Sympathetic Magic(13)

Probably, considering the way these things have been going lately, she thought drearily, and then wondered why that prospect sounded so depressing.

“Hey,” said Lucas, and Margot looked up from her drink to see him studying her, dark brows pulled together in a worried frown.

“What?”

“A woman dressed as a medieval queen and drinking a Jack and Coke should look a little happier than you do.”

“Well,” Margot replied, attempting to shake off the dark mood, “I am dressed as Eleanor of Aquitaine. From what I can recall, she had quite a bit on her plate.”

A chuckle. “My history’s a little rusty, so I’ll take your word for it. But…you do seem a little down.”

Now was the time when she should tell him that how she felt was none of his business. And really, it wasn’t. But…were her feelings written that clearly on her face, even after all the efforts she’d made over the years to cultivate what she hoped was a serene expression that revealed nothing of what might be going on inside?

Her mouth opened, but instead of letting out the retort she’d planned, she asked, “Do you ever get tired, Lucas?”

“Tired?” he repeated, lifting an eyebrow. “In general, or of something in particular?”

“I don’t know,” she said, regretting that she’d ever allowed such an ill-considered remark to escape her mouth. “Of doing what you’re supposed to do.”

At her words, he gave the faintest of nods, then lifted his martini and took a contemplative swallow. “I have a feeling most people do. But it doesn’t have to be that way.”

Margot drank some of her J&C before replying, “It doesn’t?” At the same time she thought, Maybe it doesn’t have to be that way for you, because you seem like someone who gets what he wants without even having to try.

To her surprise, his expression darkened, and he set down his glass, running a finger down the stem as he appeared to measure what he was going to say next. “People think I have it easy because of my gift. But that’s not really true.”

“Oh, come on,” she said. “Don’t try to tell me it’s some kind of curse to always have everything go right in everything you do.”

“But that’s just the problem.”

She widened her eyes at him, and he went on,

“People think everything works out perfectly for me, that nothing has ever gone wrong in my life, but that’s not the case.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Sorry, Lucas, but there’s only room for one at this pity party. And no one’s going to attend one thrown for a handsome, rich, successful warlock….

The heavy lashes dropped, and in that moment it seemed as if the lines around his eyes were deeper than they’d been a few seconds ago. “I’m alone, aren’t I?”

He’d spoken the words simply, with no attempt at pathos, but she sensed it in him, an echo of the same emptiness she felt. An odd, brief moment of vulnerability, when, from what she’d seen of him, he was the one in the room with the sunniest smile, the ready quip, the air of infinite possibilities. Was that all a façade?

Margot wasn’t sure how she should feel about that. Despite her best efforts to control it, a wave of pity went over her. No, that wasn’t quite right. Not pity, exactly.

Understanding.

But things had gotten intimate way too quickly. She didn’t want to go there yet. Ever, she told herself. You don’t ever want to go there. Not with Lucas Wilcox.

After sipping at her J&C again, and realizing it was disappearing far more quickly than she’d intended, she said in a purposely light tone, “Well, how alone can any of us be when we’re surrounded by clan members day and night?”

His expression shifted abruptly at her words, and the easy smile she remembered first seeing across Angela’s dining room table touched his mouth. “That’s for damn sure. At least in Flagstaff we’re sort of spread out. I don’t know how you do it, all jammed together here in Jerome.”

The moment had been lost. For a second or two, Margot regretted her words, regretted being so much of a coward that she couldn’t even handle a minute or two of honest communication with him. But no, it was better this way. Keep it light, and maybe he’d forget how they’d both started to open up to one another.

“Oh, we’re not all here, Lucas. We have quite a contingent down in Clarkdale and Cottonwood, and also in Camp Verde. There’s even a small colony over in Prescott.” Damn. Why had she brought up Prescott? Most of the time, she did a pretty good job of pretending the town didn’t exist. She didn’t want to think about Prescott…didn’t want to think about him.