AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Why on earth would he be wearing one of those?”
“Maybe he was forewarned about us.” She frowned. “I could probably get past it, but it’ll take some effort.”
“It might be worth attempting to do so. All we know about him is his name, and Frederick is a very common name in the various branches of the Ashworth tree. It doesn’t tell us anything.”
It certainly didn’t tell us if he was related to the Marlowe branch of the witch tree, which did have Ashworths scattered right through its bloodline.
“True.” Belle’s expression became somewhat distracted as she began breaking through the electronic shield protecting the other witch’s mind. “It’s interesting our Ashworth didn’t know him, though.”
“Not really.” I walked over to the sink and washed my hands. “I wouldn’t recognize most of the witches in the Marlowe family tree, even if I passed them in the street.”
“And we’ve been running from the ones you would recognize.”
A smile touched my lips. “True.”
The small bell above the café’s front door chimed merrily and then a familiar voice said, “Lizzie? You here?”
Ira Ashworth, not the mysterious Frederick.
“In the kitchen.” I hastily dried my hands on a tea towel, and then headed out into the café.
Three men came through the door—Ashworth, Eli, and the man who was the new reservation witch.
He was tall and well built, and looked to be around the same age as Belle and me. His crimson hair gleamed like dark fire in the sunlight streaming in through the windows, and his features could at best be described as pleasant.
Pleasant and familiar.
This man was Fredrick Montague Ashworth.
Otherwise known as Monty.
My cousin.
Two
A wide grin split his features. “Lizzie! What the hell are you doing here?”
Ashworth’s gaze went from us to Monty and back. Surprise, and perhaps a hint of understanding, touched his expression. “You know each other?”
Energy surged, a force as fierce as a gathering summer storm. Belle, pulling out all stops to break through Monty’s shield and prevent the words that would give away our real identities.
“Hell, yeah.” Monty tossed his bag on the nearby table and strode toward me. “We went to school together. We’re actually—”
The rest of that statement never made it past his lips. His eyes went wide and he stopped abruptly. “What the fuck?”
His gaze slipped from me to the door into the kitchen—he might not be able to see Belle, but he certainly knew she was in there—and anger stirred in the silver depths of his eyes. But he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.
As Belle hastily wound some preventative measures through his mind, I forced a grin, stepped up, and threw my arms around him.
“Monty,” I said, with a bravado I certainly wasn?
?t feeling. “Why the hell have you accepted the position here? Isn’t it a little less than fitting for an Ashworth heir?”
Monty’s father—another Frederick—had come from England to marry my aunt. While he wasn’t as powerful as my father, he nevertheless held a seat on the high council—a position that usually passed on to the firstborn child, thanks to the fact blueblood witches generally only married into a family with similar magical strength. In the distant past, that had sometimes meant cousins and even siblings marrying. The net result had, of course, been an increasingly higher rate of congenital and inherited disorders. It was one of the reasons why the witch lines were now so heavily monitored, and why arranged marriages had come into existence. And the law had no problem with such arrangements—unless, of course, one or both parties were coerced or even forced into the marriage.
Monty grabbed my arms and thrust me away. For several seconds, multiple emotions crossed his face—anger, frustration, and confusion—before he said, “I had very little choice in the matter—it was either this or remain in the spell records department.”
I frowned. “Why would someone of your stature be shoved sideways into a cataloging position? Isn’t that usually reserved for second-tier witches?”
