. Skin peels. The pain. Dear God, the pain….

The watch was wrenched from my hand and the images stopped. My legs went from underneath me, and I had to grip the edge of the table to keep upright. For several seconds, I didn’t move. Couldn’t move. My heart was racing so hard it felt like it was about to tear out of my chest, and my throat was thick with horror.

“Here,” Belle said. “Drink this.”

She shoved a filled glass under my nose. Whiskey, not wine. I gripped it with shaking fingers and drank it all. It burned all the way down and made my head spin, but didn’t entirely erase the lingering remnants of utter, utter agony.

“What the fuck was that?” Belle’s voice was grim.

“I don’t know.” I stared at the watch with trepidation. As much as I didn’t want to pick it up again, I’d have to if I wanted to understand what was going on. I held my glass out and Belle topped it up.