Page 8 of Captivating Magic

“Use my phone and call my cousin Alastair if that makes you feel better. He’s skilled at healing, and he can also help us with your other… uh, issue,” he said after casting Niall the side eye.

The subtle hint registered. They needed Niall gone, not just because he shouldn’t be there when another witch arrived to heal Lo, which she assumed was possible, but because her resident spook could start throwing items around in a fit of rage at any moment.

Ebba hadn’t had time to wrap her mind around Lo’s claim that hers was the spirit haunting the place. What the hell did any of that truly mean anyway? With a minute shake of her head, sheurged Niall to return to his place, citing she didn’t want him to get into trouble when the police showed up with the doctor.

“Doctor?” Lo murmured as Niall hightailed it toward the lopsided door.

“In my mind, your cousin is a witch doctor. What else would you call someone who heals witches?”

His chuckle stole the chill from her bones, and although she wanted to join in the amusement, she refrained.

“Al will get a laugh from that one.” He reached up and brushed the curls from her eyes. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner, Ebba. It had to be hurtful to find out the way you did.”

A mere shrug was her attempt at hiding her discomfort and upset. Of all the people in the world who she believed would never lie to her, Liz was her number one and Mack was her number two. Lo didn’t necessarily rank since they’d only been friends in passing. To discover the opposite was devastating, but she didn’t want to discuss it while he needed help.

After shifting the device to capture Lo’s face and unlock the screen, she scrolled through his contacts until she found the one she sought. “Alastair Thorne? He’s the only one with that first name.”

“That’s him.”

When the man on the other end of the line answered, her eyes about rolled back in her head from the pleasure his deep, cultured voice caused. He could make millions operating a sex hotline. Before she could stop herself, she said as much. Laszlo sputtered his indignation at the same time Alastair barked out a laugh. Oddly, it was the rusty sound, as if he rarely released his humor, that snapped her back to reality.

“Oh, uh, sorry.” The skin of her face felt like it had been seared by the noon-day sun for five days running. “Yeah, Lo is hurt and wanted me to call you, Mr. Thorne.”

“Please send me the address and a picture of your apartment, my dear.”

Confused but willing, she did as requested. Before she’d finished speaking, a blond-haired man, who appeared to be in his mid-to-late forties, was standing in her living room. There was no time to appreciate his chiseled features or Old Hollywood flare. Her mind was still trying to process how he’d materialized from thin air.

“What the actual fuck?”

For someone who rarely swore, her exclamations that day were as emphatic as it got.

Laszlo sputtered a laugh.His head ached like a bitch, but Ebba’s mind had to be scrambled at this point, especially if she was reduced to swearing. Although she tended to be freer with those close to her, she usually retained the small niceties and refused to utter expletives around those she wasn’t acquainted with. At least until she encountered a trying situation like the one they were currently dealing with. Between learning of the Thorne family’s magical status and that her soul had split, likely from her recent accident, she was experiencing information overload. There were exceptions to her extreme-situation swearing rule—calling him a “dick” had been one. She couldn’t hang with the Thornes and not pick up afewbad habits.

“What happened?” Alastair’s forbidding tone jerked Lo from his musing.

“I tripped.”

His cousin’s blond brows shot upward, and disbelief was heavy in his tone when he said,“You?”

Stifling another laugh, Lo nodded and immediately regretted it when his pain transitioned from throbbing to migraineintensity. Hissing in a breath, he gripped his head between his hands.

Ebba released a distressed meep and returned to apply pressure to his wound.

“Who helped you along on thistrip?” Al asked dryly, making a point not to glance at the scantily clad Ebba’s chest.

“A mountain of a man, but he’s been dealt with.” Lo sucked in a breath as he eased to a sitting position, wishing like hell he hadn’t, as sharp, shooting pain pierced his temple. Ignoring Alastair’s penetrating gaze, he said, “Go ahead and get that look of promised retribution off your face, cuz. There will be no revenge today.”

“How about tomorrow?” asked another voice he didn’t recognize.

Leaning slightly sideways, Laszlo sought the source behind Alastair’s pristine-suited form. The man was big, much bigger than Lo’s six-foot frame, and possessed a shoulder-length mane of white-blond hair. His eyes were an icy blue but, oddly, contained a wealth of warmth, as evidenced by the crinkles beside those disconcerting peepers.

“Thanks for the backup, Castor, but I believe your services won’t be needed after all.” An engaging grin threatened to transform Alastair’s visage to friendly instead of imposing.

Castor’s gaze swept Ebba’s form, and an unidentifiable look flashed in his eyes before a spark of interest flared to life. “Speak for yourself, Al. The lady has a mind and tongue of her own. I’m dearly hoping she’s in dire need of myservices,” he said with a roguish grin.

Irritated by the man’s high-handed attitude, Laszlo tapped Ebba’s sagging jaw shut and growled, “You’re catching flies.” Lowering his voice, he added, “And you might want to put on a shirt, Sweet.”

“Nonsense.” She swatted his hand and scowled but never took her shining eyes from Castor. How had she gone from flashing cow eyes athimto watching another man like a starving puppy eyeing a burger? “This covers more than my bikini, and I have company.”

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