Broken Bonds (Lizzie Grace 3)

“What are you and Belle planning to do over the next couple of days?”

“Probably just rest up after partying tonight. We’re heading over to Émigré to dance the night away.” I hesitated, waiting once again for a reaction. The silence stretched for several seconds before I added, “Did Chester and Ashworth make it to the morgue this afternoon to identify the witch’s body

?”

“Yes.” His voice once again held the hint of an edge. I wasn’t entirely sure whether it was aimed at the two witches or at me, and that was frustrating. “Chester believes our corpse is Jonathan Ashworth, who went rogue when he was nineteen, which was some thirty-five years ago. He’s asked Ciara to send DNA and blood samples to Canberra for confirmation.”

“I take it Jonathan is on their most wanted list?”

“Yes, but not in the top ten, as far as I can ascertain. Chester is playing his cards pretty close.”

Chester, I suspected, didn’t want to make any more mistakes. Missing that last spell and almost getting himself and Ashworth killed would have been something of an embarrassment—and blueblood witches didn’t do embarrassment at all well. “Did he have any theories as to why our dead witch stepped out of a fully functioning protection circle and allowed himself to be shot?”

“He undoubtedly has them, but he’s not as yet sharing those, either.”

“So the investigation is on hold until we get confirmation as to who the dead witch is?”

“Basically, yes.” He paused. “Enjoy your night out, Liz, and Happy Christmas.”

“You too, Aiden. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

“Yes, you will.”

And with that, he hung up. I blew out a frustrated breath, cursed my errant hormones for setting their sights on a damn wolf, and then headed upstairs to get ready.

Émigré itself was surprisingly packed. The music was loud, the alcohol cheap, and there were plenty of men and women as intent on having a good time as we were.

To say we spent the remainder of the night partying hard would be something of an understatement. We didn’t often get a chance to blow off steam—for a good portion of the last twelve years we’d alternated between working in cafés and running them. With the weekend work and the long hours, it had basically put paid to most of our out-of-hours activities.

Dawn was sending tentative wisps of pink and yellow across the sky by the time we left. We caught a cab back to the café and staggered across to the door, our shoes in our hands and an arm slung around each other as we happily sang a Christmas carol at the tops of our voices. Thankfully, we were in no danger of disturbing anyone, as this area of Castle Rock was basically retail.

It took me three goes to get the key in the lock, despite the fact I’d stopped drinking alcohol several hours ago. But as I pushed the door open, energy stirred around me. Wild magic, filled with anxious urgency.

I swore, a sound swiftly echoed by Belle.

“Seriously, could you not give us Christmas Day?”

She was talking to the wild magic rather than me. The energy stirred again, more urgently this time. I tossed my shoes inside and thrust a hand through my somewhat sweaty hair. Neither of us were in a fit state to drive, and I really didn’t want to call Aiden.

“Ashworth,” Belle suggested. “He knows about the wild magic and unless he’s a solo partier—and I don’t believe he is—he should be sober. Plus, he’s aware of your link with the wild magic and Chester isn’t—beyond what he’s sensed in the magic protecting this place, at any rate.”

“Unless Ashworth has mentioned it.”

“I don’t think he would.”

I grunted and grabbed my phone out of my purse. The phone rang seven or eight times before a gruff, grumpy voice said, “Do you have any idea what time of the fucking morning it is?”

“Yes, I do. But the wild magic apparently doesn’t care about such things.”

“What?” Ashworth’s tone was suddenly more alert. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s here and it wants me to follow it, but I can’t drive because I’ve had far too much—”

“I get the picture,” he cut in. “Be there in ten.”

I hung up. Belle was behind the counter, filling up the kettle we kept under the bench for those times we couldn’t be bothered turning on the machine to make ourselves a coffee.

“You go upstairs and change. I’ll do a detox brew.”