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Thursday, 9 P.M.

  Waxing moon Oslo, Norway

  Spells: 3

  Dead guys: 1

  I t’s so friggin’ cold my tits actually hurt from pointing hard. Actually, Norway’s not a bad place. The people are sweet and it’s clean. But it’s too damn frigid for me.

  I hear they have this hotel nearby that’s made totally out of ice. People pay three hundred dollars a pop to sleep on a frozen slab of water. Idiots.

  If they want to sleep with something cold they should shack up with Miles. That guy’s an iceberg. Something’s crawling up his pants these days because he’s even nastier than usual. And that’s pretty damn bad.

  After a whopping three hours of sleep, the jerk banged on my door. I stumbled across the room in the dark and flipped the lock. Before I could say anything, he pushed the door wide and walked in.

  “Miles, fancy seeing you here. Didn’t you see the sign on the door? It says ‘Do Not Disturb.’” I pointed to the placard on the knob.

  “I can read, Bronwyn. The prime minister has a meeting with Sheik Azir. You’ve got to make yourself presentable in fifteen minutes. Meet me outside suite 903.”

  “It’s five in the morning, Miles.”

  “Wonderful, you can tell time.” Then he strode out of the room like the pansy ass he is.

  About sixteen minutes later I met him outside the suite, wearing a black sweater and pants, no makeup, and a ponytail. He didn’t say a word about my being a little late, but he did give me the evil eye. I glared back and he pushed me through the double doors.

  The PM stood in front of a large expanse of windows, as dapper as ever. Every dark hair in place, and in a silver Armani suit. Slick, but in a nongreasy way. Dare I say, even kind of sexy? It’s hard for me to think of him that way. He’s so not my type.

  “Hello, Bronwyn,” he said, as he continued to gaze out onto the city.

  “Good morning, Prime Minister.”

  He turned around. “You’re looking tired.” He raised an eyebrow. “Jet lag?”

  To which I wanted to say, “It’s five in the friggin’ morning, you pompous jerk, and not all of us can look like an ad for GQ first thing.”

  “Yes, sir, probably jet lag” is what came out of my mouth.

  While he is a bit of a stuffed shirt, truth is, I like the guy. He cares about the people he governs, which is more than I can say about most politicians.

  “Bronwyn, I’d like you to read the sheik, but he can’t know you’re here. Our security fellows will outfit you with a microphone, and you’ll be talking to me through this earpiece.” He put the clear plastic speaker in his right ear.

  You know, the witch business is getting pretty high-tech these days.

  I had to find a quick way to get the fuzz out of my brain from lack of sleep, so I popped two of my favorite herbal greens with a Coke.

  The herbs reacted with the caffeine in the drink. In a few seconds my brain clicked into gear and my body tingled.

  The PM’s security guys (who are seriously handsome in that stuck-up British kind of way) clipped a microphone to my chest and slapped headphones on my ears. Kind of wished the blond had spent a little more time with his hands on my breasts, but he was all business. We did a sound check and two minutes later the sheik walked in.

  God, he was glorious. Exotic. Tall, with long black lashes covering deep brown eyes.

  If he didn’t have fourteen wives already, I might have applied for the job. Okay, I have no idea if he has a harem or not, but he is a sheik.

  From the beginning he gave off a positive vibe, but very strong-willed. He didn’t suffer fools and he had a definite agenda. A few minutes into their conversation I caught a glimpse of the sheik’s thoughts. Assassination. Just the word. But who? Did someone want him dead or was he after the PM?

  People think that reading minds is an easy thing, but it isn’t. A lot of us think in pictures, not words or conversations, so putting coherent thoughts together is difficult. Not to mention the fact that we all run on different frequencies, which quite often gives me a migraine.

  He read pretty high on the emotional scale. His hands were grasped tightly in his lap. The blue aura around him indicated a good soul, which probably meant the assassin might be after him, not vice versa.

  A flash of another face, much like his but different. Anger. His cousin hated him. Then suddenly, an explosion.

  As he spoke, the images became stronger.

  Holy crap. His thoughts were about a cousin who planned to kill him. But if he knew, why didn’t he do something about it? Made no sense.

