Sympathetic Magic

Chapter 1-2

“Was it something I said?” Lucas inquired of his cousin Connor, who had just gotten up from the table where he sat with Angela. Apparently he’d been heading over to inquire about the cake cutting, but he only made it a few feet before Lucas stopped him.

Connor’s mouth worked; Lucas could tell he was fighting back a grin. “I don’t know…what did you say to her?”

“Nothing much. In fact, I was so worried I’d end up offending her somehow that I didn’t say anything for the whole song.” He paused, his own mouth twisting. “Maybe that was the wrong approach. Maybe I should have said something about the weather or her dress or…well, something.”

“Lucas, I have a feeling it isn’t anything you said, or didn’t say. Margot Emory’s not exactly what I would call the friendly type.” A lift of the shoulders, and Connor added, “If you wanted to make life difficult for yourself, you definitely chose the right person to chase after.”

With that parting shot, he moved off in the direction of the resort’s banquet manager, who was standing off to one side with a slightly glazed expression on his face. Probably trying to figure out how everything had gone so well, considering how quickly this entire affair had been put together. Lucas could have tried explaining that was his gift, that any enterprise he was involved with tended to go off without a hitch, but he had a feeling that would only make the manager’s head explode…figuratively speaking, of course. No, better for him to simply think it was planning, planning, planning, and only a little bit of luck.

Lucas picked up a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and stared off in the direction of the parking lot, the direction where Margot had gone. It wouldn’t be that hard to track her down; he knew she lived in Jerome, even if he didn’t know the exact house. But if he drove up there now, he could allow his luck to guide him, and the odds were better than even that he’d end up parking his Porsche right in front of her place.

No, that was a terrible idea. She was already skittish as hell, and having him chase her up to her house would only make her go out and try to convince the other two McAllister elders that it was time to renew the anti-Wilcox wards that Angela had worked so hard to get removed from the little town’s limits.

Elder. Lucas shook his head and took a healthy swallow of champagne. Even though he knew it was a title of authority and not one that was necessarily reflective of a given person’s age, he found it difficult to apply that term to someone as lithe and lovely as Margot Emory. In fact, he’d gotten the impression that she was only a year or two younger than he, but she didn’t look like someone closer to forty than twenty. He wondered how she did it.

Magic? Maybe. He knew she’d certainly cast a spell on him.

He finished the glass of champagne and contemplated snagging another. It wasn’t as if he had to worry about driving, since he’d booked a room here at the resort. But he also didn’t want to get stupid drunk, not at Connor and Angela’s wedding reception. Half the McAllisters were giving him the side-eye already, and he knew he needed to behave himself.

So he grabbed a bottle of Perrier instead, then stood off on the sidelines as the happy couple headed to where the cake had been waiting in buttercream-frosted splendor this entire time, and went through the whole ritual of cutting the first piece and then feeding it to one another. Carefully, he noted — Angela had probably threatened Connor with some kind of whammy if he tried to smear cake all over her face. Then they went back to their seats, Angela moving a little slowly, as if her feet hurt. Poor kid. It was a long day for anyone, let alone a girl six months pregnant with twins.

When a waiter came up to offer Lucas a slice of the cake, he declined. He’d never had much of a sweet tooth. Anyway, he didn’t want cake. He wanted Margot Emory.

It surprised him, the force of that desire. He’d never been the type to obsess over a woman. If she was interested, great, but if not, someone else was always bound to come along instead. Some irony, that the luck which made every other facet of his existence so easy clearly didn’t work when it came to his love life. s*x life? Well, that was a different story. s*x was easy. But when he’d seen Margot for the first time last spring, at Connor’s gallery opening — well, Lucas finally understood what people meant when they made comments about being hit by Cupid’s arrow. He’d been struck, that was for damn sure.

More irony, that the woman he couldn’t get out of his mind was probably the last one he should be interested in. She definitely didn’t do anything to hide her dislike for the Wilcox clan and all it stood for, even though Connor and Angela were doing their damnedest to get people to understand that the clan was very different now that Connor was its leader, and not his brother Damon.

Well, it was certainly true that Damon hadn’t done much to improve relations between the clans — the opposite, really. And while Lucas still mourned the loss of Connor’s older brother, Lucas’ own cousin and friend — the tragic waste of all that potential — he couldn’t argue with that death. It had been necessary, and something Damon had brought on himself. Still, it hurt. Lucas had a lot of friends, but Damon had been one of the closest, despite their differences. And Damon…he’d been someone with many acquaintances, but only one or two he called “friend.”

But Lucas didn’t want to think about that now. Not here, at what should be a joyous occasion. He tried to tell himself that at least Margot had danced with him, hadn’t thrown her drink in his face or said something particularly cutting or tried to hurl a fireball at him. Well, to be fair, he wasn’t even sure she was capable of such a spell. He’d gathered from a few things Connor and Angela had said that Margot’s talents lay in spells of illusion, not anything openly aggressive.

All right, so she’d danced with him. And then promptly bolted from the scene, as if she couldn’t handle the realization that she’d allowed a Wilcox to manhandle her in front of all these people, many of them her own clan members. Her precipitous departure wasn’t precisely a slap in the face, but it sure felt like it.

Lucas let out a sigh, then went in search of a waiter. It felt like time for that next glass of champagne after all.