Witch's Diary: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 4) (25 page)

Could she ask them—Walter, Angela, Alan, Harry, Jack, Max—to risk their very lives for her mother? Could she not?

She so desperately needed someone to make the decision for her. And then Kenna laughed out loud. It was an unpleasant, harsh sound in the stillness of her room. She never wanted other people to make decisions for her. Never. Now wasn’t the time to start. She pounded her bed with the flat of her hand.

She picked up her cell and called the last man she wanted in a moment of vulnerability.

He picked up after the second ring. “Harrington here.”

“I need your help.” Kenna’s stomach churned. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“I have no idea what you’re asking. I have been helping.” Harrington’s frustration and annoyance vibrated in his voice.

“I know. But I need more. We need a backup plan.” Kenna swallowed. “We’re going. Harry’s going. And I’d like us all to come back. Isn’t there anything else you can do?”

“Don’t you think I’d be doing it? You’ve pulled Alistair—Harry—into this mess. If there was anything else, I’d be doing it.” Harrington voice had cooled to a chilly iciness.

“Don’t you dare start. This is not my fault. It’s not my mom’s fault. She was pulled into Margot’s scheme because of IPPC’s actions and politics.”

A few seconds of silence followed.

Much calmer, Harrington said, “Is there any chance of success?”

“Of course.” Kenna squeezed her eyes shut. Not a lie, but honesty compelled her to elaborate. “But there are a lot of unaccounted-for variables. You’re not even certain you can get us the exact location, if Cliff’s network-crawling virus doesn’t work like it should.”

“Hell. I might have something. But you need to let me know if you need help. I have a possible contact—but contacting him could go horribly wrong. And it puts IPPC in a very bad position. So I’ll only reach out as a last resort. And I can’t guarantee results, but there’s a chance it might work.”

“I’ll owe you.” Kenna’s lip curled in distaste as she spoke the words.

“Yes, you will.” And Harrington hung up.

What was it with him and his rude phone manners? Kenna fell back onto her bed. Staring at the ceiling, she decided rude phone manners were the least of his issues. Harrington would want something big if he had to come through for her. She just hoped it wasn’t her firstborn child.

Kenna wallowed for about two minutes, then rolled out of bed and headed down to face the troops. As soon as she opened her bedroom door, she walked into cooking smells from the kitchen. Some kind of bread. Bacon. That freaking cinnamon candle—she was chucking that thing today. Rounding the corner, she counted six bodies; she was the last one up.

“Morning, everyone. I just got a call from Harrington. He wants us at the airstrip by eleven o’clock.”

Six heads turned to her.

“So it’s time to take a vote.” Kenna steeled herself. “Who’s in?”

Jack stood in front of the stove. He lifted a spatula to catch her attention. “You’re too late. We voted without you, and we’re all in. What else did Harrington have to say?”

Kenna felt a little teary, but she sure as hell wasn’t crying now. If she could virtually get on her hands and knees and beg to her least favorite acquaintance without crying, she could handle this. “Ah, the site’s done. He told me you reported last night about the deconstruction of the elemental net. Harrington said he’d be pushing the negotiations to a close today. So eleven o’clock at the strip on standby to head out.” Kenna thought that went well.

Angela shoved a mug of hot tea into her shaking hands. Or maybe not so well.

Max led her by the elbow to the breakfast table. “Why don’t you have some breakfast?”

Walter peered at her anxiously. “Would you like some bacon? Toast, maybe?” He lifted up a plate of bacon with an encouraging smile.

“What’s wrong?” Kenna asked. Everyone was acting oddly.

Jack dropped into a chair next to hers. “You look like death.” He made a frame with his hands. “Fair skin and fair hair, overlaid by a bloodless, no-makeup look, and topped off by dark purple slashes under your eyes.” He snatched a piece of bacon off her plate. “You’re sure you didn’t catch something from that—um, not-quite-right Lycan?”

Scowling at him, she grabbed another piece of bacon from the serving tray. “I’m pretty sure Max would be the one at risk for”—she lowered her voice—“undead rabies.” In a more normal tone, she said, “But thanks for giving me something else to be worried about.”

“That’s all right. At least when you’re peeved, the color comes back into your cheeks.” Jack shoved the rest of the bacon in his mouth and got up. “I’m gonna load the car, so anyone that has a bag ready to go, drop it by the front door. We’re riding together, since Harrington sprang for a van.”

