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Margaret and Rafe stood on the lawn, embroiled in an argument for the ages.
“What have you done?” Margaret waved a hand in the air, gesturing at everything or nothing at all.
She did draw my attention to the waves, which were crashing violently against some unseen barrier some twenty feet or so offshore. The sky roiled overhead, though the air around us was calm. Rafe’s scowl would have frightened a saint, but he otherwise ignored her question.
Margaret, though, was not one to back down from a fight. “You set a protection spell strong enough to hold off the storm. You must have.”
Rafe crossed his arms, his gaze directed over her head. “I did.”
“Well you must undo it. I cannot fight the storm if I cannot feel it.”
Della brushed passed me, stopping between the other two. “What do you mean?” she asked Margaret.
The weatherwitch ran a weary hand over her forehead. “Look around. The storm cannot reach us.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
Margaret waved off my question. “We may be safe, but others…” Her voice trailed off. Shaking herself, she raised a finger at Rafe. “We have no way of knowing how large this storm is, and while the people in the city may be safe, there could be fishermen caught up in it, or householders along Salmon Bay. This thing is big enough to kill people, and someone needs to stop it.Imuststop it.”
“I had to make the spell strong enough so that no one could break through.” Rafe’s tone lacked conviction.
Margaret didn’t immediately press her advantage. “Which made sense, when you knew you were leaving your mother here alone.”
I stifled a laugh. His pride would have had him make the ward as strong as possible, whether or not we were leaving. I might not know Rafe Gallagher well, but I knew that much.
Rafe let his arms fall to his sides. “How long will you need?”
“To fight this?” Margaret threw her arms out wide. “I have no earthly idea.”
“I can’t leave the wards down indefinitely.”
Lord, he was stubborn. “No one’s going to be able to get through this monster.” I found myself shouting, too. “You can restore them the minute the wind dies down.”
Della came to stand beside me. “You could even help her, Rafe.”
“How?” He imbued that word with so much suspicion I almost laughed.
"You can add to her magic with yours.”
Della was a Baron, so I believed her, but still Margaret and I shared un uncertain glance. Margaret gave a slight shake of her head, then faced Della wearing an expression of sturdy common sense.
Or stubbornness. I wasn’t sure.
“I don’t know that I’ll need help, as long as the ward comes down so I can touch the wind.”
She tipped her head, showing off her firm jaw, an obvious display of resolution.
Della crossed her arms, the same posture her son had adopted, though her words were conciliatory. “Break the spell, Rafe.”
For a moment, his jaw worked as if he would argue. With a huff, he turned toward the tower. “I’ll do it from the tower.”
Margaret followed him, her shoulders squared and her head held high. I would never doubt her capability, but this storm was obviously a monster. Perhaps she should have taken Rafe up on his offer.
Once the door closed behind them, Della and I shared a dubious look. “Should we go?” she asked, waiting for my response.
Of all of them, I was the least necessary, but I couldn’t have stayed away. “Come on.”
Halfway to the tower, a gust of wind slammed into us. Doors and windows rattled and the rush of air screamed under the eaves. A torrent of rain had me and Della scuttling to reach the tower door.
