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Either way, Mom clearly hadn’t lost her mojo.
She considered the paper cup for a long time, waiting, perhaps, for the guy to whip out porcelain. When none appeared, she reluctantly accepted it. She sipped the coffee, shot the agent an offended look…and sipped again.
Yes, mixed messages were my mother’s specialty.
“Why would Dad — or Erin’s dad — call you?” Pippa asked. “And, wait. He has your number?”
My mother shrugged as if to say,It’s not my fault my ex-lovers keep hounding me. “He had the feeling something was wrong. He called Greg first — oh, there. It was Erin’s father who called, not Pippa’s — but neither were close enough to get here quickly. So they called me.”
A deep sigh made it clear what an inconvenience that had been.
“I’m not sure why you bothered,” I couldn’t help snipping. “You didn’t even help. Why?”
She took another sip of coffee. “You three seemed to have things under control. And your dragon friend did too.” She shot Nash an appreciative look.
Not appreciative of his help. Appreciative of his looks.
I tightened my hand around his.
“We could have died, Mom,” Pippa protested.
“Now, now. Don’t be so dramatic.” Still, she narrowed her eyes on Harlon. “On the other hand, this warlockwasthrowing lightning bolts at my daughters, and one has to wonder why.”
Her tone dropped, and her eyes went icy.
Strangely enough, that warmed my heart. Maybe Mom did love us. Maybe she did care, in her aloof, distant way.
Edwards turned to Harlon, looking dangerous as hell.
Harlon stuck up his hands. “I had to defend myself. They attacked me.”
Pippa and I huffed, while Nash stepped forward, growling.
My mother snorted. “They attacked you, did they?” She motioned to his car with her coffee cup. “Did they lure you out here too?”
The agents leaned in, waiting.
Harlon opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. It was shortly past dawn on a Sunday. Even a warlock couldn’t explain that away.
“And that storm that came out of nowhere,” my mother continued. “Did they launch that at you too?”
I crossed my arms. “That’s at least a class-two warlock, isn’t it, Nash?”
He nodded. “At least.”
Edwards frowned at Harlon, then at another agent holding a clipboard. Did the paperwork there categorize Harlon as a harmless class-four?
“Right. Hands on the vehicle, sir,” he ordered.
Harlon huffed. “Do you know who I am?”
“No, but I can’t wait to find out all about you.” Edwards moved closer, flanked by two big men. “And I mean all. Finances. Business licenses. Unauthorized use of magic…”
I flinched, spotting Harlon’s fingers twitch.
“Go ahead,” Edwards said coolly. “We’d love more evidence of what you’re capable of.”
Harlon’s jaw went hard, and he shot me a dark look. The glare he shot at Nash was even more murderous. “What about him?”