One by one, everyone left but Max.

After popping a final bite of bacon in her mouth, Kenna washed it down with the last of her tea. “How’d you do on the sofa last night?”

Max leaned his forearms onto the table and looked at her intently. “Don’t go.”

She swallowed wrong and choked.

“Sorry.” Max tried to pat her back, but she shooed him away.

In between coughs, she managed, “You’re crazy.”

Max waited for her to catch her breath. “I know. But just consider it. Your magic is still…”

Unreliable, but Kenna wasn’t admitting it. Geez—like she really had a choice? “How can you even ask that of me? Do you know me at all?

“That’s unfair. Strictly speaking, we don’t need you there. Once Harry has busted a hole in her cell, Gwen can help with any fire magic issues. Besides, if her cell deconstructs like our model, we won’t even need a fire witch. I know you’re reluctant to say it out loud, but the reality is that your magic is erratic.” His earnest gaze locked on to hers. “At least consider staying home.”

Better to face the question head-on. Kenna asked, “And if I wasn’t pregnant?” Kenna pushed her plate toward the center of the table. “Would you be trying to keep me away if I wasn’t? Because this is my mother we’re talking about. And in case it hasn’t occurred to you, she’s only in this situation because of me and my connection to Lizzie and IPPC.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Max’s voice had softened.

Kenna gave him a sharp sideways glance. “I know that. It’s that bitch Margot’s fault. But I can’t deny my actions have played some part in this whole mess.” Kenna raised both her hands, shaking her head. “None of that matters. This is my mom. I’m going.” She pushed away from the table. “I have to get dressed and throw a bag together.”

Kenna had a sick feeling as she walked away that she’d failed. That she lacked a motherly instinct that should keep her and her unborn child as far as possible from prison breakouts and magic rescue missions. She looked down. Her hand had, without conscious thought, moved protectively over her stomach. She dropped her hands to her sides. She was doing exactly the right thing for her and her daughter. Because they both needed Gwen. Kenna loved her mom too much not to do everything in her power to make sure she came home safe.

She paused with her hand on the doorknob to her room. And there was always Harrington. He may not care about her, or her mom, or anyone else on the team—except for Harry. For the first time, she’d seen in Harrington an inkling of some human feeling.

She growled. From here on, she was moving forward. No regrets. They’d all done what they could do to prepare.

Kenna grabbed her emergency bag containing her passport, a stash of cash, a change of clothes, a few Nalgene bottles filled with her special tea, two small
unscented
candles, and her gun plus holster. She’d had Max pick up a holster like his, where the gun nestled in the small of her back.

Fifteen minutes later she joined the witch crew in the living room. In addition to grabbing her gear, she’d taken a few extra minutes to add a little color to her face. Jack had been right. She’d looked like walking death.

She dropped all her stuff in the entryway and sat down on the sofa next to Harry. His eyes were closed and his legs sprawled out in front of him. He looked like he hadn’t moved since she’d walked by earlier on the way to her room. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Jack and Max had gone to retrieve a few “last-minute supplies,” which she assumed meant guns. They were all just waiting for them to get back, so that they could drive to the airport and wait there. Might as well rest her eyes. At some point the quiet conversation taking place around her filtered into her consciousness and her eyes popped back open.

“It would make me more comfortable to do a trial run,” Alan said.

Angela nodded eagerly. “I’m a little worried we won’t perform well under pressure. It’s not like we’re some crack commando team.”

“It’s a bad idea. And if it’s bigger, we release even more wild magic.” Walter, thankfully, was espousing the reasonable, don’t-blow-up-Gwen’s-house point of view. And that was assuming they didn’t accidentally create a dead zone.

“Yes—what Walter said,” Kenna said.

Harry was still sprawled on the sofa and he was awake, but he tapped away on his phone, oblivious to the turmoil around him.

“What exactly are you guys proposing? Although I’m sure it’s a bad idea.” Kenna crossed her arms. Damn. Were her boobs getting bigger?

“Using the downstairs guest bath to recreate a holding cell.” Harry actually was paying attention. He looked up from his phone and gave the crew a look. “You do realize you need my help to make the cell? And I’m not in favor of reducing Gwen’s home to ash through an accidental discharge of magic. Even if everything goes according to plan, we have to deconstruct the entire cell when we’re done—because it’s Gwen’s guest bath. I’m not planning to take apart the real cell. We can leave that one.”

