Page 55 of Seven Secret Spellcasters
She continued up the narrow dirt road that now was winding up a mountainside. Whoever lived here liked being remote. If she hadn’t been looking for the property, she would have missed the road and the mailbox.
Then the road turned, and suddenly, she was in a clearing with a view of the Magic Mountains behind the old cabin that sat on the lot.
She turned off the engine and noticed smoke coming out of the chimney.
Edmund Pevensie must be home.
CHAPTER22
For the first time since she’d turned off the highway, Mia felt a twinge of fear. Maybe this had been a bad idea. Maybe she should start the car, drive back down the dirt road, and head to Trent’s. Cerby would keep her safe. She knew now that he was sent for her protection.
And yet, here she was, at a remote cabin in the woods, getting ready to see if the guy who had set up Howard’s rafting trip lived there.
She was living out the too-stupid-to-live scenario.
The door opened, and a tall man stepped out.
It was too late to run and hide. If the man meant her harm, he had already seen her face. And probably her license plate. People who built rural cabins like this tended to have security cameras everywhere.
She took a breath and stepped out of the car. She paused for a second, then shut the door and stepped closer. “Edmund Pevensie, I presume?”
“I’m not hiding in the jungles of Africa, but yes, I use that name, or I do at times. You’re Mia Malone, the surprisingly talented kitchen witch.” He stepped off the porch and came closer. “I’d shake your hand, but I seem to have somewhat of a Midas touch, at least when it comes to females. I don’t want your boyfriend to come looking for me.” He smiled, and Mia noticed his eyes were kind.
“You’re the incubus.” Mia almost had called him “Blake’s incubus,” but she’d stopped herself in time.
“Guilty as charged, but seriously, we get a bad rap. Come in and have a cup of tea with me. I promise I’ll keep my hands off you.” He held out a hand, motioning toward the cabin.
Mia looked down at her necklace. It hadn’t turned from purple to red, which was her sign that danger was near. She’d come here for answers. It was stupid to walk, or run, away without them. “That would be nice, thank you.”
She followed him into the cabin, which, for all of its rustic flavor outside, looked like it had just been set up and photographed for a magazine shoot. Luxury furniture; a large eighty-inch flat screen; and a walnut desk with a computer on the top. A notebook and pens were also on the desk. A bookshelf overflowing with books was next to it.
She stepped closer to the bookshelves to examine the titles. “You must be a big reader.”
“I am, but most of those are mine. I’m J.C. Hart, or at least that’s my pen name. I’m currently writing what they call historical romance. Mostly for me, it’s a memoir. I’m in love with love, what can I say?” He walked over with a tray service for the tea. “I’ve been expecting a visit from you. Or your police officer friend.”
“So you knew Alfred Howard.” Mia sat on the couch, watching him.
“Al and I were friends for years. Centuries, actually. We had some fun years. He was the money guy, and I . . . well, I brought the female companionship to the party. But that was years ago. We’ve both mellowed with age. Well, I should say Al had mellowed.” He stood and picked up a photo from the bookshelf. “This is us in New Orleans. We stayed for years. The party never stopped.”
Mia looked at a much-younger Edmund with a shorter man who was clearly Howard. She smiled at the way the men had their arms around each other and were grinning like fools into the camera. “You made the arrangements for the rafting trip. Were you looking for treasure?”
“What?” Edmund took the frame from Mia and put it back on the shelf. “No, there’s no treasure on that stretch of the river. Unless you count the heartbreaking beauty of the scenery as treasure. We were going to enjoy the rafting. Al was looking forward to it. He took the assignment to look into your boyfriend, his hellhound, and his dragon so we could go on the trip and use the coven’s dime for the costs. Alfred Howard was a rich man. He stayed that way by not paying for anything that he could get someone else to finance.”
“You’re saying he was cheap.” Mia sipped her tea.
Edmund grinned. “Rich men always are. But Al was so kind and generous, at least when it came to giving of his talents.”
“You didn’t kill him,” Mia stated, knowing in her heart she was right.
Edmund sipped his tea, then set down the cup. “No, but I’m afraid I might have been partly responsible for his death.”
“In what way?” Mia set her own cup down. It didn’t feel laced with anything, but she was new enough that she might not know.
“I was the one who nudged Marsha to have questions about Cerby. She would have let it go—she’s friends with the Majors family—but I gave her a push because I knew they’d send Al. We’d been looking for an opportunity to do this for years, but he wouldn’t come unless someone paid him to be here. Like I said, he was all about making the money.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “I wish I had the power to turn back time. My friend would still be around.”
“Why did Howard show up at Trent’s house rather than his dad’s? Was he coming here?” Mia was trying to think through Howard’s last days and make sense of them.
Edmund leaned forward, his eyes widening as he heard something Mia couldn’t. “Sorry, I believe we have guests. Your baby dragon is near your car, and a truck is coming up the driveway.”
