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Which creek was that they flew over?
An innocent question — or an attempt to fool me?
I watched as Nash helped John and Chico fold then roll the balloon. The guy was six feet of muscle and mystery and, as always, impossible to read.
“Come along, everyone.” Madden motioned the guests to the picnic basket I’d set out by the van. “Time for breakfast and champagne.”
The groupies giggled and followed Harlon like so many trained corgis. I watched as they raised champagne flutes and munched on bagels. From what I’d heard, warlocks were amazing in bed. Though, yuck — I’d always avoided that topic, given that my dad was one. Was that what attracted them to Harlon, or was it his money? Both?
Spotting Madden next, I scowled, half wishing he would choke and die. Well, not really, but I was tempted to strangle him.
That’s Painted Rock,he’d told Harlon.And that green line there is the creek. They say there’s a fifth, hidden vortex out there.
Yes, there was. Operative word,hidden. What the hell had Madden been thinking, spilling the beans like that?
And, shit. How did he even know when only a few locals did?
Of course, Madden might have just been spouting something he’d overheard, as he often did. It just happened to be right for a change.
Either way, this was bad, bad news.
It’s just a matter of paperwork to get zoning for a whole resort.
Over my dead body. My great-aunt had fought off developers for her entire life, and my sisters and I had sworn to do the same. We’d done our best to keep our property off the radar, but with real estate prices in Sedona skyrocketing, that was hard.
I’m a very persuasive man,Harlon had said.
I snorted. That was true of all warlocks, whose magic multiplied their natural, seductive charm. It was true of my father too. But where my dad’s magic was playful and benign, Harlon’s was dark and preying. Plus, my father didn’t go around enchanting people, and he certainly couldn’t overwrite other people’s memories.
Of course, that was partly because the magic he wielded was unique.Elementalwas what my great-aunt called it. That’s why Dad was always roaming the West on his motorcycle — he needed that connection to the earth, sky, and wind.
Especially wind,part of me sighed, thinking of the sandstorms he set off from time to time. Some for fun, some by accident, when he was especially mad, sad, or joyous. But even then, Dad was just the match. The kindling was already there, and once that was ignited, there was no telling when Mother Nature might get carried away and let it blow, blow, blow.
The breeze teased my hair, reminding me I had no such powers.
“Miss Sattler.”
I nearly jumped. Harlon seemed to appear right beside me. Could the man jump time and space too?
I turned to him with a fake smile. “Oh, hello. Did you enjoy the flight?”
He nodded. “I’m so glad you suggested it. The views over Oak Creek were lovely.”
A test, and I knew it. Luckily, the right comeback jumped to my tongue.
“Yes, there’s nothing like flying over vineyards, is there?”
He nodded in satisfaction. Whew.
“My only disappointment is that you couldn’t fly with us.”
Boy, did the man know how to hit all the right notes. Too bad he was such scum.
I managed a regretful smile. “Maybe some other time. But didn’t you say you were leaving Sedona soon?”
“Yes, I have a few meetings on my calendar. I’ll be off for Chicago, then London…”
Ha. I quietly awarded myself bonus points for guessing correctly.
