Bell, Book and Scandal (Bedknobs and Broomsticks #3) - Josh Lanyon Page 0,6
police business. Or even family business. Not anymore.”
I felt a little twinge over that “not anymore” because I knew that was John keeping my secrets.
She slid a blue mini cupcake with green and teal sprinkles my way. “Try this Neptune’s Nibble.”
I said regretfully, “I think I’m cupcaked out.”
“Not possible.” She tilted her head, studying me. “What are you going to do about Ambrose?”
At this reminder I checked my phone once again for messages, but there was still no word from Ambrose. I did see a message from my belle-mère, but pretended I didn’t.
“I don’t know. I certainly have a better understanding of the situation.”
She said slowly, “Does John realize you’ve taken Ambrose as your apprentice? Because you promised not to use magic, but how can you instruct the kid without using any magic of your own?”
“Right now, I’m just teaching him the history of the Abracadantès and a few basic spells. Elementary stuff. The Ten Precepts. How to build a grimoire. That kind of thing.”
“But you must be demonstrating the spells first. Anyway, isn’t that splitting hairs?”
I sighed my exasperation. It’s so annoying when people who disagree with you are right. “Yes. And yes. And no, John doesn’t know that I’m training Ambrose in witchcraft.”
Her hazel eyes were sympathetic. But she also thought I’d brought this on myself by promising John not to use Craft. And she was right about that too. “Do you think grand-mère is dangerous?”
“Hell to the yeah, grand-mère is dangerous. If she could have killed me, she would have. I don’t know if she poses a threat to mortals, but she sure as heck poses a threat to anyone Craft who crosses her path.”
“But that’s not likely, right? Surely, she doesn’t go out. Does she?”
“I have no idea what she does or doesn’t do. For all I know she has a regular gig performing magic tricks at the senior center. I’m ashamed to admit, I didn’t give it much thought until now. I figured it was something Ambrose should be able to work out on his own, but this is not easily managed. I’m going to ask the Duchess if she has any ideas.”
“Has she ever not had an idea?” Andi said dryly.
“True.”
Andi licked a glittering sprinkle off her fingertip. “Speaking of your mother, I saw Phelon on Tuesday. He was having dinner at Gary Danko’s.”
Phelon Penn is one of Maman’s Cavalier King Charles Spaniels. I’m sorry. Did I say that aloud? Phelon Penn is my mother’s former companion. Like the other Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, he was the perfect lapdog and cost a fortune in grooming supplies.
“Was he alone?”
“No.”
“Was he with a woman?”
“Yes.”
I smiled and reached for the Neptune’s Nibble.
Chapter Three
“Hey! It’s John, isn’t it?” Our waiter—a dark-haired guy in his thirties with big blue eyes and a boyish grin—beamed in recognition.
John glanced at him, did a double take, glanced at me. “That’s right,” he said with an un-John-like brightness. “Lance, right? Lance, this is my husband, Cosmo.”
Lance also glanced at me. His face didn’t exactly fall, but he was clearly disappointed. “Husband?” he repeated. “Gosh. I didn’t see that coming.”
“Oh, are you psychic?” I inquired.
John cleared his throat.
“Hm?” Lance spared me another distracted look—he was having trouble tearing his gaze from John.
I opened my mouth, but John spoke over me in that fake-hearty voice, “But come he did!”
I smiled at him. “Many times,” I said. “Many, many times.”
John turned the color of his beloved Pinot Noir.
“Ohhhhkay, then!” Lance said. “I’ll just get that wine list, shall I?” He sprinted away.
“Gosh. I didn’t see that coming,” I said to John.
He laughed, shook his head chidingly. “Lance was a long time ago.”
“I should hope.”
He reached across the table, lightly traced my ring finger and the platinum Celtic eternity knot wedding band. “I don’t remember how many Lances there were, but there’s only one you.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Spoken like a true romantic.”
It was John’s turn to laugh.
Actually, he was a romantic. I didn’t realize it at first—and he would have denied it. But so it was. It was one of a number of things I had initially gotten wrong about John. Like assuming he was a snob. That wasn’t really fair. John didn’t care about price tags or name brands. He simply wanted the best he could afford, whether in ties or wines or swimming pool liners. It wasn’t anything to do with compensating for growing up poor or being ambitious or trying to impress people with his worldly goods. John was a pragmatist, pure and