  I whispered the facts as I put them together into the PM’s ears. To his credit, the man never wavered in the conversation. He gave no indication that he knew of the attempt being planned against the sheik.

  The conversation about solar energy wound down and a Swedish temptress flashed into the sheik’s mind. The bazooms on that one were enough to make the strongest man drool.

  He thought the name Helga and the woman had a knife in her hand.

  Oops. Poor Sheiky baby. Some men have no luck with women.

  She was in on the whole assassination thing and he was playing her game to get info. Clever man, but he’s living dangerously by hanging out with that she-devil. She’s definitely in cahoots with the cousin.

  The sheik and PM shook hands and I wanted to run out and yell, “Don’t screw the bimbo.” But that’s not really protocol.

  After he left, I told the PM and Miles everything.

  I’d like to think it was coincidence that later in the afternoon a woman named Helga Sorenson was found dead. Evidently she’d been skiing and had a run-in with a tree. Bashed her skull in, poor girl.

  Kind of makes you wonder about her karmic debt. Killed by a tree. Maybe she’d been a lumberjack in a former life. Scary!

  Friday, 8 A.M.

  Crashing headache. Miles has become a regular little alarm clock. At least he let me sleep until six this time. He informed me of the prime minister’s schedule of meetings that I had to attend. Nothing starts until nine, so I loaded up on eggs and toast. They served salmon with my breakfast. There’s something wrong about fish before noon. Ick.

  Talked to Caleb. He’s put in a pet door for Casper, who he found mewing at the back door. The potions shelf is also fixed, thanks to his handyman skills. He can be annoying at times, but he’s sure helpful.

  My brother, Brett, moved to Africa to help the sick and forgotten and left Caleb, his best friend, in charge of me. It didn’t matter that I’m perfectly able to care for myself, or that Caleb is a highly sought-after magazine writer with homes in New York and Dallas.

  My brother always gets what he wants.

  So a couple of times a month Caleb makes the half-hour flight in his Cessna and stops by to help with things around the house, and to make sure I’m not dead on a bathroom floor with my cat eating my face. (Brett’s thoughts, not mine.)

  I guess it’s good that he’s taking care of things while I’m here in Oslo, but sometimes he’s a bigger pain than my brother.

  Tapped into the sheik’s head again. I hope he’s the one who sent the orders to off the blonde temptress and that it had nothing to do with me. I don’t need that kind of karmic debt on my shoulders. I create enough of my own.

  Unfortunately, he still isn’t out of harm’s way. The cousin is here in Oslo, which is bad news all around. I can’t use my magic to protect the sheik because he didn’t ask. Of course he doesn’t know I exist, so that might have something to do with it.

  I told Miles and the PM what’s going on with the cousin so I have to trust they’ll make the right decisions.

  If they don’t, I will.

  11 A.M

  Charms: 1

  Terminally bored witches: 1

  Blah. Blah. Blah. I’ve never sat through anything so boring. All this politico doublespeak makes me want to puke.

  I slipped a protection charm into the PM’s coat jacket. Made it out of a small piece of carved wood soaked in pr
imrose and lavender, and wrapped in a red ribbon. Smells a little girly but it works.

  He pulled it out and looked at it for a minute, then winked at me. I think he understands that I do these things for his own good, but he never likes to make a fuss.

  Something strange happened this morning. The maid cleaned the room early and I put one of my keep-out wards on the door afterward so no one could come in. Wouldn’t want anyone to accidentally stumble into my bag of tricks.

  When I came back for lunch someone had tampered with the wards.

  I shoved the door open cop-style and took a quick look. Hopefully, none of the other guests saw me jumping around in my three-inch heels and favorite black power suit, pointing my fingers in the shape of a gun. I can be such a dork sometimes.

  They didn’t touch anything or remove items. Whoever overrode the ward had to know something about magic. Very weird.

  Why would someone be interested in my room? No one except the prime minister, Miles, and the security guys know I’m here.

  I—Crap, it’s Miles banging on the door again. Geez, I thought I’d at least get lunch.

