Page 83 of Discovered Magic
Abbie put on a show for anyone watching, hoping the long trek from the outhouse hadn’t given her away. She was a fool not to realize the difference in her gait earlier. But then again, neither did Royal, so maybe she’d escaped notice.
“What’s up, Si?” Royal asked as they entered.
The group was gathered around a rustic wooden table. Dirty plates leftover from breakfast were scattered about, reminding Abbie how much she missed a quality dishwasher.
A seventh man had joined their gang, it seemed, and he held the place of honor to Silas’s right.
She knew him.
Draven.
Somehow, some way, he’d found her.
No recognition flared in his eyes as he looked at her, and she dropped her gaze, hoping she didn’t give him away.
“Phil here”—Silas motioned to Draven—“just got word Globe received a silver shipment.”
Royal glanced at Draven and frowned. “Phil?”
“You remember Phil. He helped us on the…” Silas glanced at Draven. “Which job was it again?”
The Guardian took a long drag of his cheroot, then blew out six perfect Os, each one encircling the outlaws’ heads.
“Prescott,” he purred.
Glassy-eyed, they all nodded as one. “Prescott,” they repeated obediently.
Group hypnosis. Clever!
“My friend Jonesy will be joining us for this one. Hope you boys don’t mind,” Draven added with a smirk.
Again, they nodded.
“Excellent.” Raising his voice, he called, “Come on in, Jonesy.”
Maybe she expected to see Jonas, or even Nate, so when her father, sporting ginger-colored hair and a scruffy beard, stepped through the back door, her jaw dropped.
“You know him?” Royal asked in a low, suspicious voice.
“Uh, no. It’s just… he’s a beast,” she replied. Both true statements. She hadn’t met her father in any real sense of the word, certainly not as Abbie, and the guy was freaking huge, standing at least six-five with muscle befitting a gladiator.
“Who’s the bleedin’ wench?” Castor asked with a scowl, leaning heavily into a cockney accent. He came across as a misplaced pirate, probably perfect for this band of misfits. “I don’t hold with no women on board.”
“That’s a ship,” Royal replied dryly. “And it’s superstition at best.”
“Well, I ain’t likin’ it now, am I?” Castor grumbled, pulling a pipe out of his pocket and jamming it into his mouth with a harrumph.
It was all she could do not to laugh despite the seriousness of the situation.
“I can wait outside,” she choked out.
“Nonsense.” Draven waved away Castor’s fake objection and rose to his feet.
Whatever game they were playing, she had no intention of spoiling it. She stood her ground as he approached, striving to look slightly nervous but defiant.
“No one could possibly object to so lovely a lady,” he said, trailing his fingers along her smooth cheek. Her skin tingled where he’d touched. “But why are you here, with this bunch, when you should be dining in the finest houses, wearing the most beautiful of dresses and jewels?” he asked seductively.
Her breath caught. When he wanted to, Draven could turn up the charm.
