Broken Bonds (Lizzie Grace 3)

I restrained my smile and headed across the room. The bathroom styling could be described as both over the top and “manly.” The slate wall tiles were a mix of heavy browns and gold, the floor tiles were black, and so were the bathroom cabinet, the washbasin, and the toilet. All the taps were a gleaming gold and had to be hell to keep clean. There was no window—there wasn’t even a skylight—so the only thing that saved the room from looking like a cave was the white-painted ceiling.

There were wet footprint puddles coming out of the shower, and a white towel lying on the floor near the washbasin. But the whirlwind of destruction that had hit the main room had also ventured in here—Ashworth’s health bag had been emptied out and the bathroom cabinet’s drawers and cupboards were open. Even his shampoo and conditioner hadn’t escaped—they’d been slashed open with a knife and were currently sitting in a broken pile in the screened-off shower area.

I ran my hand across all the bits and bobs scattered across the washbasin. None of them held any sort of magic, which again spoke to the fact he wasn’t expecting trouble. Not even the most blindly arrogant blueblood witch would risk confronting an unknown—untested—witch without taking steps to protect themselves. Not even if said witch was thought to be friendly.

And we certainly weren’t dealing with friendly here.

I kept checking, looking in the open drawers and cupboards, and even shaking out the towels still sitting in the rack. Nothing.

I went back out. Ashworth was peering under the bed. “Did you find something?”

“There’s a very faint wisp of magic coming from under the bed.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I can’t see anything and it’s too awkward for me to climb under.”

“Which is the polite way of saying, lassie, get your butt under there and check it out for me.”

He chuckled softly. “I think you’ve gotten more of my measure than I’ve got of yours.”

“I had a grandfather very much like you.”

“I didn’t think there was anyone as grumpy and as frank as me.”

“You obviously didn’t live in Canberra long enough.”

“Only for as long as it took to get through university.”

“I take it you weren’t born there, then?” I hitched up my jeans to give my knees more bending room and then peered under the bed. I had no immediate sense of magic, so it was indeed faint. “Whereabouts did you feel the spell?”

“Middle of the bed, around the butt zone,” he said. “And no, I was born in Brisbane. Lived there until I was seventeen, then got a scholarship to the uni.”

I swiveled around and then edged under the bed on my back. “Did you join the RWA straight after you’d finished?”

“Again, no. I traveled a bit, as you do, until I met my partner and decided I wanted to settle here in Victoria. He got me into the RWA.”

“Is he still working with them?”

“No, he retired a few years ago. Have you found it?”

“There’s not exactly a lot of moving room under this bed,” I muttered.

“Another reason why I didn’t go under—I’ve got a bulkier frame.”

“Yeah, but I have boobs.” Magic whispered past my nose. I narrowed my gaze and studied the bed’s metal struts. Finally, I saw it—the spell was little more than a spark of violet-black hidden in between two of the cross-struts. “Got it.”

“What sort of magic is it?”

I studied it for several seconds until the nature of the threads began to reveal themselves. It was a simple but low-powered spell, which was why it was so hard to see—a choice that had no doubt been deliberate. “I think it’s a very basic concealment spell.”

“Can you unravel it?”

“I think so.”

I wiggled a bit closer and then, very carefully, began the deactivation process. The threads didn’t put up any fight, withering away with barely a touch. A small piece of rolled-up paper fell onto the carpet. I grabbed it and shuffled out from under the bed, handing it to Ashworth before sitting up.

He carefully unrolled it. It was only a small piece of paper, and the writing appeared to be little more than black scratchings. Witch script, though not the general form I’d learned when I’d been in school.

Ashworth swore and scrubbed a hand across his chin. “This isn’t good.”