Magical Threats (Vegas ParanormalClub 66 Book 3) by C.C. Mahon

Author:C.C. Mahon [Mahon, C.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allure
Published: 2019-10-09T06:00:00+00:00

22

A furious Nate was waiting for me in front of the club.

“I’ve been calling you for twenty minutes!” he said without even waiting for me to take off my helmet.

I took my phone and threw it at him.

“A troll stepped on your cell phone?”

“Why have you been calling me for twenty minutes? What the hell are you doing here? Didn’t you quit?”

He pointed to the column of energy that rose at the other end of the city. “What do you think?”

I let out a deep sigh and slumped a little on my saddle. “I know, I said. I had a front-row seat.”

“WHAT?”

Immediately, Nate was on me, his big hands examining me for injuries.

“It’s okay, Mama Bear,” I said. “I’ll get away with some bruises and a few parts to change on the bike.”

“Victims?” Nate asked in a dull voice.

“I don’t think so. The site was deserted. So is the neighborhood, by the way.”

Nate nodded. “Yes, even humans eventually felt that the place was strange. We hear a lot of rumors. Bookies have opened the bets: is the construction site haunted by the victims of the first explosion?”

“Do people really bet on that?”

Nate spread his hands. “Hey, we’re in Vegas.”

I led Nate into the club.

“I immediately tried to call you,” he continued, “but you didn’t answer. I almost took my car to check it out, but…”

But he preferred to stay and wait for me, like a mother hen. At least he didn’t seem angry with me anymore.

“Would you make me a coffee?” I said, dropping on a chair.

Nate coffees were far from good, but the machine was stuck behind the bar, where no winged creature could fit.

“A double?” Nate asked.

“Make it a triple,” I said. “And lend me your phone. I need to call Britannicus.”

“Watson,” the wizard announced as he took my call.

The phone was spitting like an old radio.

“Britannicus, it’s Erica. We need to talk.”

“Who?” asked the wizard. “Hello? Hello?”

“It’s Erica,” I repeated louder.

“I am so sorry. The reception is terrible…”

“Let me guess: you’re at the scene of the explosion.”

“If you would like to contact me again later…” said Britannicus through the crackles.

I hung up and started writing a text message. “Need your lights on the explosion this morning. Come to the club ASAP. Tell Lizzie.”

Nate got his phone back, and I looked at my cup of lousy coffee.

“What can we do?” I said.

“About the explosion? Not much of anything. Customs is in charge of these things.”

I took a sip and tried to repress my grimace. Nate would never be a barista.

“Not to criticize,” I said, “but Customs doesn’t seem madly competent on this one.”

“What would you like them to do? A ley line is not a pipe. There’s not a valve to turn to stop everything.”

“Britannicus says it’s like a high-voltage line…”

“Except we can’t break the circuit. Magic is one of the forces of nature over which we have no control, no power. It’s like trying to stop the Mississippi because it’s flooding your garden.”

I finished drinking my coffee while thinking.

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