  Midnight

  Spells: 3

  Dead guys: Almost 2

  Holy cow, Batman! What a day.

  I opened the door and there he stood looking meaner than ever.

  “Come with me, Bronwyn.” Miles grabbed my arm and hustled me off to the PM’s suite.

  There lay the prime minister on top of his bed, as pale as I’ve ever seen him, which is saying a lot because he’s English. Sun worshipers they aren’t. Body trembling, he tried to lift his head.

  He tried to sit up and I pushed him back on the mattress and went to work. “Prime Minister, what happened to the charm I put in your pocket?”

  He whispered through chattering teeth. “Someone spilled a drink on my suit jacket so I took it off. Forgot to put the charm in my pants pocket.”

  “The prime minister dined with several dignitaries and took ill immediately after the meal,” Miles said in his clipped tone.

  “Miles, go get my bag out of my room. Then make a list of everyone at that luncheon.”

  The toady man didn’t say a word. He walked out to do what I asked.

  I closed my eyes and released the power of the wards on my room. If Miles had tried to go in with them intact, he would have been fried.

  “Prime Minister, I want you to take shallow breaths. I believe you’ve been poisoned.”

  His frown intensified.

  “Do you remember feeling confused the instant you ate something at lunch?”

  “No. Wait, yes.” His brows drew together. “After the soup. My head hurt and I couldn’t concentrate. I thought I might have had an allergic reaction.”

  I spread my hands a few inches above his body and worked my way down. “No, sir, it’s poison. I can feel it.”

  I had to stop the toxins from reaching his heart or it was all over. With one hand over his heart and the other on his solar plexus I chanted in a low voice.

  The shivering stopped and a great calm moved across his body.

  Miles walked in with my bag and I set to work mixing. I had no time to test for an antidote so I put together one of my cure-all herbal potions.

  I handed Miles the eucalyptus. “Put this on his chest and stomach.”

  He spread the oil on the PM, while I mixed angelica, bay, and basil to purify the blood and elder, chamomile, and parsley for healing powers. Threw it all in a can of Coke.

  “I need heat.”

  Miles ran to get a lighter from one of the security guards. I gave the potion a quick blast of fire.

  Dumped half the mixture down the PM’s throat. Put two white quartz stones on his solar plexus and chest. His pale skin glistened in the darkened room.

  He took a long shuddering breath and his eyes closed.

  Crap. I hadn’t been in time.

  Just as I turned to Miles the PM gasped for air and his eyes fluttered open.

  Thank you, God. The prime minister really is one of the good guys, and it’s my job to keep him alive. I don’t think I could handle it if he died.

  I heard a huge sigh of relief behind me. Miles shook his head. “Good work, Bronwyn.”

  “Thanks. Keep him still for a few hours and give this a chance to work through his body.” I piled the ingredients back in my bag and looked up. “You want me to stay with him?”

  “Is he going to be okay?” Miles rubbed his eyes and I wondered if he’d been crying.

  “Yes. He needs rest. He fought a tough battle today.” I closed the bag and pulled the fluffy, golden comforter up on the PM.

  “You go on. I’ll keep an eye on him.” Miles gave the PM a loving look. Now that’s a little too much information for me. If Miles has the hots for the PM, I just don’t want to know.

  “Give him two teaspoons of this each hour until it’s gone.” I handed him the can. “This isn’t your run-of-the-mill assassination attempt, Miles. Someone used magic to poison the PM. I need to know who was in that room.”

  “I’ll get you the list within the half hour. They’re already testing the dishes and food from the event to see if we can find out what was poisoned.”

  “Tell the investigators to look at the soup first.” Something dawned on me. “You’d better check to see if any one else is sick.”

  His eyes lit with understanding. He made a quick call and discovered the sheik felt fine. Later we discovered Azir hadn’t eaten the soup. No one else had been affected.

  Interesting.

  With the PM out of commission I was left to my own devices for a few hours. Always a dangerous thing, especially when there’s a mystery. I had grand ambitions to start my own investigation.

