Sympathetic Magic (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 4) (5 page)

A situation fraught with its own perils, but at least they’d be inside, and warm. And, despite the cheese she’d nibbled two galleries earlier, she was hungry. She’d just have to do her best to keep the conversation as light and undate-like as possible.

Once again Lucas offered her his arm, and she took, knowing that protesting wouldn’t do her any good. Anyway, the cobblestone walkways here were a little treacherous, and she was wearing heeled boots, so she might as well accept the support he was offering. Just something practical and friendly. Now if she could only keep her thoughts from dwelling on how strong he felt, or how…intoxicating…it was to have him this close to her.

Intoxicating?

Get a hold of yourself,
she thought, keeping her chin up and what she hoped was a pleasant smile fixed on her features.
You’re a grown woman, not some silly sixteen-year-old mooning over your high school’s quarterback.
Not that she’d ever done such a thing; jocks had never been her type. She risked a quick glance over at Lucas and wondered if he’d played sports in school. He certainly had the build for it.

She doubted she’d have the courage to ask.

But then they were at the restaurant, and the maitre d’ was smiling at Lucas and guiding them to a secluded table off in a corner. Had Lucas slipped the man a twenty to get such a prime spot? Probably not…most likely it was just more of the warlock’s “luck” in action.

The place was elegant, but in a low-key way, with its muted blue-gray walls and subdued lighting. She waited while the maitre d’ pulled out her chair, then sat down and set her purse and shawl on the empty seat next to her. Lucas took his place directly opposite her, for which she was glad. She’d always preferred having a dinner companion across the table rather than beside her, as at least that way she wouldn’t get a crick in her neck while trying to hold a conversation.

After giving both of them menus and Lucas the wine list, the man told them their server would be along shortly. Margot opened her menu at once, glad of the opportunity to look at something else beside her companion’s expectant expression. Yes, the place was expensive, but she wouldn’t allow herself to worry about that. Lucas had chosen the restaurant, so certainly he didn’t mind what he’d be paying for dinner.

“Any wine preferences?” he asked.

“Not really,” she replied. “I’m afraid I’m not much of an expert. I do prefer reds, though.”

“So do I,” he said. His gaze seemed to linger on her mouth, and she wondered if she would’ve done better to have chosen a lighter shade of lipstick, rather than the warm brick color she wore. Then he returned his attention to the wine list. “Well, it’s hard to go wrong with a Bordeaux…unless you’re ordering fish.”

She shook her head. “I don’t really care for fish all that much. I was thinking of the antelope, just because I’ve never had it.”

“It’s excellent. And the Bordeaux will work well with that.”

The waiter appeared then, and Lucas requested the wine, then waited while she placed her order. He went with steak, and they both asked for salad, and the waiter headed off to the kitchen, leaving them alone together.

Why she should feel so intimidated now, when they’d already spent the greater part of two hours together, Margot wasn’t sure. Maybe it was simply that they were facing one another in a more formal setting. The gallery walk was one thing, but no one could call having dinner in this restaurant anything other than a date.

Even as she began casting about in her mind for something innocuous they could talk about, Lucas said, “You know, I’m really curious how you came to be an elder.”

Oh, Goddess. That was the last thing she wanted to discuss. Maybe she could deflect him somehow. “What, don’t you think I’m a strong enough witch to be an elder?”

“That’s not it at all,” he began, then stopped abruptly when the waiter approached their table with the wine. A brief interval while the cork was removed, and Lucas did the ritual tasting of the small amount the waiter poured into his glass. Custom satisfied, the man tipped a more substantial amount into both their glasses before saying their salads would be out soon and then departing.

Any hopes she’d had of Lucas abandoning the topic disappeared when he sipped some wine, and said, “It just seems a little strange to an outsider, is all. Angela mentioned once that you’d been an elder for almost ten years. What, were you still in college when they asked you?”

She allowed herself a small, if albeit bitter, smile. “Hardly. I was twenty-seven.”

His eyebrows went up at that. “So you weren’t really an elder in any sense of the word.”

