Blackbird Broken (The Witch King's Crown #2) - Keri Arthur Page 0,85

get to an orgasm without having sex.”

I locked the Focus and followed Mo across to the café’s bright blue door. “I take it she’s a witch?”

Mo nodded. “She specializes in sexual dysfunction, be it male or female, though her café is real enough. It pays to diversify in this day and age.”

She rapped on the door. The noise echoed, suggesting emptiness, but a few seconds later, a sharp voice said, “Who the hell is it?”

“Me, you old fool. Who else would it be at this hour?”

“Not my customers, that’s for sure. They know better. Why the hell are you knocking? You’ve been cleared to enter at any time.”

“I have people with me, Mary. I wanted to give you time to put clothes on.”

“Ha! They prudes, are they?”

“No, but this is a business visit, not pleasure.”

“Well, fine. I’ll get dressed. Come in and help yourself to coffee.”

“We need breakfast, not just coffee.”

“You always push it, Moscelyne. Just as well I fucking like you.”

Mo chuckled and pressed her hand against the door, just above the heavy, medieval-looking lock. Power stirred, and bright sparks ran across Mo’s fingers for several seconds. With a loud click, the door opened.

The room beyond was quaint—stone walls, low ceilings, heavy beams. A small inglenook dominated the rear wall; to the right of this was an open wooden door that led into a kitchen. A rickety old staircase stood on the other side. Along the wall to our right was a servery counter, a cake fridge filled with mouthwatering delights, and a surprisingly large and modern coffee machine.

We followed Mo through the room and entered the kitchen. It was also surprisingly modern, with lots of stainless steel benches and appliances. A tall, willowy woman with vivid purple hair tied into a messy bun stood in front of the stove, flipping eggs and frying bacon. She was wearing a loose, translucent kaftan that revealed fleeting glimpses of flesh with every movement. Mary’s idea of being dressed was as left of center as she seemed to be.

Mo strode over and dropped a kiss onto an offered cheek. “You look younger every time I see you.”

Mary snorted and slapped at Mo’s arm with the egg flipper. “I’m already cooking you breakfast—what else are you damn well after?”

“Advice.”

“Ha. You’re never just after advice.” She glanced over her shoulder. Though she looked to be in her mid-forties, the fine lines around her eyes and the crepey neck skin suggested she was at least ten if not twenty years older than that. “Who are these two?”

“My granddaughter, Gwen, and Lucas Durant.”

“Her beau?” She looked him up and down. “Worthy of her, I’d say. Looks to have some stamina in him, which is what you always want in a keeper.”

I bit my bottom lip to stop a laugh escaping. I didn’t dare look at Luc, though I had no doubt there was some eye-rolling happening, at the very least.

“You’d better sit down,” she continued, this time waving the egg flipper somewhere off to our right. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

“Shall I ready the tea and coffee?” Mo asked.

“Well, you ain’t here for your good looks now, are you?”

Mo’s lips twitched, but she nevertheless grabbed the softly whistling kettle and poured the water into the waiting teapot. I turned and saw a small table tucked into the corner of the room. The bench seat surrounding two sides of it barely looked big enough to fit Luc and me, let alone Mo. There was one kitchen chair, so at least the four of us weren’t squeezing in together.

I scooted in behind Luc while Mo brought over the drinks, cutlery, and plates. Mary dished everything onto a platter, then sashayed over and placed it on the table.

“I ain’t dishing it up, so help yourselves.” She plonked down on the chair and led by example. Around a mouthful of food, she added, “Now, what’s this about you needing information?”

Mo piled bacon and a couple of eggs onto her plate, then handed me the tongs. “I need to know what the situation is with Mryddin.”

Mary pursed her lips. “His cave is closed for conservation works. There’ve been some rockfalls of late.”

“Natural or magic based?”

“Bit of both, I believe.”

“Do you think Mryddin is stirring?”

“Possibly only in his sleep. His locks remained engaged.” She picked up the teapot and filled the cups. “What’s this all about?”

Mo grimaced. “The sword on King’s Island has been drawn.”

“Not by anyone friendly, I’m taking it?”

“No.”

“Well, fuck.”

She leaned back in her chair; the kaftan tightened across her chest,