Mystical Warrior (Midnight Bay) by Janet Chapman

Author:Janet Chapman [Chapman, Janet]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Pocket
Published: 2011-06-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Trace set his drink on the table and gave the man sliding into the booth across from him a warning glare. “Go away, Oceanus, preferably far, far away.”

“I’ll have whatever the gentleman is having, please, and bring him another one at the same time,” Mac added as the waitress walked off. “Believe me, Huntsman, I would if I could. But I need to stay as close to An Téarmann and de Gairn’s magic as I possibly can without it killing me. If I leave Midnight Bay, I’m unprotected.”

“Then you’re as good as dead, because this is Oak Harbor.”

“And so when you bring my cold, dead body back to my father, maybe then you’ll explain to him why you forced me to come looking for you.”

Trace downed the last bit of ice-diluted Scotch in his glass. “What’s the matter, did the women run out of pillows to fluff or food to cook you? Or did you end up burning down my house after all?”

“I’ve been on my own for the last two days. Fiona came in about an hour after you finally drove off the other day, and sent Gabriella home and then disappeared upstairs. I haven’t seen either one of them since, except when Fiona went to the barn to feed her animals and yesterday morning, when she walked out the driveway and headed toward town.”

Trace stared down at his empty glass, saying nothing.

“You need to come home and fix this, Trace. The energy surrounding your house is so muddled that even the seagulls refuse to land on your roof.”

“Go away, Oceanus.”

“You haven’t answered your phone for two days,” Mac continued. “And your excited fishing partner finally had to come over last night to tell you he had to hire a man to help him at sea and that the winch broke twice because the traps were so laden with lobsters.” Mac took a sip of the drink the waitress set in front of him and made an appreciative sound. “Are you not pleased that the fishing is going well?”

“Ecstatic.”

“But you don’t feel guilty for leaving a nineteen-year-old boy to fend for himself?”

“The man is more than capable of carrying both our loads and obviously smart enough to hire help if he needs it.”

Mac slid Trace’s new drink toward him. “If you have anything running through your veins besides Scotch and cold, stark fear, you will come home and fix this before she does something … foolish.”

Trace disguised his flinch by lifting his glass and taking a long swig, letting the Scotch sit in his mouth awhile and then swallowing.

“Brooding doesn’t become you, my friend,” Mac continued quietly.

“I’m not brooding; I’m sitting here wondering where I’m going to hide your body when I finally lose my patience and kill you. I can’t stuff you in a lobster trap, because I don’t know where in hell Atlantis is. And the way my luck’s been running lately, I’d probably sink you right on top of your father’s goddamned house.”

Mac stopped with his drink halfway to his mouth and gave Trace a small salute with his glass.

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