She looked past him, where loud cheers rose up as a badger did a double flip into a vat of something that splashed up out of the barrel. “Why?”
He held her gaze. “You interest me.”
Maggie had to admit there was something tempting there. The hint of the tattoo on his throat, the sheer size of the man, the danger that rolled off him like a physical force—
Bad idea.
Her taste was remarkably consistent: Maggie Lynch liked bad men. Put her in a crowd of hundreds, and her internal radar led her unerringly to the worst idea in the room. Her entire life was a series of criminals of varying degrees—and then a law degree.
Maggie looked past Sondre to where Dan and Axell were watching the badger rolling. Nothing about this place made sense. The problem was she had no idea where Crenshaw was, how to get out, or anything else.
What she did know was the mountain of a man in front of her was giving her a look that wasn’t hard to interpret.What’s the harm in seducing the answers out of him?Anything it took to get home to protect her son was an option. Years ago, she’d come to terms with her ruthless streak, and the thing that made Maggie feel the most ruthless was the safety of her son. Nothing and no one would keep him from her—and if she was a bona fide witch? Well, that was just more skills to use to rescue her kid.
Leon tried to kill us both. Now Craig is with him.
“So man-witch, suppose I say that I accept that I’m a witch, what exactly does that mean?” She put a hand on his wrist. “And how do I use that to get out of here?”
“Useme,you mean.”
“Maybe, but we can have fun along the way…” Maggie let her gaze sweep over him. “Both of us. Name your terms.”
Sondre looked down at her hand, then back at her. “You’re teasing the wrong person, Margaret.”
“There has to be a way tounwitch me.” Maggie bit her lip and offered, “What would it take, Sondre, for you to set me free of this place?”
“I’m not that sort of man.”
Maggie laughed. “Darlin’, I’ve spent my life around people who broke the rules to get what they wanted. Turns outeveryoneis that sort of person given the right incentive.”
Sondre wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “You are a menace, Margaret.”
“I am a mother trying to get to my kid. No one is more determined than a mom.” Maggie met his gaze levelly. “So are you going to help me, or do I need to go around you?”
The respect in his gaze told her all she needed. And as far as costs went, seducing a handsome man wasn’t a steep one at all.
10Prospero
There was something intrinsically nerve-racking about having Elleanor Brandeau in her sitting room, but Prospero had lived as a witch in Crenshaw for over a century. She should be able to share tea with a beautiful woman without feeling so unraveled. And Miss Brandeau’s beauty was unassuming: soft brown hair, soft brown eyes, and enough delicate curves to her that Prospero wanted to get lost exploring the rises and falls of her body—but attraction wasn’t reason enough to shift her priorities, even though that spark of mischief in Miss Brandeau’s eyes promised a wit to go along with the beauty.
She’s just another witch. Even if she was the line I couldn’t cross,Prospero’s mind whispered.
There was no polite way to say, “Sorry I considered making your heart stop,” especially as Ellie had written it off as a panic attack. It hadn’t been a malicious act. Prospero simply had tried to awaken her magic early.
What would Miss Brandeau say if she knew?
Currently, she sat on one of the overstuffed blue chairs that Prospero favored. Her gaze darted around the room as if she were cataloguing the oval mirror, vases with a few fresh flowers, thick silk drapes in anear-garish shade of violet, and assorted leather-bound books with no names on the spine. The latter held Miss Brandeau’s eyes a little longer, although as she looked around the room, she paused and made note of the rest as well—and Prospero wanted to know what she was thinking.
“No one comes here,” Prospero mused. “I welcome your thoughts.”
“Your witch village?” Miss Brandeau teased, as if the idea was preposterous.
“My home.” Prospero gestured at the tea carafe, then at the lid of the lavender Earl Grey tea she enjoyed on the rare occasions she had to indulge in luxuries. “I find myself breaking any manner of rules over you, Miss Brandeau.”
“Because I’m a witch,” Miss Brandeau filled in. “Surely, that’s not so unusual in your witch town.”
“Because you are asingularwitch, an anomaly,” Prospero corrected. “Magic itself is normal here. It is the way of your new home. Things here are done by, shaped by, managed by magic.”
“Because we are all witches?” Miss Brandeau watched in curious silence as Prospero prepared tea.
