Page 15 of A Match Made in Coven (Paranormal Romance #2)

Chapter Fifteen

A Ditch of Feelings

LORCAN

After they left the casino and got back in the car, Sarah Michelle asked Lorcan to pull up at a gas station. As he waited, she hopped out and returned a minute later with a bag of cheese sticks.

Lorcan eyed the snacks. “Hungry?”

Sarah Michelle just smirked enigmatically. “Drive that way,” she directed, pointing toward a shabbier part of town.

As they turned down increasingly rundown streets, his nerves jangled. Wizards from old Mayflower families didn’t typically frequent these kinds of neighborhoods. Sarah Michelle must have sensed his unease.

“What’s wrong, rich boy? Not used to slumming it with us common folk?” She sounded amused.

Lorcan gritted his teeth. If only he’d let Salem MPD handle the case and hadn’t insisted on tagging along.

He could be back at home right now, feet up with a Frogguccino and the latest issue of Wizard Weekly .

Instead, here he was, driving into the seedy underbelly of an unknown town with a smart-mouthed witch who delighted in riling him.

They came to a stop on a dirt road barred by a rusty metal gate.

Without hesitation, Sarah Michelle grabbed the cheese sticks and hopped out of the car.

She was dressed in civilian clothes today, all black, with her silky hair loose around her shoulders.

The effect was just as bewitching as ever.

Lorcan thought maybe being in a dump wouldn’t be so bad if he was sharing with her.

As he stepped out to join her, he took in their grim surroundings. A ditch conveniently sized for body disposal ran alongside the road. He eyed Sarah Michelle warily.

“You’re not planning to murder me, are you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She moved closer. That maddening scent of hers wafted over him—fresh rain and vetiver with a smoky, earthy kick that threatened to scramble his wits. “We have to meet with my informant, remember?”

She headed for the gate, vaulting over it with a lithe grace that made Lorcan’s pulse quicken. Hex it, everything she did had become irresistible—the sassy quips, the confident stride, even how she kept threatening to shackle him. It was all getting under his skin in the best way.

Lorcan placed a hand on the gate and swung himself over easily. He didn’t miss her eyes widening in response before she glanced away. Satisfaction thrummed through him. At least he wasn’t the only one fighting an ill-advised attraction. The admiration definitely went both ways.

The heady realization sobered quickly as Lorcan’s feet crunched on the gravel-strewn road. A shiver of apprehension raced up his spine. They were in the middle of nowhere, heading toward an abandoned junkyard. Not another soul in sight.

He caught Sarah Michelle’s elbow, halting her. “Look, I pride myself on being the sort of wizard who rolls with the punches, but seriously, where are we going?”

She jerked her chin at the junkyard. “To see my informant.”

“And who, pray tell, lives here?”

A mysterious smile curved her lips. “Don’t be impatient.”

She continued up the road, but he caught her elbow again, gesturing to the cheese sticks clutched in her other hand. “Why did you bring those?”

Sarah Michelle blew out an exasperated breath. “If you’re scared, Lorcan, feel free to wait in the car.”

Overhead, a crow cawed, a raucous sound in the eerie quiet. Lorcan tilted his head, studying the sky. The sun had disappeared behind ominous gray clouds. Skeletal tree branches reached upward as if seeking escape—a sentiment he was beginning to relate to.

“I’m not scared,” he insisted. Though his galloping heart suggested otherwise.

She rolled her eyes. “Police work isn’t for everyone. You should’ve let me come alone.”

“Or we could’ve asked the bouncer at the casino,” Lorcan retorted. “He knew where the clandestine operations were. All we had to do was spell the information out of him.”

“If you were a real cop, you’d know we can’t use magic on unsuspecting humans unless it’s life or death.”

Lorcan cast another glance at the rusted metal and scattered debris. “Spend much more time here, and I’m pretty sure it will be death.”

“I didn’t ask you to come—the opposite, in fact. If you want to tag along, quit whining.”

“I’m not whining—” Lorcan began, then realized it was nearly impossible to say that without sounding like he was whining. He cleared his throat. “I’m just saying we should’ve brought a better weapon than cheese sticks.”

She patted her belt. “If push comes to shove, I’ve got my stunner.” Tilting her head, she smiled, a flash of white teeth against her bronzed skin.

