Sympathetic Magic (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 4) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Christine Pope
along the line. Now, though, with this new joining of the clans, she realized she could go there…if she dared.
Her mother lifted an eyebrow and finally took a sip of her tea. “Not even to see your new friend?”
“Friend?” Margot asked, although she thought she knew exactly who her mother was talking about.
“The tall one…you know…who you danced with at the reception.”
More than ever she found herself regretting that single foolish lapse in judgment. It seemed everyone was conspiring to get her together with Lucas Wilcox. Well, all right, not everyone — she had no doubt that Bryce McAllister and Allegra Moss would be properly horrified if hers and Lucas’ “relationship,” if one could call it that, were to progress any further than that one ill-advised dance.
“If you mean Lucas Wilcox,” Margot said, not bothering to hide the irritation in her voice, “he is not my ‘friend,’ and I have no intention of going to Flagstaff to see him, or for any other reason.”
“Too bad,” her mother replied, her placid expression saying that she was used by now to her daughter’s curtness. “He’s a handsome one.”
“He’s a Wilcox.”
“So? Being with a Wilcox seems to be working fairly well for our prima. ”
This was ridiculous. Connor’s and Angela’s was a very special case, a relationship that apparently had been preordained by the Goddess. Margot wouldn’t question the situation, as it was clear they were meant to be together, but one fated pairing didn’t mean it was suddenly open season on all the Wilcox men. Maybe her mother could forget how Damon Wilcox had kidnapped Angela right from her bedroom, and how his grandfather had attempted to do the same thing with Aunt Ruby back in the day, but Margot’s own memory wasn’t quite so short. Yes, according to Angela, Lucas had nothing to do with Damon’s plots, had actually tried to talk him out of the kidnapping, but that didn’t change the fact that he was born a Wilcox, was still a Wilcox, and would be a Wilcox until the day he died.
Just as she was a McAllister. Oh, her last name was Emory, but her grandmother had been Amanda McAllister, and so Margot was as much a part of the clan as anyone. More so, as she was an elder. And a McAllister elder couldn’t go off dallying with one of the Wilcoxes, no matter how good-looking he might be.
And that, she thought, is a big part of the problem. Those Wilcox men…they definitely have the “tall, dark, and handsome” thing down pat. I doubt they’d be as much trouble if they didn’t.
“Mother, if you’ve only come up here to ask whether I’m seeing Lucas Wilcox, the short answer is no, I’m not, and the slightly longer answer is, no, I am not, and never will.”
For a few seconds her mother didn’t say anything, only drummed her fingers against the glazed ceramic surface of the teacup she held. At last she said, her tone far gentler than her daughter’s, “Margot, being an elder doesn’t mean you have to live your life alone. That’s not what anyone intended.”
Oh, why was it that mothers always knew the exact wrong thing to say? Even after all these years, the hurt stirred within her, waking memories she’d worked far too hard to put away. “Maybe that’s not what they intended,” she said shortly. “But that seems to be how it’s working out.”
----
B efore Lucas knew it , October arrived, and with it the first gusts of colder air. People on the streets started wearing jackets and boots. One morning he looked out his kitchen window and saw frost on the grass, and realized the first snows of late autumn might only be a month away.
He thought he’d done a good job of trying to forget about Margot. There were days of golf with his friends while the trees around them shifted into brilliant shades of gold and red and orange. He puttered in the garden, had dinner at Connor and Angela’s house — that girl definitely knew how to cook — read the financial papers
Her mother lifted an eyebrow and finally took a sip of her tea. “Not even to see your new friend?”
“Friend?” Margot asked, although she thought she knew exactly who her mother was talking about.
“The tall one…you know…who you danced with at the reception.”
More than ever she found herself regretting that single foolish lapse in judgment. It seemed everyone was conspiring to get her together with Lucas Wilcox. Well, all right, not everyone — she had no doubt that Bryce McAllister and Allegra Moss would be properly horrified if hers and Lucas’ “relationship,” if one could call it that, were to progress any further than that one ill-advised dance.
“If you mean Lucas Wilcox,” Margot said, not bothering to hide the irritation in her voice, “he is not my ‘friend,’ and I have no intention of going to Flagstaff to see him, or for any other reason.”
“Too bad,” her mother replied, her placid expression saying that she was used by now to her daughter’s curtness. “He’s a handsome one.”
“He’s a Wilcox.”
“So? Being with a Wilcox seems to be working fairly well for our prima. ”
This was ridiculous. Connor’s and Angela’s was a very special case, a relationship that apparently had been preordained by the Goddess. Margot wouldn’t question the situation, as it was clear they were meant to be together, but one fated pairing didn’t mean it was suddenly open season on all the Wilcox men. Maybe her mother could forget how Damon Wilcox had kidnapped Angela right from her bedroom, and how his grandfather had attempted to do the same thing with Aunt Ruby back in the day, but Margot’s own memory wasn’t quite so short. Yes, according to Angela, Lucas had nothing to do with Damon’s plots, had actually tried to talk him out of the kidnapping, but that didn’t change the fact that he was born a Wilcox, was still a Wilcox, and would be a Wilcox until the day he died.
Just as she was a McAllister. Oh, her last name was Emory, but her grandmother had been Amanda McAllister, and so Margot was as much a part of the clan as anyone. More so, as she was an elder. And a McAllister elder couldn’t go off dallying with one of the Wilcoxes, no matter how good-looking he might be.
And that, she thought, is a big part of the problem. Those Wilcox men…they definitely have the “tall, dark, and handsome” thing down pat. I doubt they’d be as much trouble if they didn’t.
“Mother, if you’ve only come up here to ask whether I’m seeing Lucas Wilcox, the short answer is no, I’m not, and the slightly longer answer is, no, I am not, and never will.”
For a few seconds her mother didn’t say anything, only drummed her fingers against the glazed ceramic surface of the teacup she held. At last she said, her tone far gentler than her daughter’s, “Margot, being an elder doesn’t mean you have to live your life alone. That’s not what anyone intended.”
Oh, why was it that mothers always knew the exact wrong thing to say? Even after all these years, the hurt stirred within her, waking memories she’d worked far too hard to put away. “Maybe that’s not what they intended,” she said shortly. “But that seems to be how it’s working out.”
----
B efore Lucas knew it , October arrived, and with it the first gusts of colder air. People on the streets started wearing jackets and boots. One morning he looked out his kitchen window and saw frost on the grass, and realized the first snows of late autumn might only be a month away.
He thought he’d done a good job of trying to forget about Margot. There were days of golf with his friends while the trees around them shifted into brilliant shades of gold and red and orange. He puttered in the garden, had dinner at Connor and Angela’s house — that girl definitely knew how to cook — read the financial papers
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