“That’s not how it works, Lucas.” Really, she shouldn’t be discussing her clan’s inner workings with a Wilcox, no matter what Angela might say about putting the past aside and working together for a better future for both families. But he kept gazing at her, clearly expecting her to answer, and she found herself saying, “It’s not about age. Not really. True, most of the time an elder is asked to serve when he or she is older, in the prime of his or her power, but I’d always been very strong.” She told him this simply, as it wasn’t boasting. Her power was part of her, like the color of her eyes. She hadn’t chosen it — perhaps the Goddess had chosen it for her, but the strength of her gift wasn’t something Margot had precisely achieved on her own.

“So that’s why? Just because you were the strongest witch?”

“One of them.” Damn it, she’d tried so hard not to think about that time in her life, what the consequences of her elevation to elder had actually been. She picked up her wine and drank, attempting to focus on the dark, rich sweep of it over her tongue, and not the day all those years ago when Bryce and Allegra had come to her and said,
It is your time to serve.
Her voice hardened. “But since Allegra Moss and Bryce McAllister were already appointed elder, there really wasn’t anyone else.”

“Seems kind of rough, giving you that responsibility when you were so young.” His tone was obviously sympathetic, but she didn’t want to acknowledge that. Feeling sorry for herself, for what had happened, wouldn’t change anything.

She shrugged. “It was what it was.”

The waiter came back with their salads, so once again they fell silent until he was safely away. Funny how, despite their being from two such very different clans, they both followed the same unspoken rule, which was never to discuss witch business when a civilian was around. Then again, maybe it wasn’t so odd. All the various clans had survived to this day because they’d learned how to be discreet.

Margot decided maybe it was time to go on the attack. “And what about the Wilcoxes? I find it kind of strange that you don’t even have clan elders.”

“No need, with the way the
primuses
always ran things.” He speared a few pieces of radicchio with his fork but didn’t lift them to his mouth. “We were more of a monarchy, I guess.” His tone was almost amused, but Margot thought that note of amusement didn’t ring entirely true.

“Even now, with Connor in charge?”

This time he did eat, and drank some water before he replied. “No, I’d say things are sort of in flux. It’s pretty clear he has no intention of running things the way Damon, or his father before him, did. I guess in a way you could call Marie and Andre and me the unofficial Wilcox elders, since we’re the ones he seems to go to for advice most of the time. At least, for Wilcox matters,” he added quickly. “Obviously, he and Angela talk pretty much everything over, but she doesn’t want to be seen as interfering in our family’s business.”

Wise of her,
Margot thought.
I really wouldn’t want to get embroiled in any of that, either.
“And you don’t mind?”

“Why would I? I’m glad Connor feels he can rely on me.” A lift of the shoulders, and he said, “I used to be Damon’s sounding board, too.”

“Indeed? I had no idea Damon Wilcox ever took anyone’s advice but his own.”

“Well,” Lucas replied, after sipping some wine, “just because he used me as a sounding board doesn’t mean he actually ever
did
anything I advised.”

This was said in such a self-deprecating tone that Margot let out a reluctant laugh. In general, the mere mention of the late
primus
was enough to make her skin prickle, even now, when he was certainly no danger to anyone. But the way Lucas spoke of his late cousin told her that they’d had at least a friendly relationship, something she had a hard time wrapping her head around.

“Do you miss him?” she asked abruptly.

He paused a long time before answering. “Sometimes. That is, I can’t excuse the things he did, because there
is
no excuse for them. And I can’t fault for Angela doing what she had to do, because there really was no alternative. But….” The word seemed to hang in the air, even as he shook his head and ate another bite of his salad.

“But?” she prompted, then returned to her own neglected plate of field greens.

“We were friends,” Lucas said simply. “I have a lot of friends, but he didn’t. I think that’s why he liked talking with me, even if he planned to do things his way in the end. And I’d meet him when he was done with classes sometimes, and we’d have a few beers and talk about the D-backs, and — ”

Margot felt her eyes widening. Damon Wilcox, plotter and mastermind behind Angela’s kidnapping, was just a regular guy who liked baseball? “I find that hard to believe.”

