Chapter One
Laszlo Thorne sipped his cappuccino and, with careful precision, placed the mug back on the matching saucer. His bored gaze traveled over the occupants of the coffeehouse with no clear target until a petite, dark-haired woman stepped through the door and captured his attention.
Although vastly different in looks from his sister Liz, the woman possessed the same efficient movement and no-nonsense expression. Not necessarily beautiful, hers was an arresting visage. Heart-shaped with eyes too large for her face. Sun-kissed skin—or perhaps a bit flushed from an exciting experience before she entered the shop—was set off by the close-cropped riot of espresso-colored curls.
Ebba James.
Her name was similar in sound to the famous Etta James, but Ebba didn’t possess a lick of talent. In fact, her horrendous singing voice could peel the paint from walls and deafen the already hard of hearing. She was also a giant pain in the ass. A persistent one, at that. This was why Lo found himself sitting there, waiting for her to approach so he could continue with his already jam-packed day.
When she spotted him, a broad smile transformed her face, and Lo sucked in a breath. Therein lay her true beauty. The genuine smile that nearly split her face in half, the pulsing yellow aura, and the barely hidden yearning in her dark chocolate eyes.
Yearning for him.
The sleeping beast inside him woke from a long nap, and an insidious thought crept in. He was no longer a married man, and if Ebba was willing to settle for a few weeks of steamy sex that wouldn’t leave her heart bruised when he walked away, they might have some fun.
A foot from the table, she jerked to a stop and stared. “Wow.”
Uncertain why she’d expressed surprise, he glanced behind him, then back at her.
“Just wow,” she mumbled again, almost to herself.
Realization dawned, and Lo grinned. His desire must be as apparent to Ebba as hers was to him. It wasn’t something she was used to receiving from him. Whenever they’d met in the past, he was coolly polite, never allowing himself to look at her as anything but his sister’s pesky friend. If he had, his jealous ex, Charlotte, would’ve lost her shit and clawed the poor woman’s eyeballs from her head.
“Ebba.”
“Laszlo.”
“Call me Lo like everyone else. We both know it’s a mouthful.”
Her already large eyes flew wide, and color surged into her cheeks. Dear Ebba’s mind plunged right into the gutter. The urge to tease her was acute, but he resisted. They needed to get down to business.
Drawing out a chair, he waved a hand. “Have a seat and tell me why you need the services of a paranormal liaison.”
“Can I order tea first?” Ebba gestured toward the barista.
“I took the liberty of ordering it for you. And here it is, right on time.”
Before he finished speaking, one of the café staff laid a tray with a teapot and two teacups in the center of the table.
“Yorkshire Gold?”
“Yes, Ebba. Yorkshire Gold,” he said with exaggerated patience. “Now, can we move this along? I don’t have all damned day.”
A frown drew her near-black brows together in the middle of her forehead. “You could be nicer, ya know.”
“This is me being nice. Sit.”
“Dick.”
Leaning to push her chair forward, he placed his lips next to her exposed ear. “Can’t keep your mind from going there, huh?”
“I—”
She was saved from a reply when Laszlo’s older brother Wilder stepped up to the table. The warm smile he cast Ebba got under Lo’s skin, though he couldn’t precisely say why.
“Ebba. It’s great to see you again.”
“Wilder. I thought you were jet-setting around the world?”
Stark pain came and went in Wilder’s eyes, and his expression tightened. “Yeah, well, I’m home for the foreseeable future.” He glanced at Lo, and a silent communication traveled between them—one of abject sympathy on Laszlo’s part and icy disdain on Wilder’s.
Having lost his love during a climbing trip, Wilder had returned a broken man. Miserable and tortured because his magic had failed him when he needed it the most. The timing had coincided with an enemy’s attack on the entire Thorne family, resulting in a collective loss of power. A rebuff from Wilder came when Laszlo couldn’t call up Abbie’s ghost and give his brother the peace he so desperately craved.
It was only recently that Wilder had begun venturing out for coffee or the occasional social interaction. Whenever their family tried to rally around him and show their support, he rejected their overtures, unprepared to discuss in detail what happened on that mountain.
“Well, I need to get back. Work and all,” Wilder said before striding away just short of a run. His demons were always nipping his heels.
