the lab. No other class followed, so he turned off the lights and locked the classroom door. Out in the quiet hall, he slipped on his jacket against the still-cool spring. Okay, off to find the man. The witch. He grinned. My witch.
He walked out of the building into the bright day. God, it smelled good. The flowers were coming. Green buds made the trees look fuzzy and impressionistic. What a great time of year to be in love. If he had any say in it, every time of year would be great to be in love. Find Killian.
“Excuse me, sir.”
He looked around. Where had the voice come from?
“Here, sir.” A hand waved from the front seat of a car parked at the curb.
Lost student? He walked over and bent down by the car. There was a young guy inside, probably in his early twenties. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. Are you Dr. Genneau?”
“Yes.”
The kid smiled. “Oh, good. We’ve heard so much about your class on quantum theory. I wondered if I can still sign up.”
Odd. Why would the kid think he could sign up this late? “No, the class is full. You can try for next term.”
The young man looked over his shoulder and said something into the backseat. Oh, that’s what he meant by “we.” There was somebody back there. Blaine bent more and tried to see.
The back door of the car opened. A male voice said, “Do you deal with black-hole theory?”
What? He walked over to the backseat and again bent down. There was another man, not so young, on the far side of the backseat. “Sorry. You can get a good idea of what we cover on the course description listed online. Just go to—” A powerful force hit his back, propelling him forward. Shit! Hands grabbed his shoulders before he could fall and pushed him into the car. “What the fuck?”
He lay on the seat and looked up into the eyes of a large blond man. Shit, that smile was not friendly. Another hand covered his mouth and nose with a strange-smelling cloth. Holy fuck. That’s all he remembered.
Chapter Twenty-Three
This is it. Lavender’s father’s house looked big and imposing. Some prime New York real estate. Scary. Lavender’s back was straight as she led the way. Confident? Hell, none of them were. Killian glanced back at Jimmy. The kid looked scared. Yeah. Killian adjusted Al around his neck, and a soft purr sounded in his ear. Even the cat was trying to soothe him.
Lavender turned her front door key in the lock and pushed through into the front hall with Killian and Jimmy hot on her heels. An elderly butler rushed toward them. She waved a hand. “Hello, Dimitri. Don’t bother yourself. We have an appointment with the council.”
The old man frowned. “But wait, Miss Lavender. I was told you were coming at three.”
She just kept walking, and poor old Dimitri—who was seventy if he was a day—was trying to catch up. They passed a large formal living room and moved into a hallway. Lavender smiled at the old man but gave no quarter. “Sorry. Must have been an error. We made the appointment for two.”
“Let me announce you, Miss.”
She waved a hand. “No need. We don’t stand on formality.”
She got to a set of double doors. Dimitri reached for the handle, and she knocked his hand away and pushed the two doors open at once. Killian saw the tableau. Five witches seated at a huge table and Nicholas Karonoff saying, “And where did these events occur?”
Heat flashed to his face. The damnable son of a witch. He swept past Lavender into the huge formal dining room and stopped in front of the table. He glanced at his mother, Karonoff, Shah Mugal, Robert Valmont, and Mimi Merced, all of whom were staring at him. But what filled his vision most was Moran Inglesby, standing in the middle of the room. Aloysius’s growl rumbled in his ear.
Killian raised an arm toward Inglesby. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
Moran flushed. “I, uh, I don’t take orders from you, Witch Master. I was asked here by the council.”
“I was quite clear about my instructions to you, Moran. I told you to leave this continent and do it quickly.”
Karonoff’s deep voice sounded cajoling. “Ah, Killian, my boy, Mr. Inglesby is correct. We did invite him here. Of course, we were unaware of any direct instructions you may have given him. But I’m sure you can understand his conviction that