Page 104 of Christmas Magic

Chapter Eighteen

“Molly.”

At the sound of the man’s voice, Molly opened her eyes. “Julius?”

“Yes. I’m here.”

The bright lights overhead hurt her eyes. Squinting, she raised her hand to shield her face and turned her head. She was lying on the shop’s Victorian chaise longue. She couldn’t remember lying down, though, so someone else—Julius?—had put her on it.

The older gentleman, appearing concerned, crouched beside her. The six cats sat in a group close to him.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Tim mewled.

“Are you all right, Molly?” Julius asked.

“I…think so.” She pushed up to sitting, tucking her legs under her. Julius was her superior in The Experts. It didn’t look good at all that he’d found her asleep. How, though, had she ended up on the chaise longue? The last thing she remembered….

“Lucian?”

“Gone,” Galahad said.

“What did he do after he used his magic on me?”

“After he knocked you out, he carried you to here,” the squire said. “Then he put the rest of us in nap mode.”

Worry jammed against her breastbone. “We must check if anything’s missing. Make sure—”

“We will.” Julius touched her arm. “First, let’s make sure you’re well.”

The older mage didn’t normally show concern. He must really be worried.

“I’m fine. My head’s a little groggy. That’s all.”

“Same with us,” Rose said. “Aftereffects of the sleeping spell.”

His hand on the carved edge of the chaise, Julius pushed to standing and smoothed the jacket of his tailored, dark navy suit. She swung her legs over the edge of the furnishing.

“I took a quick look as I came in. I had to circumvent a couple of Lucian’s spells, but otherwise, all seemed to be in order.”

She went to the counter. “Oh, God. His sword’s gone.”

“Why would he need his weapon?” Daisy asked.

“The costume’s gone, too,” Molly noted.

“Costume?” Julius echoed.

“Cora gave Lucian a Santa suit to wear at the historical society’s party next weekend.”

The older man’s eyebrows rose. “I can’t imagine Lucian agreeing to dress up as Old Saint Nick.”

Molly shook her head. “Normally, he wouldn’t, but—”

“Remind me when he started acting oddly?”

Galahad snorted. “Oh, about eight hundred years ago.”

“I meant recently.”