“What happened with your brother, Lo?” Ebba asked, her gaze locked on Wilder’s retreating back.
“I’d have thought Liz would’ve told you.”
“No. She keeps family stuff private.”
It occurred to him that she might not know his family possessed magical abilities, and it left him scrambling. Covering his disconcertion with another long drink of his cappuccino, he mentally ran through his memories and their previous interactions. They all equated to the same thing.
Ebba didn’t know what they were. Liz had never revealed they were a family of powerful witches.
Shit.
“The basics are that my brother and his girlfriend were on a climbing trip, and her rope broke, sending her plummeting down the mountain. They never found her body, though not for lack of trying.”
“Ohmygod! Poor Wilder! Poor Abigail!” Tears brimmed in Ebba’s large eyes. “I met her once and remember thinking they were so perfect together.”
“Yeah.” Lo shook off the horror of the incident as best he could. Still, as one who could actually see and speak to ghosts, he found it difficult to dismiss the fact that Wilder’s girlfriend had never attempted to make contact after passing away. Loved ones always sought to connect.
“Have you… uh, well, done your psychic thing for him?”
He narrowed his eyes. “What exactly do you think you know about me and what I do, Ebba?”
“With your success rate and by all the positive Google reviews, I thought you were able to, you know, talk to the dead.”
Fuck!
“All the positive Google reviews?” he asked, dread weighing down his heart.
She nodded. “There’s all sorts of testimonials in favor of your work.”
“I see.”
Outside, he maintained a calm façade, but on the inside, he was a bubbling cauldron of panic. Over the years, he’d kept what he could do under wraps as much as possible, yet somehow, news of his ability had leaked to the internet. More and more people would be seeking him out soon.
“Am I wrong, Lo?”
“Not really, but it’s not as basic as people believe.”
“How so?”
Hoping to ease his irritation, he rubbed the back of his neck and glanced around the coffeehouse. Gauging the distance between tables and exactly how much could be overheard, he decided a conversation muffler was necessary for what he needed to tell her.
“Sonus distorquere,” he murmured.
“What?”
“It’s Latin, and I’m distorting our conversation so others can’t hear us.”
“Oh-kayyyy.” Ebba laughed.
He answered her amused look with an unblinking stare.
Her eyes widened. “You’re serious. You think you can distort conversations?”
“I don’t think, Ebba. I know.”
“You’re not a wizard, Harry,” she teased, altering the famous quote. When he didn’t crack a smile, she repeated it. Slower, as if talking to a patient in a mental ward.
His irritation ratcheted up, and he curbed the desire to snap at her. Never before had he revealed what he was, but if he’d given any consideration to the matter prior to that moment, he’d have done it differently. Offered her proof of some sort.
“No. I’m a warlock, or perhaps you might’ve heard the term male witch.”
Her expression turned incredulous, and she eased sideways in her chair. Lo was positive she wasn’t aware of her instinctive move, but he’d been expecting it.
“You’re trying to prank me, right?” The wobble in her tone revealed her nervousness, but also a tiny bit of hurt. Any annoyance he’d felt fled in the face of her deeper emotions.
“No, ma’am, I’m not.” He clasped her hand and held tight when she tried to draw it back. “Magic exists in everyday life, and I’m not talking about Wiccan practitioners or Paganism. I’m talking actual magic—manifestations, conjurings, spells.”
“You’re cracked in the head!”
He suppressed a satisfied smirk as he waited. Any second, she’d realize her overly loud exclamation had never reached the ears of those around them.
She frowned.
His brows shot up, and he couldn’t prevent his smug smile.
With new eyes, she studied their surroundings. Opening her mouth, Ebba screamed loud enough to give him tinnitus for life and have would-be heroes charging to her rescue.
If they could hear her.
No one responded.
“They can’t hear me? None of them?” Her vocal tremble was telling.
“Ebba. Take a deep breath and remember who I am. Who my sister is. You’ve known our family your entire life, and we’ve never sought to harm you or anyone else,” he said soothingly.
Her gaze snapped to his, and a smidgeon of anxiety eased from her face. Her frown deepened as she looked down at their joined hands. “Will you let go of me, please?”