That smile tugged at something in his chest, and Lorcan silently cursed himself for a fool. A smitten fool.

“Need me to hold your hand?” Her tone was sweet as a poisoned apple.

She was openly mocking him, and that tug in his chest happened again. He was a besotted idiot, and the witch had wrapped a magic lasso around his heart. Pointedly keeping his hands jammed in his pockets, Lorcan strode past her, heading directly toward what was likely certain doom.

They continued on until they stood smack in the center of the junkyard.

Lorcan halted, blinking up at the ramshackle structure that suddenly loomed before them.

If one searched “best places to commit murder” online, this would be the top result.

Like something out of every cheesy slasher movie he’d ever seen.

But honestly, he was less worried about a serial killer leaping out than he was about contracting tetanus from the jagged metal edges of the crumbling warehouse.

Hulking piles of junk littered the dirt—rusted vehicles, mildewed mattresses, splintered boards. And the stench… Sweet zombie breath, it was putrid. Lorcan wrinkled his nose, breathing through his mouth. This had better be worth it.

Unperturbed by the squalid surroundings, Sarah Michelle marched toward a massive discharge duct. She ripped open the cheese sticks package and waved it near the entrance, making a strange “Ch-ch-ch!” sound. “Riffy! Come on out, I know you’re in there.”

A large, filthy rat scurried out, beady eyes gleaming. “Detective Callidora, always a pleasure. How may I be of assistance today?” His unctuous tone made Lorcan’s skin crawl.

So when she’d mentioned her informant was a sewer rat, she’d meant it literally. Lorcan watched, oddly fascinated, as Sarah Michelle handed over the cheese sticks. The rat grasped them between his front paws, standing on his hind legs to nibble contentedly.

“I need information, Riffy. Clandestine gambling houses in town—what do you know?” Sarah Michelle crossed her arms, all business.

Riffy—Lorcan still couldn’t wrap his head around a rat informant named Riffy—swallowed a mouthful of processed cheese. “Well, I don’t have the specifics, but all that sort of thing ’round here is run by Silas.”

“Just Silas? No last name?”

The rat shrugged, an unnervingly human gesture. “Everyone knows him as Silas. He runs the illegal gambling and acts as a loan shark, too. Real nasty piece of work.” Riffy shuddered, whiskers twitching. “Bad news, that one.”

Lorcan went rigid, stomach twisting into knots as he imagined Elijah mixed up with such a criminal. What in the seven hells had his friend gotten himself into?

Sarah Michelle, ever pragmatic, asked, “Where can we find this Silas?”

“He’s got a bar, The Backroom, a couple miles from here. That’s where he conducts most of his business.” Riffy stuffed another cheese stick into his mouth, clearly done sharing.

The Backroom. Lorcan scoffed. How cliché could you get? An appropriate name for a bar run by thugs. Hopefully, they’d find answers and the trip to this tetanus-ridden dump wouldn’t have been for nothing.

He glanced at Sarah. She might be a grumpy, sarcastic thorn in his side, but damn if she wasn’t good at her job. Not that he’d ever tell her that. Couldn’t let it go to her pretty head.

“Well, then.” Lorcan injected a note of forced cheer in his tone. “Should we pay a visit to this Silas? I could do with a drink after this little adventure.”

Despite her eye roll, something sparked in her gaze. “Sure, Witchy Weekly ’s Best-Dressed Bachelor needs a stiff drink after visiting the slums. Why am I not surprised?”

“Hey, I never said it had to be stiff.” He winked, enjoying the flush that crept up her neck. “I’m easy like that.”

“Unfortunately, that will have to wait until tomorrow, rich boy.” She huffed out a laugh, shaking her head as she turned to leave.

“How come?” Lorcan followed, hands casually in his pockets.

“I don’t know about you, but on October twenty-nine, I have to attend a coven dinner celebrating the end of the Salem Witch Trials. And I can’t be late.”

“Oh, so my family is not the only one still hung up on these traditions.”

She turned, eyebrow arched. “Don’t all the old magical families hold on to the past?”

“Regretfully so.”

Her cheeks grew pinker, but she ignored the comment. “Come on, Black, let’s get out of this dump.”

Ah, they might depart the junkyard unscathed after all, but the ditch of uncomfortable feelings splitting him in half kept on filling up with more complicated emotions.