Kenna pointed at Harry. “Yes. Exactly that. I agree. And I’m in charge of the house in Mom’s absence, so I have final say. And what the hell are you guys thinking?”

Three innocent faces looked back at her. It was clear how stress was affecting Walter, Angela, and Alan. Bickering without end. Although—maybe that was just how they functioned as a team. Good Lord. Her poor mother.

Harry scratched at his chest.

“Does stress make you itch?” Kenna asked. Because she was suddenly feeling itchy herself.

Harry snorted. “Griselda making me shave my chest makes me itch. I don’t recommend it.” He waggled his eyebrows like a twelve-year-old and scratched again. “I’ve been exerting incredible willpower up to this point.”

“Actually, it doesn’t start to itch until the second or third day.” Angela nodded knowingly.

Kenna blinked in mild astonishment. She wasn’t sure what constituted an appropriate response. She gently nudged Harry, whose eyes had drifted shut.

“Hmm. What?”

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Kenna asked quietly.

“Absolutely.”

Wow, he didn’t lie well. But really, they might as well nap while they could. Shame on her for waking him up. What was it about emergencies that there was so much waiting involved? Life or death, big things happening, magic flying—oh, sorry, let’s just hang out and wait. And then everything would cut loose, moving at a frantic pace again. Kenna found it more exhausting to be in a constant state of uncertainty than when the pace was predictably frenetic. It exhausted her. Or maybe that was being pregnant? She yawned. She just never seemed to be fully rested anymore. She yawned again so wide her jaw cracked. Man, that hurt. She rested her head on Harry’s shoulder and drifted off to sleep.

A hand shook her shoulder and she jumped, almost peeing herself. “Are you kidding me?” she yelled.

Angela, Alan, Walter, Jack, and Max all stood in a circle around her and stared. Max was the closest, so he must have been the guilty party. “Just yell my name a few times next time.”

“Didn’t work,” Max replied.

Harry managed to beat her up off the sofa and offered her a hand up. Kenna stood up slowly, still groggy. “All right. Let’s do this.”

Chapter 21

Two o’clock and they still hadn’t heard from Harrington. Max knew the drill. Hurry up and wait. But knowing didn’t make the waiting any easier. Thankfully Kenna had crashed out again in the lounge. If only he could drug her pregnant butt and have her sleep safely in Austin through this entire day, life would be a hell of a lot better.

He and Jack were waiting in the private airport’s office when Kenna’s phone rang.

“This is it,” Jack said, and answered the phone. “Jack here.”

Jack had grabbed her phone earlier, so she wouldn’t wake up when Harrington called. If she was able to sleep this close to the start of the mission, she needed it badly.

“Got it.” Jack ended the call. He turned to their pilot, James, a stooped, wrinkled, old guy who didn’t say much, and he said, “Boise, Idaho.”

The old guy nodded and repeated, “Boise.” He sniffed. “Four, four and a half hours. Leave in fifteen.”

Max waited until the little guy had walked out of the office, before he turned to Jack and said, “I’m pretty damn sure it’s not possible to get to Boise in his plane in four hours.”

Jack shrugged.

“Yeah. Where did Harry find this guy?” Max had forgotten James had flown them before. He seemed to have some connection specifically to Harry, not IPPC.

Jack shook his head. “Don’t know; don’t care. I’d just like to know what he is. I figured air witch, but now that I’ve met a few witches—I don’t know. Twenty says we make it in four hours.”

“Pass. Let’s go round up the crew and get loaded.”

True to James’s word, within fifteen minutes they were in the sky.

Kenna and her witch crew were huddled up near the front of the plane. Kenna had sworn she’d keep them from practicing anything questionable while they were in the air.

Jack, Harry, and Max were in the back.

“I texted John our destination. He’s contacting the Idaho Pack leader.” Max twisted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I know Idaho is friendly to Texas. Hell, the pack leader’s son just moved down to Austin. It doesn’t get much friendlier than that,” Jack said.

Max nodded.

“You don’t seem particularly satisfied, especially considering there are much less friendly packs out there.” Jack stretched out his legs in front of him. “What am I missing?”