Magic Misled (Lizzie Grace #7) - Keri Arthur Page 0,70
was extremely boring until I came to this place, only one—and that was due to the age of his flesh form, rather than accident.” He motioned to the fading threads. “Shall we head over to my place and see if she’s attempted to do something similar to my spells?”
As we retreated and I relocked the door, a tall figure in a pale nightgown appeared from the shadows haunting my bedroom. “Is there a problem?”
“Attempted break-in,” Belle said. “You didn’t feel anything?”
Ava shook her head. “But I did take a sleeping draught, so that’s not surprising. The protections still feel to be in place, though.”
“They are. Mostly.” Belle touched her mom’s arm. “Go back to bed. We’re heading over to Monty’s to see if his place was also attacked.”
“Be careful, all of you.”
As she headed back to bed, we clattered down the stairs and squeezed back into the Mustang. I unwrapped the cake and munched on the creamy goodness while being very careful not to drop crumbs. Monty would have been most displeased.
His place was a small but beautiful brick terrace, with off-road parking out front and a small garage. He rarely used the latter for his Mustang, preferring to keep her offsite in a specialty storage unit. It was certainly a move that had paid off when, only a few months ago, a soucouyant had kidnapped him and utterly destroyed the temporary accommodation he’d been staying in.
“I’m not seeing any indication of an assault,” he said, as the garage door slowly rose.
“You might not from here,” I said. “Especially if she came in through the forest.”
He grunted in agreement. Once the Mustang was safe in the garage, we all climbed out and headed inside. The terrace basically consisted of a long hallway off which most of the main rooms ran. There were two bedrooms—both with en suite—a separate powder room, a TV room and, at the rear of the place, a large open-plan kitchen and living area.
I followed Belle down the hall, our heels clattering loudly on the shiny wooden floorboards. Eamon—an orange tabby with a pale, fluffy mane that made him look like a miniature lion and a coat that had random tufts of fur sticking out at odd angles—stalked out of the second bedroom, his mismatched eyes scanning all three of us and narrowing as his gaze settled on me.
“Attack me,” I growled, holding out a finger in warning. “And I’ll burn your furry ass with wild magic.”
A look that was pure disdain crossed his face. Then, with a flick of his tail, he turned and went back into the bedroom.
One win for me, I thought, relieved. The bastard had sharp claws and wasn’t afraid to use them.
“You know why he attacks you, don’t you?” Belle said, amusement evident in her voice.
“Because he’s cranky and mean?”
She laughed. “No. He senses your fear.”
“I wouldn’t fear the bastard if he didn’t unleash his weapons of mass destruction at the smallest opportunity.”
“I’ll admit he’s a wee bit grumpy,” Monty said. “But hey, he’s got the right, given he’s older than Methuselah.”
He meant the spirit within the cat rather than the body he inhabited, which was only a little over three years old. “Age is no excuse for meanness.”
“I’ll remind you of that when you get old and cranky.” He moved past me and walked across to the sliding glass doors that led out into the patio and barbequing area. “There’s no sign of interference. Eamon says he would have informed me if someone had made such an attempt.”
“Maybe attacking our place drained her,” Belle commented. “But given you’ve not got the wild magic to boost your protection spells, Monty, you might want to add a few additional layers to take care of any unpicking attempts she makes.”
“Are you having a go at my protection spells?” he said, eyebrows rising. “I’m wounded to the core.”
“I’d rather see you wounded that way than have this bitch get her mitts on you.” Her voice was dry. “How can I have the pleasure of proving you wrong, if you’re not actually around?”
“See?” Monty nudged my shoulder with his, a delighted grin on his face. “She really does care about me.”
Belle rolled her eyes. “How about you change out of that wet suit so we can get back to the party before we’re—” She stopped as Monty’s phone rang. “Sirens? You have police sirens for a ringtone?”
“Only for the rangers.”
“Dare I ask what ringtone you have for me?”
“I wouldn’t.” He hit the answer button. “Monty speaking—what