  But my stomach had other plans. I didn’t want to eat in the hotel. No use in pushing my luck. I walked down to a small coffeehouse that served an eclectic mix of food. I didn’t feel brave enough to try Oslo’s version of the American burger, so I decided on a cheese sandwich and hot chocolate.

  Sitting by the window, I watched the bundled passersby as they waddled around. I’ve honestly never seen so much Gore-Tex and animal fur. PETA would have a field day here. A light snow fell and it covered the world in white. Didn’t see a lot of snow in Houston, where I grew up, so there’s always a bit of wonder in it for me.

  An hour later I walked back to the hotel and checked on the PM. He rested comfortably.

  Miles walked me to the door. “Only the prime minister and the sheik’s bowls tested positive for the poison.”

  I nodded that I understood and walked out.

  I had a feeling Sheiky’s cousin was up to no good and now he’s messed with my charge. I spent the rest of this evening moving the pieces into place.

  All bets are off and I’m going to kick that bad boy’s ass.

  Three

  Sunday, 7 A.M.

  Somewhere over Europe, thinking about country roads

  Spells: 2

  Charms: 4

  Dead guys: 5

  I miss John Denver. My grandpa used to listen to him all the time. He died in a plane crash (John, not my grandpa), which is a bit of a bummer since I’m at a cruising altitude of about twenty-eight thousand feet.

  I’m about five thousand miles from my country roads, but I’m so ready to be home.

  People ask me all the time why I choose to live in such a godforsaken place. I don’t see it that way. It’s hard for the bad guys to hide on the wide-open plains. When I’m in the city they’re around every corner, but in Sweet, it’s easy to spot a stranger who means to do you harm.

  Speaking of bad guys, I’m just happy yesterday is over.

  Had a total mind meld with Sheik Azir’s cousin. No idea how I picked him up so clear. Maybe because Sheiky baby was so determined to beat the cousin at his own game.

  Deciphered that the next move was to take place at a breakfast for several of the politicians. I don’t know what these guys have against sitting down to a good meal. Anyway, Mr. Bad Boy Cousin ha
d two hit men set to take out Azir.

  No poison. This time a quick two shots to the head would take care of the poor guy. The cousin didn’t give me a clear picture of the assassins when I accidentally tapped in, so that part of the plan was a bit hazy.

  Told the PM and Miles about the hit and they set their own security guys up as waitstaff. To protect the PM and Sheiky baby I used Malandro’s spell. That meant I had to find a way to be in the room.

  I borrowed a food server’s uniform and glamoured myself into an ash blonde. I started to add twenty pounds to my frame, but the last time I did that I ended up with a huge ass that didn’t go away for three weeks. So, I decided being blonde would be enough.

  I pretended to fill the coffee urns periodically, and stood at the back of the modern-styled ballroom going from person to person trying to tap into their brains.

  Blah, blah, blah. Solar energy. Blah, blah, blah. Oil-rich countries.

  Longest damn meal in the history of breakfast.

  Then I felt it. A confusion spell spread across the participants. Didn’t expect that. A witch or warlock, maybe two, hidden in the room, but I couldn’t see who it might be. Up until that time they’d been blocking their powers or I would have picked up on them.

  I did catch a glimpse of a man with long dark hair, but blinked and lost him.

  The chatter died down and I saw the sheik and PM look at each other. In an instant, two of the waiters pulled guns and without thinking I threw my hands in front of me. The heat radiated from my belly and I shot two balls of fire. Hit ’em both and—kaboom!—they combusted. Bits of flesh and limbs blew all over everyone. Blood, guts, and I think an eyeball lay atop pieces of toast, and pieces of skin fell on the eggs.

  Then a powerful warlock, who I swear must have had some invisibility thing going, zapped me with black magic. Never saw him. I hit the wall and slid down. As I fell into the “Oh, crap I’m going to pass out” mode, I found the warlock’s mind. Idiot. He had no shields.

  I blew a slow burn into his brain. Fry, you evil piece of shit. My eyes closed and I heard someone scream, “He’s on fire!” I sensed another more powerful presence just as I slipped into la-la land.

  Next thing I knew I was in the fetal position on the white damask couch in the PM’s suite. He and Miles were staring at me like I had two heads.