“I will if you promise to hear me out and not run away.”
“I promise,” she agreed, but her hands shook, and Lo had only minutes to convince her she was safe.
Ebba didn’t know what the hell to think. Her bloodcurdling scream was thrasher movie-worthy and the sort that brought people running or, at the very least, turned heads. She’d been ready with the excuse that she’d seen the tarantula of all spiders or a mutant mouse, should anyone question it.
But no one had responded! No one!
And now, here she was, trapped in a soundproof bubble with the man of her dreams. Or the guy who used to be the man of her dreams. She hadn’t figured on the fact he was a warlock, witch, wizard, mage, or whatever the fuck he called himself in this situation.
Their gazes locked, and she saw intelligence, confidence, and perhaps a little wariness regarding her behavior in his amber eyes. That slightest vulnerability encouraged her to stay instead of sprinting out of there like an Olympian going for gold. Also, she didn’t run, so there was that.
“Why hide what you are from friends?” she asked.
“Did you see your reaction?” he countered in a dry-as-dirt tone with one dark-brown brow raised halfway up his forehead in a cocky, questioning way.
The point was conceded with a nod. “Fair. Why reveal it to me now?”
“Instinct,” he replied succinctly. “Something is telling me to trust you. To let you inside.”
A tad more anxiety eased, and she squeezed his hand. “Thank you. I guess.”
His sudden grin stole the air from her lungs. Only Laszlo Thorne possessed the ability to make her forget to breathe. Never anyone else, as hard as she’d searched for the one throughout her thirty-six years. Why? She couldn’t say. Certainly he was handsome, but not drop-dead gorgeous like other family members. The Thornes had enviable genetics.
“It’s not a bad thing, Ebba.”
She was sure they were thinking about two different things. His devastating effect on her system was absolutely bad, but she appreciated his trust.
“Probably not. What do you do with your… What do you call them?… Abilities? Powers?”
“Abilities. Gifts.” He shrugged a shoulder and sat back after releasing her. “To answer your question, whatever needs to be done. Liz works for Thorne Industries, and they collect magical artifacts to keep items out of the clutches of those who would abuse the power.”
“World domination. If I were a witch, I’d go for it.”
He laughed, and a warm glow sparked inside her. Whenever she could make Lo crack a smile, she considered it a win. When he was still married, he’d been considerably more uptight, but then again, that bitch-ass ex-wife of his made anyone’s humor sour.
“I use my particular set of skills to help people get rid of the spirits haunting them.”
“So you said you weren’t psychic. Can witches be psychic?”
Expression decidedly grim, his gaze locked unseeingly on an object outside the storefront window. “Some. Eventually, they go insane. They can’t tolerate the combination of visions and magic. It becomes difficult to tell the difference between real and imagined, and they get lost in their minds.” He was grim. “Psychic witches usually have their powers bound at an early age or, at the very least, on the verge of madness. The havoc they can cause is immeasurable.”
“That’s horrible!” Could he be hiding the fact he was one to avoid having his power bound? His hunted expression said it was probable. What went into binding magic, and was it painful? Ebba desperately wanted to ask but held back, sensing it wasn’t the place or time. She gathered the courage to touch his wrist. “Who do you know that’s got that ability, Lo? Your reaction seems deeply personal.”
Staring down at her hand as if it held all the answers of the Universe, he placed his over hers and absently caressed her knuckles with his thumb. “My cousin, Mackenzie. But so far, she’s managed it well.”
“Mack? Mack is psychic? And a witch?”
It shouldn’t have surprised her after discovering the truth today, but never would she have guessed one of her two best friends was psychic or that they’d both been lying to her for their entire lives.
And wasn’t that the rub?
Ebba had trusted the Thornes, but they’d never trusted her in return.
“Yes, she is.” Weaving his fingers with hers, he shook her hand to get her attention. “I’m sorry if you feel betrayed, Ebba. It’s a secret that can’t get out, and we guard it fiercely.”
“I’m not going to say I’m not hurt. But why tell me now when you couldn’t be bothered to before?”
Lifting their joined hands, he brushed his lips across the skin of her inner wrist and met her gaze with a frank one of his own. “Because we’re going to be lovers.” ...
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