A Reckless Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,80
well satisfied. Somewhere in that river had been Lauren with a babe in arms. She was sure of it.
~ ~ ~
Devin frowned again at the message from Sierra on his phone. I need you to come to my place. 6 p.m. Bye!
Not exactly informative. But when a sister, of the real or honorary kind, paged him, he usually went. Part of the big-brother handbook. Didn’t mean he couldn’t give her a little grief, though.
Pulling open the door to her building, he grinned. Who was he kidding—he’d cut her a mile of slack tonight. The ride he’d taken on her corkscrew train, his broomstick wedged in line between Jamie and Aervyn, ranked as one of the coolest experiences of his life. And he’d have been a cinch for photographer of the year if he’d had a camera when the pink-caped Govin had been pulled through his first loop, clinging to his broom and laughing like a banshee.
They’d had fun today—and one teenage witch had been utterly generous with her magic. So if she wanted to be a little demanding tonight, he’d deal. That’s what brothers did.
He knocked on the door to Sierra’s apartment, and then turned at footsteps in the hallway.
“Hey!” Lauren waved, halfway down the hall. “How was broom flying?”
He grinned. “To quote Sierra, ‘awesome cool.’ You gotta try it.”
She laughed. “I’m in line right after Moira. I figure if she comes back in one piece, I might too.”
He was pretty sure he could convince Moira to sit on a broom with him. Or with Aervyn. She had a serious soft spot for the little dude. He’d put Lauren on his broom. “Deal.”
She blinked. “Moira’s going to fly on a broomstick?”
“Sure.” He winked. “I can be very persuasive.”
Lauren stared a long minute and then snorted. “No wonder Nell does such a great job with Aervyn. She’s had three brothers’ worth of practice with that ‘I’m cute, so give me a mile’ look.” She turned to the door and knocked. “How come you’re here, anyhow?”
He was pretty sure he’d just been complimented and insulted in one short sentence. She was good. “Sierra messaged me.”
“Really?” She frowned. “Me too. Cryptic message about being here at 6 p.m.”
His Spidey senses started tingling just as his phone beeped again. Incoming message. Open the door, silly. Mia.
Lauren, phone in her hand, started laughing. “Open it carefully. They probably have it booby-trapped or something.”
He grinned. “You’ve been hanging around witches too long.”
“Tell me about it.” She studied the door. “Can you do some kind of scan for spell traces or something?”
There was apparently still a thing or two he could teach a newbie witch. “It’d be faster if you just scan for the perpetrators and mindread their devious plans.” He had visions of four girls hiding behind The Monster, giggling.
“Good point.” She paused a moment, and then frowned. “The apartment’s empty. There’s no one in there.”
Huh. The Monster didn’t really eat girl children, even ones who deserved it. “What are they up to?”
Lauren grinned. “We could just walk away.”
“I don’t think I’m genetically capable of that.” He shook his head at his phone. “And those little punks know it.”
She waved at the door. “After you.”
He laughed and pushed the door open. “Mom taught me better than that. Water magic’s not much good for shielding, but I can cover you better in front of me.”
She rolled her eyes, but stepped forward, leading the way down the dark hall. He followed—and then ran smack into her as they reached the living room and she stopped dead.
His fast hands kept them both upright. At least until he took a good look at Sierra’s living room.
Cozy table.
White tablecloth.
Two flickering candles. A single red rose.
And the smells of Romano’s signature linguine steaming from two plates.
Uh, oh.
His phone beeped again. Don’t make us lock you in. Shay.
Punk girl children. He knew exactly what they were trying to do. And no way in this lifetime was it going to work.
Then he looked over at Lauren, still staring at the table in shock—and realized it just might. Damn.
~ ~ ~
Lauren stared at the flickering candles, strains of Puccini echoing in her ears.
This should be funny. Nine-year-old matchmakers should be a joke. Except it didn’t feel that way. There had been another moment, less than a year ago, when she’d stood in an apartment with Jamie and known her life had changed forever.
Her gut said she’d just hit another one of those moments. And there was another Sullivan standing beside her.
She looked over at Devin.