A shrug. “Believe it, or don’t. He had a whole lot of different sides, like most people. I suppose it’s just that Damon didn’t show many of his. But we’d known each other since we were kids. I think he appreciated that he could relax around me, that I never asked him for anything.”

“I’d think it was the other way around,” she remarked. “Don’t tell me he never asked you for investment advice.”

“Oh, he did that all the time,” Lucas said easily. “Why not? Using my gift to help the clan seemed a natural enough thing. It didn’t hurt anybody.”

No, she supposed not. Well, maybe some people would call Lucas’ supernatural inside information a way of gaming the system, but she really didn’t think so. It really wasn’t all that different from having Adam nudge a few storm clouds closer to Jerome so everyone’s wilted vegetable gardens could get some much-needed rain in the midst of a long, hot summer.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, and Lucas sent her a surprised look.

“Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry for your loss. Like you, I can’t excuse or forgive Damon for the things he did, but still, it hurts when you lose a friend. So I am sorry for that.”

Several indefinable emotions flitted across Lucas’ face — surprise? confusion? — but then he gave her a considering nod. “Thanks, Margot.”

They fell into a long silence after that, finishing their salads without speaking, waiting until the plates were taken away and their entrees brought. At last Lucas spoke.

“You’re a surprising woman, Margot Emory.”

“I am?” she said with a small laugh. “Really, I think I’m sadly predictable.”

“Not so.” Now his gaze was warm, and she forced herself not to shift nervously in her seat, to keep herself looking back at him as if being studied in such an admiring way was something that happened to her every day. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

Well, it was easy to do that when everyone else did. Then she chided herself for the self-pitying thought, which wasn’t even true. The worst she could say of her clan members was that they expected her to be as she was: an elder, there when a dispute needed to be mediated, a spell shored up, a decision made when changes in the outside world necessitated some alteration of the clan’s policies. And could she really fault them for that? They were only doing as they’d always done.

“I’ll try not to,” she said lightly, then looked away from him to the food on her plate, and made something of a show of cutting a few pieces and eating them slowly, making herself concentrate on the thick, rich taste of the antelope and not on the expression of the man watching her.

He seemed to take the hint, and ate quietly as well. Even when their conversation resumed, it was on lighter topics — whether there would be much snow this winter, what with the ongoing drought, and whether the maternity ward at Flagstaff Medical Center was large enough to accommodate the hordes of Wilcoxes and McAllisters who were certain to descend as soon as the twins were delivered. Inwardly, Margot could only thank Lucas for letting the matter drop. Who knew a Wilcox could be so perceptive?

After dinner he called a cab, as it was past the time when the free trolley was running.

“We could walk,” she protested. After all, it was barely half a mile from Tlaquepaque to the plaza in uptown where they’d met.

“No, thanks,” he said easily. “Half a mile uphill, some of it with no street lamps. I’m not saying it’s dangerous or anything, but it’s really not a walk you want to make.”

So she acquiesced, even though she was of the mind that the two of them could take on pretty much anything they met in that dark stretch between the shops on 179 and the more populated uptown area. But she did have to admit that, after a large meal and half a bottle of extremely good Bordeaux, it was probably better to have a cab take her back to her own car.

True, sitting next to Lucas in the back seat of the cab was a little too close quarters. His knee brushed hers once or twice, and she couldn’t be sure whether he’d done so on purpose. Not that she’d call him to task about it, not with the cab driver sitting just a few feet away, but still….

At least the ride only took a couple of minutes. Almost before Margot knew it, they had stopped in front of Sinagua Plaza, and Lucas was leaning forward and handing the driver a twenty. Twenty dollars? For a half-mile ride?

She didn’t say anything, though, and didn’t protest when Lucas reached down to help her out of the cab after he’d pushed his tall frame out of the back seat and onto the sidewalk. Somehow she felt a little unsteady on her feet. Delayed reaction to the Bordeaux?

That had to be it.

“Where did you park?” Lucas asked as the cab eased its way out from the curb.

“Just up the street half a block, then down the side street.” Realizing why he’d asked the question, she added quickly, “There’s no need to walk me to my car. You’d just be going out of your way.”