Defensive Magic: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 3) by Kate Baray
Authors: Kate Baray
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Carlos tried to stand and staggered, his forelegs crumpling under him. He struggled to rise, and then, suddenly, he simply stopped, completely still. John’s intent gaze never left him. As soon as Carlos gave up, John let out a high-pitched, yelping bark. Carlos shuddered at the sound, his muscles rippling and twitching—but he didn’t stand. John darted in close and muzzle-punched his exposed neck, backing away quickly. A low and persistent whine grated in Lizzie’s ears. She didn’t want to watch any longer, but to look away would be to say she was ashamed of John. And she wasn’t. She was incredibly sad, but she wasn’t ashamed of him.
The whine stopped a fraction of a second before the human form of Carlos appeared again. In a low, strained voice, he said, “End it. For god’s sake, just end it.”
John spared a quick look at each of Carlos’s enforcers, then he took the man’s neck in his massive jaws—almost gently—and with one sharp movement Carlos was gone, his spinal column severed.
John walked in the direction of the truck, changing forms as he moved, never breaking his stride. She’d never seen him change so fluidly, moving from one form to the next with such grace. He usually stopped a moment to accustom himself to his new shape. Her eyes narrowed. This was still part of the show. It was a power display. John’s enforcers joined him, again flanking him, completing the picture.
When the two groups of men converged, they were only a few feet from the truck. John spoke first—or, rather, the Arizona enforcers deferred, waiting for John to speak first.
His tone was polite enough in a detached way, but the words were calculated to inspire fear and respect. “I wouldn’t want anyone to say Texas was less than generous. You’ve got a half hour to bury your dead. After that, if either of you are seen doing anything but driving out of the state, we’ll have a discussion.”
As John spoke, Scott had retrieved two shovels from the back of the Escalade. There were also jugs of water and trash bags stowed neatly in the back.
How had she missed something so prophetic as trash bags and shovels mere feet away from her in the truck? Her nostrils flared slightly in disgust as she thought about the secret stash of cleanup supplies stored directly behind her on the drive here. Better she hadn’t known. She grappled with several emotions she knew she shouldn’t be projecting right now. She finally settled on one distracting and hardly relevant thought: Why was it always the small details that made the most traumatic events even more real?
John, Ben, and finally Scott joined her in the truck.
As Ben started the car, Lizzie asked, “So we’re not staying until they’re done?”
John hadn’t made eye contact with her for more than a split second since he’d gotten in the car. He looked out the window as Scott answered her question. “They wouldn’t dare do anything but what they’re told.”
Good point.
“When are the Perrys back in town?” Scott asked.
Ben answered, “Two weeks, I think. But they won’t be out on the property for at least another month.”
“What the…?” Lizzie said before she even realized she was speaking. “I thought this was private property?”
“It is. No one said it was our private property,” John said. He glanced over at her, and she saw him take a visibly deep breath. She suspected that he was trying to gauge the state of her emotions. That was okay, because her primary reaction to what had happened was relief that he was still alive.
“You bury dead bodies on someone else’s private property?” Lizzie asked incredulously.
“What—we should bury bodies on our own property? That doesn’t seem like a bright idea.”
Okay, now John had to be messing with her. She would not point out all the ways what they were doing was horribly wrong and how it might create huge problems for them in the future. Like, go-to-prison problems, she thought with a
Carlos tried to stand and staggered, his forelegs crumpling under him. He struggled to rise, and then, suddenly, he simply stopped, completely still. John’s intent gaze never left him. As soon as Carlos gave up, John let out a high-pitched, yelping bark. Carlos shuddered at the sound, his muscles rippling and twitching—but he didn’t stand. John darted in close and muzzle-punched his exposed neck, backing away quickly. A low and persistent whine grated in Lizzie’s ears. She didn’t want to watch any longer, but to look away would be to say she was ashamed of John. And she wasn’t. She was incredibly sad, but she wasn’t ashamed of him.
The whine stopped a fraction of a second before the human form of Carlos appeared again. In a low, strained voice, he said, “End it. For god’s sake, just end it.”
John spared a quick look at each of Carlos’s enforcers, then he took the man’s neck in his massive jaws—almost gently—and with one sharp movement Carlos was gone, his spinal column severed.
John walked in the direction of the truck, changing forms as he moved, never breaking his stride. She’d never seen him change so fluidly, moving from one form to the next with such grace. He usually stopped a moment to accustom himself to his new shape. Her eyes narrowed. This was still part of the show. It was a power display. John’s enforcers joined him, again flanking him, completing the picture.
When the two groups of men converged, they were only a few feet from the truck. John spoke first—or, rather, the Arizona enforcers deferred, waiting for John to speak first.
His tone was polite enough in a detached way, but the words were calculated to inspire fear and respect. “I wouldn’t want anyone to say Texas was less than generous. You’ve got a half hour to bury your dead. After that, if either of you are seen doing anything but driving out of the state, we’ll have a discussion.”
As John spoke, Scott had retrieved two shovels from the back of the Escalade. There were also jugs of water and trash bags stowed neatly in the back.
How had she missed something so prophetic as trash bags and shovels mere feet away from her in the truck? Her nostrils flared slightly in disgust as she thought about the secret stash of cleanup supplies stored directly behind her on the drive here. Better she hadn’t known. She grappled with several emotions she knew she shouldn’t be projecting right now. She finally settled on one distracting and hardly relevant thought: Why was it always the small details that made the most traumatic events even more real?
John, Ben, and finally Scott joined her in the truck.
As Ben started the car, Lizzie asked, “So we’re not staying until they’re done?”
John hadn’t made eye contact with her for more than a split second since he’d gotten in the car. He looked out the window as Scott answered her question. “They wouldn’t dare do anything but what they’re told.”
Good point.
“When are the Perrys back in town?” Scott asked.
Ben answered, “Two weeks, I think. But they won’t be out on the property for at least another month.”
“What the…?” Lizzie said before she even realized she was speaking. “I thought this was private property?”
“It is. No one said it was our private property,” John said. He glanced over at her, and she saw him take a visibly deep breath. She suspected that he was trying to gauge the state of her emotions. That was okay, because her primary reaction to what had happened was relief that he was still alive.
“You bury dead bodies on someone else’s private property?” Lizzie asked incredulously.
“What—we should bury bodies on our own property? That doesn’t seem like a bright idea.”
Okay, now John had to be messing with her. She would not point out all the ways what they were doing was horribly wrong and how it might create huge problems for them in the future. Like, go-to-prison problems, she thought with a
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