that the
smaller crowds and ample fish in Luzerne County make it the perfect location
for outings.”
A stunned silence lasted until Morgan addressed the next
issue the priestesses had brought up. “Work with local law enforcement agencies
to place signs lakeside about littering. And then use witches to patrol for the
worst offenders. Be sure to get physical evidence that can be shown to
the vanilla humans. You will need photographs of the offenders in action and
their license plate numbers so they can be tracked. Don’t simply rely on
intuition and water quality to prove your points. Human authorities don’t care
for these things.”
It sounded as if he were speaking to children. Any witch
with common sense would understand these issues. And yet one of the women argued with him that photographs weren’t needed if they had the debris in hand.
“You may discard my wisdom and do as you will. That is your
prerogative,” Morgan said dryly. “But you may not discard my wisdom and then
bring this issue to this table again in the future. Is that understood?”
Morgan had taken a hard stance on something? The man had
always soothed ruffled feathers and stroked egos at the cost of his own honor.
Was this a hint he’d changed?
“Thank you for your indulgence and patience, priestesses.”
A fluke , it must have been a one-time fluke, because
those were the flowery parting words of a spineless man.
Chapter Four
The older gentleman’s eyes focused on Brook repeatedly.
Though Irvin wasn’t the only witch in the room aware of her presence, he was
the only one who gave her that knowing smile. So it came as no surprise when he
sidled up beside her moments after Morgan began mingling.
“He looks like shit,” Irvin said in quiet amusement. “Did he
sleep last night?”
“You’d have to ask him. ”
She was focused on her client. Brook didn’t appreciate the
distraction Irvin presented. It was difficult enough to filter through all of
the constantly changing emotional signatures. Four kinds of envy were felt from
different corners of the room. Two kinds of anger, a dash of happiness and a
healthy coating of misery joined them. As usual she measured the threat levels
but deemed the situation safe for now. No one in the room wanted to kill anyone
else—at least not seriously.
Irvin ignored her obvious cues. “Will you be going to
Friday’s fund-raising dinner?”
She didn’t bother glancing at him. “Wherever Priest Seaton
goes, I go until the situation is resolved.”
“Then I look forward to a dance with the best Ranger in the
country.”
Brook’s attention snapped to the older male’s face. His
expression skirted smirk territory while maintaining gravity. But she was too
caught on what he’d said to contemplate his mood.
There would be dancing at this dinner. And he
expected her to join in.
She opened her mouth to argue only to have the mayor’s
vanilla human wife interrupt. Brook would have to hold her arguments about
Ranger duty and witch safety for another time.
Irvin redeemed himself by parading a half-dozen witches past
Brook while she discreetly guarded the regional priest. He introduced her not
as the Water Ranger intent on ferretting out the bad element but rather as an
old friend of Morgan ’ s who was
interested in perhaps moving to the area. The reactions she got from the locals
were what she ’ d come to expect of
clients—her mannish attire and masculine mannerisms didn ’ t trip anyone ’ s
sense of competitiveness.
Irvin, however, wasn ’ t
the only one to flirt. Two men a few years older openly leered even as they
pretended to be interested in her story. Brook filed Norman Foster and Gerald
Maxwell ’ s names away as people to
avoid at the fund-raising dinner.
An hour of careful observation passed before the regional
priest extracted himself from the chatty organization members. He murmured it
was time to go home. They easily passed by several humans and witches on