“Long story. Fairies.” He shrugged. “Now’s not the time.” He glanced up and looked into my eyes. “Thank you. I mean it. I can never thank you enough.”
A little shiver went down my spine, because that sounded a lot like “Goodbye,” an impression confirmed when he tucked the artifact into his pocket again and turned away toward the front room.
“Wait!” I cried, sounding as desperate as I felt.
He turned back instantly, looking expectant and hopeful and…gods, it made my heart lift up again, even though I didn’t really have any reason for it. But if he were even half as eager tonothave this be goodbye…
“I got a name from Esther,” I said, unable to think of a tactful way to broach the subject and needing to keep his attention. Keep himhere. “A warlock who has some kind of freelance magic business with a shaman. They’re both part of a werewolf pack in the neighborhood. Are you,” I swallowed hard, trying not to let how much I cared about his answer show. “Are you still planning to break your mate bond with Brent? Because…I mean, maybe they could do it. It didn’t sound like you had a shaman of your own to go to.”
It wasn’t like anything could happen between us, not with his mate bond on the point of being broken and mine still very much in evidence. Not with our lives going in opposite directions, with his brother still in a coma…
Fuck. And I wasn’t even sure I wanted it to, despite how much my body and my heart seemed to be pushing me that way. But if he stayed long enough to break the bond, well. I’d get another day or two of time with him. And that shouldn’t have meant anything, not in the context of my very long life and not in general, since what did a day or two more with a man I’d only known for a day matter at all? And yet the thought of watching him drive away made me feel sick.
I waited on his answer with my breath held so hard my chest ached.
“Do you think they take phone calls in the middle of the night?” he asked, and I let out my breath with a huff, relief making me dizzy.
“If we’re paying them, I’d imagine they do,” I said, my smile making my cheeks ache. “Their pack is broke as fuck.”
Jack let out a crack of laughter, his eyes gleaming with something I couldn’t name that made my heart race.
“Let’s get going, then,” he said. “I can’t wait to shake this place off my boots, this cabin is disgusting. You should be more careful, though. Too much shaking and you’ll trip again.”
“Fuck off. These boots are worth more than your truck.”
He only shook his head at me, and we turned to the kitchen doorway side by side this time.
***
Nate Hawthorne did indeed take calls in the middle of the night, sounding wary but not sleepy at all when he answered the phone and then downright delighted once he understood we wanted to pay him and his shaman brother-in-law Arik actual cash money for magical services rendered.
“Up front,” he emphasized. “No discounts.” I reminded him that I was one of Fenwick’s lieutenants, and got a grudging, “Maybe a small discount, but only if you stop for coffee on the way. The largest mocha they have, with an extra shot, two pumps of caramel, one pump of hazelnut, extra whip, and chocolate sprinkles.”
I’d put the phone on speaker and set it in the center console while I drove back down toward Lancaster, and I met Jack’s wide eyes when I glanced his way. “Are these guys actual professionals?” he mouthed at me.
I could only shrug in response to Jack. To Nate, I said, “Starbucks isn’t open yet, and I have one guy tied up in the back seat and another in the trunk anyway. I don’t think they’d serve us.”
His gusty sigh conveyed a world of disdain and impatience. “So toss a blanket over back-seat guy, they won’t be able to see much from the drive-through window. Tip well. They won’t give a shit. Go to the one at the corner of Sixth and Pine in Laceyville. They’re so fucking jaded. I mean, they’d probably dispose of the dude in the trunk for you if you gave them an extra fifty. No mocha with sprinkles, no discount, and possibly no magic,” he warned, his voice going low and serious.
And then he hung up.
I stared at the phone in disbelief for a second before turning my attention back to the winding road. Some days I loved California. And other days…
Brent chose that moment to start yelping muffled pleas and imprecations into his makeshift duct tape gag. Possibly hearing him, Hendler started trying to kick again, the thumps of his thrashing echoing through the car and jarring the suspension.
Fuck it. I might not be able to digest the sprinkles, but I needed coffee at least as badly as this Nate person did. In fact, I deserved it. Starbucks it was.
The drive to Laceyville, some forty miles past Lancaster, took a while. I wasn’t worried about speeding since I frankly didn’t give a shit if I got pulled over even with Brent and Hendler in duct tape—being one of Fenwick’s top people had its privileges in the vicinity of Lancaster—but it still felt like forever, what with the thumping and the muffled whining and Jack’s stony silence. I knew that silence wasn’t directed at me, precisely. Listening to Brent had to be driving him insane for a whole smorgasbord of reasons. But my temples had started to throb by the time we pulled into the Starbucks drive-through, parking a little ways back since they wouldn’t be opening for another twenty minutes.
I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes.
Fuck.
Oh, wait. I still had Brent’s cigarettes. I pulled them out and lit one, rolling the window down a bit to spare Jack’s sensitive nose, and cracking a nasty little smile when Brent started actually screaming in rage and flailing around smacking into our seats. His fury made the fact that I kept getting jostled completely worth it.
Yeah, he probably wanted one of his own cigarettes pretty badly right about now.
Too bad, so sad. Bastard.
