Headlights turned off of Main Street and ventured toward her. The downtown streets were constructed of red bricks that had shifted over time to make for bumpy roads. The lights bounced as the slow-moving car neared where she stood close to the Crimson Tavern’s door.
The locals treated her like a stranger, but she didn’t mind. The solitary hours gave her time to romanticize a make-believe life she was living. A light fog lined the street as if exhaled from windows. The historic buildings squished close together could have been from the 1800s. If she ignored the modern dresses in the store windows, she could pretend she walked through history on the evening streets of London. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine the sound of horse hooves and carriage wheels.
Jennifer lifted her hand to block the headlights as they passed. The bright flash of high beams brought her out of her thoughts and blinded her to who was driving.
Walking alone at night in Green Vallis was relatively safe. The biggest threat was Mrs. Callister, the town gossip, who was always trying to take everyone’s pictures. Jennifer was tired of seeing her blurry face on the woman’s blog. The woman posted them next to speculation about what really went on inside Crimson Tavern.
Waitressing. Waitressing went on. Cheap beer and cheaper come-on lines.
Jennifer spent hours on her feet, fetching burgers, and refilling drinks. It wasn’t glamorous, but at least it was honest. She liked honest. It was also boring.
The car turned the corner, and darkness once more covered the street.
“Fifty bucks that was Callister,” Kay said from behind her as the door to the building closed slowly. The sound of the spark wheel on the woman’s lighter punctuated the words as she attempted to light her cigarette. “Bitch posted a photo of me tripping the other day and insinuated I was drunk. I swear she photoshopped an extra ten pounds on my ass too.”
Kay spoke in a gravelly volume even the most foulmouthed of sailors would envy, yet her swearing only seemed to amuse the regulars who came more for the drink than the food. They had worked together for about three months. She took a significant amount of smoke breaks, often leaving Jennifer to pick up the work slack.
“Last week she implied we turn tricks in the storage room.” Jennifer picked a piece of fuzz off her shirt and dropped it into the slight breeze. With a sigh, she turned toward the door. Since Kay was outside, that meant no one was watching the tables.
“Yeah, right between the giant cans of ketchup and extra napkins.” Kay laughed. The sound was followed by a cough.
“Under the glow of the swinging light bulb hanging on its wire,” Jennifer added.
“You turn on the lights?” Kay laughed harder. “Hell, girl, I charge extra if they want to look at all this.”
“We’d be taking home a lot more than fifteen dollars an hour if we were providing extra services.” Jennifer opened the door. The fifteen was only after tips on a jam-packed weekend night. The rest of the time, she didn’t even want to think about it.
“Too bad none of the MacGregors have been coming in.” Kay took a long drag off the cigarette. As she continued, smoke billowed from her lips. “Now there’s a few guys I wouldn’t mind taking to the storage room.”
“Which ones?” Jennifer asked.
“Any of them,” Kay said. “As my grandma used to say, they’re all fine as frog hair.”
“I should get back to it.” Jennifer pasted a smile on her face for the customers as she stepped back inside.
She didn’t know the MacGregors personally but had heard plenty of gossip about them. A family of kilt-wearing Scottish hotties had moved into the giant house overlooking town a few years ago. They were nobility or hotel moguls or the descendants of the guy who’d invented the vegetable peeler.
She doubted much of it was true. Out of boredom, she’d looked up the inventor of the vegetable peeler. It was a man named Alfred Neweczerzal from Switzerland or some such place. The sexy kilt-wearing part was real. She’d seen a few of the men around town.
One of Kay’s customers lifted his hand to get her attention. Several others tried to make eye contact with her. Jennifer let the thoughts slip from her mind as she fell into the rhythm of work.
Chapter Three
Rory MacGregor wasn’t exactly sure what he’d done to deserve his current predicament. The last thing he remembered was having a drink with his cousins Iain, Erik, Euann, and Kenneth. He wasn’t sure how they’d gotten on the topic, but they’d been reminiscing about past magickal failures. There were plenty of times a poorly aimed energy ball had boomeranged around to zap one of them in the ass like an errant firework. Literally, the ass. Rory had burnt more than one kilt.
Yeah, he’d done plenty over the centuries, but he didn’t know which of those things this was paying back. Was it for the time he’d trapped Iain in an enchanted chicken coop in the 1800s after his cousin had shifted into bird form? Rory had left him there as a human and sold tickets to local farmers to see the chicken-man.
Or was it from several months back, when he’d shot out all of Euann’s security cameras in the woods surrounding the MacGregor property for the second time? For a warlock who could cast magickal protection spells, Euann liked playing with tech a little too much.
Rory had convinced a king to let Kenneth sing opera for the royal court. But, to be fair, that was only because Kenneth had stolen his kilt while he’d been swimming and left him with a woman’s dress. So Rory had been the one to repay that particular prank.
He’d enchanted Erik’s car. And his horse. And his sword. And, well, also his boxer shorts.
Maybe it was because he’d helped himself to Uncle Raibeart’s not-so-secret stash of old scotch. That had been a fun couple of nights.
He’d dyed Uncle Fergus’s English bulldog pink. Traitor hadn’t seemed to mind his new coloring. In fact, Traitor didn’t mind much of anything.
The list was endless. Pranks were a MacGregor family trademark. Whatever the reason, Rory was pretty much screwed until this spell wore off.
Rory tried to stretch his arms and legs. The rope binding him to the tree held firm with the help of magick. They contained some kind of binding spell that kept his magick inert. If he struggled, the binds would only become tighter. As far as revenge went, this wasn’t so bad. The temperature was mild, and the air fresh. Moonlight came through the treetops to create dancing spots on the forest floor.
Soft thumps sounded on the nearby path. Maybe he’d dismissed the vulnerability of this prank too soon.
Rory tensed, wondering what shenanigans his cousins had planned for him. He tried to wriggle free, but the binds tightened, causing the bark to rub uncomfortably against his flesh. That’s when he realized nothing protected his bare ass from the tree.
Of course, he was naked beneath the ropes. Why wouldn’t he be? It would be funnier to make him run nude through the forest back to the mansion where he lived with his extended family.
The ropes kept his body stationary so he could only turn his head to watch. A tiny black ball of fluff barreled down the path. At first, he wasn’t sure if it was a dog or a miniature bear cub.
“Arf,” came a high-pitched bark.
The puppy tripped over his feet, rolling headfirst before continuing without barely missing a beat. This prank just became weird. Were his cousins trying to cute him to death?