Malcolm and Ives 02 - Trouble With Air and Magic by Patricia Rice

well.
    The furry-faced dog licked at the window. Probably his lunchtime, too. Conan glanced over the low rooftops. He’d seen a golden arch back toward the highway. He had a vague recollection that Oz wouldn’t let his munchkin ride in a car without kid seats. Dorrie had no kid seats. He’d promised the brats Big Macs.
    Problem solved. Whistling, he shoved his prescription shades up his nose, punched through the apps on his phone, found the one with the electronic signals, opened Dorrie’s electronic door, and climbed into the driver’s seat. 007 didn’t have tools like his.
    As she emerged from the back yard with the kids, he waved and shouted, “Be back with the burgers!” and drove off.
    ***
    Dorrie stared after him in astonishment. Her security expert had just stolen her car! How? She’d been ready to hit Conan upside the head for suggesting burgers, and now he was stealing her only means of providing them?
    “Can we picnic at the park?” her six-year-old nephew Christopher asked, tugging her toward the playground on the corner. The youngest, he had Amy’s brown hair but Bo’s slanted green eyes.
    “Is he coming back?” At ten, her niece, Alexis, was more suspicious of the actions of her elders. She had Bo’s shiny black hair—Bo hadn’t inherited their father’s kinky curls—and she wore it in a long, sleek braid that complemented her pale Irish skin. She was gorgeous.
    “He’s gone to get your Big Macs,” Dorrie said with what she hoped sounded like truth. “We can sit at the picnic table and talk. How is school?” she asked.
    “It stinks,” eight-year-old Brandon said gloomily, trudging along the fractured sidewalk holding Chris’s hand. With the more dominant brown eyes and black hair of the Ling side of the family, he also had their more exotic features. “When is Daddy coming home?”
    Amy had tried explaining to them that their father wasn’t coming back, but like Dorrie, the children didn’t believe it. Bo had been their world up until the divorce last year, when Amy had grown tired of waiting for him to leave the Air Force. Even then, he’d been around most weekends.
    Dorrie didn’t know what her brother’s exact job classification was, but it had involved aircraft at the base. He’d teased her that he was special forces and his duties were classified. She could tell he’d been enjoying what he was doing, so she hadn’t rocked the boat when he’d let his job take precedence over family.
    Maybe it was time to rock boats and blow them up if she didn’t get answers. She needed Conan for that, dammit.
    “Daddy liketh Big Macsss,” the youngest declared as they reached the dusty playground. Chris had just lost his top front tooth. “We could go to McDonalds and look for him.”
    “Mr. Oswin will check while he’s there,” Dorrie said with a smile at her nephew’s limited perception of the world beyond this neighborhood.
    To Dorrie’s relief, after minutes of discussing school bullies and teachers who didn’t understand, she saw the electric blue Prius cruising down the street. She rolled her eyes as Conan incorrigibly drove it over a crumbled curb and onto the dusty play yard like some careless teenager. She’d known his mind did not travel her obedient paths, but she hadn’t realized he thought he could make his own rules.
    Striding across the lot, he dangled the greasy bags above the children dancing to grab them. In his other hand, he balanced a tray of soft drinks. Dorrie knew she should disapprove of the nutritional disaster except all kids deserved candy once in a while. Soft drinks were roughly the equivalent. She hurried to the car to fasten a leash to Toto so he could come out and play as well.
    “Wath Daddy there?” Christopher asked as Conan lowered the food to the picnic table.
    Conan looked startled and glanced to Dorrie as she returned. The earth’s energy shifted as he dragged his attention from her to the children. Interesting. He had a focus so