Wicked Wings (Lizzie Grace 5)

We were deep in the midst of the lunchtime rush the following day when unease prickled down my spine. I collected the empty plates on the table I was wiping down and surreptitiously studied the nearby ones. There were a few new faces interspersed between the old, but none of them set off my internal radar. I frowned and walked back to the kitchen, handing the plates to Frank—our kitchen hand—before joining Belle behind the counter.

She took one look at my face and said, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” My gaze swept the café. From here, all the tables were visible, and not one of them had anyone that in any way spelled trouble. “I’m just getting this weird vibe that shit is about to hit.”

Belle placed two lattes beside a slice of honeycomb cheesecake and a chocolate brownie, and then shoved the tray forward for Penny—our full-time waitress—to collect. “The reservation, the café, or us personally?”

“Undefined.”

“Unhelpful.”

I smiled. “That’s not exactly unusual when it comes to my prophetic abilities.”

“True.” She briefly scanned the room. “I’m not sensing anything or anyone untoward—”

She stopped abruptly and her gaze widened. Fuck, get upstairs. Now.

Why? I said, even as I turned and bolted for the stairs.

An unknown witch is about to step inside the café, Belle said. And she’s protected telepathically.

I silently swore. While there could be a number of logical reasons for a witch to be wearing such a band, both trepidation and instinct were warning her doing so as she was about to step into our café was no accident.

I was halfway up the stairs and out of immediate sight when the small bell above the door chimed. A tremor ran across the lines of magic protecting the café as the unknown witch stepped inside; that reaction, however minor, said that while her intent wasn’t malicious, our spells were nevertheless uncertain as to her actual purpose for being here. But it obviously wasn’t just for coffee and something to eat.

I scooted around the corner and then stopped, leaning against my bedroom door and sucking in great gulps of air.

Goddammit, she has the coloring of a Sarr, Belle said.

Someone you know? Or worse—at least from a secrecy point of view—someone from her family?

I don’t immediately recognize her, but I’ve lots of cousins and she could be any one of those. If you connect on a deeper level, you’ll be able to see—

If she’s a tracer sent here to suss us out, she might well sense my presence in your mind.

If she’s a tracer, she’s going to sense your presence even with all the additional spell layers on the upper floor.

True, but it’s still a risk I’d rather not take. I paused. Has she spotted you?

Not yet. I’m standing behind the coffee machine. She’s currently just looking around.

I’ll contact Monty and see if he’s been advised of her presence.

He would have warned us.

Unless she spelled him into silence.

She doesn’t feel strong enough to have pulled something like that on him.

Then maybe it was Canberra itself.

Not even the strongest witch on the council could place a restriction spell on another witch over such a long distance.

The strongest witches on the council were my damn parents and husband, and I wouldn’t use the word ‘couldn’t’ in any sentence when it came to the three of them.

I got out my phone, then quietly moved away from the stairs so there was no chance of my conversation being heard downstairs—no matter how unlikely that even was given the clatter of cutlery and plates and the overall buzz of conversation.

Monty answered second ring. “If you’re wanting an update on the flesh strippers, talk to your ranger. He hasn’t given me squat so far today.”