Broken Bonds (Lizzie Grace 3)

“Yes.”

Gina nodded and pulled out into the traffic, seemingly oblivious to the screech of tires that immediately followed. Which made me wonder if the unease was nothing more than the fact I was placing my life in the hands of a woman who didn’t appear to take much notice of other road users.

I hid my amusement and tried to concentrate on the steady pulse coming from the watch. Despite Mrs. Potts’s conviction that Henry wouldn’t be far, we were soon heading out onto the Pyrenees Highway.

But the farther we moved from Castle Rock, the sharper my unease became. Whatever I was sensing, it was very dark and very powerful. No good would come from it, of that I was sure.

At least it wasn’t coming from the watch, and didn’t seem to involve Henry even if it did appear to be in the same general area.

I shivered and fought the desire to call Ashworth. If I was sensing it, surely he would. He was, after all, the more powerful witch. Besides, Mrs. Potts was paying me to find her husband, and the task deserved my full attention.

As the pulsing directed us past Muckleford South, Mrs. Potts sniffed, a sound that somehow managed to be both unimpressed and haughty all at the same time. “The bastard’s gotten gamer in his old age. Normally he struggles just driving me to the supermarket.”

Gina snorted. “Even near blindness hasn’t got a hope when the dick is involved, my dear.”

I just about choked on my coffee. Mrs. Potts turned around and raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

I nodded and somehow kept a straight face as I added, “We need to slow down—the vibes from the watch are getting stronger.”

“Newstead,” Gina mused. “Karla comes from here, you know, and she’s been missing a lot of our gatherings of late.”

Karla wasn’t someone I knew, but then, the entire brigade seldom came out in force. They were twenty-seven strong when in full cry, and we rarely had enough vacant tables to cater to them en masse.

“Can’t be Karla,” Mrs. Potts said. “She’s smarter than that.”

Gina snorted again. “She also has a liking for fine things, and you did say he was spending money like it was water.”

Though I couldn’t see the older woman’s expression, the glow of her aura jumped into focus. It ran with a mix of muddy red and orange, indicators of both anger and stress.

“She wouldn’t do that—we’ve been friends for ages.” But there was doubt in her voice.

I wanted to reach forward and squeeze her arm in comfort, but knew enough about Mrs. Potts to know she wouldn’t appreciate it.

The watch’s pulsing shifted as we entered Newstead. “Turn left at that hotel and then slow down. We’re close.”

Closer to Henry. Closer to the source of darkness. Trepidation stirred, along with the feeling that whatever was happening out there in the wilder emptiness beyond Newstead, it was slowly coming to a peak. I tightened my fingers around the watch and tried to concentrate. But between the tension radiating off the two women and that gathering tide of dark energy, it was damn difficult.

We turned and crawled down the road. The vibes coming from the watch were now so fierce it burned my palm. I undid the belt and scooted forward to look through the front windshield. “He’s on the left—in that red brick house.”

Gina had barely stopped the car when Mrs. Potts was out and striding toward the door, her entire body vibrating with indignation, anger, and perhaps a little fear. I shoved my empty coffee cup in the holder then scrambled after her. While I doubted her eighty-eight-year-old husband was going to be much of a threat, I wasn’t about to let her face him without backup, just in case.

She flung open the screen door and then pounded loudly on the wooden one. For several seconds there was no response, then footsteps echoed.

“Who is it?” a surprisingly young-sounding voice said.

“That ain’t Karla,” Gina commented. “Karla has a voice rougher than a bullfrog.”

“It’s the mail,” Mrs. Potts said. “I’ve got a registered letter you need to sign for.”

A smile touched my lips. Mrs. Potts might well be eighty-three but she wasn’t a fool.

After a pause, the footsteps continued and the door opened. The woman on the other side was probably in her thirties, with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. Her gaze swept Mrs. Potts then moved to Gina and me.

“So, not the mail service then,” she said. “What can I do for you all?”

“You can tell me where that lying, cheating husband of mine is,” Mrs. Potts all but spat, “because I have indeed got a registered letter he needs to see and sign.”

The woman frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t—”