Witch's Diary: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 4) by Kate Baray

know?”
    “I understand your frustration, but that doesn’t change my answer: I do not.”
    Just as it looked like Lizzie and Harrington might get into a virtual throw down, that little niggling idea blossomed and popped fully formed into Kenna’s head. “My mom has a crew. I’ll bet you naming rights to the munchkin that they’re either witches or connected to Mom’s crusading in some way.”
    Dead silence ensued.
    “What?” Kenna looked around, bewildered.
    Jack spoke first: “Nothing. What crew?”
    “Ohmygosh,” Lizzie exclaimed. “The conferences. The craft conferences that she goes to with her little old lady friends.” Lizzie wrinkled her nose. “Really? You think they’re witches? Her buddies from the craft festivals?”
    Kenna raised her eyebrows. “Who’s to say they’re little, old, or ladies? Mom’s been telling more than her share of lies. And we’ve already discussed how unlikely it was she was going to a craft conference this week of all weeks.”
    “Dang it. We have to get her address book.” Lizzie glanced at John and said, “The pink one, in her study.”
    John dug his cell out of his pocket and stepped out into the hall.
    “If there’s nothing else…” Harrington’s impatience vibrated down the line.
    “There is.” Lizzie’s tone turned snippy. “Although how you can’t have a single decent witch contact, I cannot fathom.”
    Kenna interrupted Lizzie’s tangent before she went too far afield, or pushed him past annoyed to angry. “Margot’s extorting us. She says she can get my mom released if we can get her dad’s funds released to her.”
    Silence. Had she managed to shock Harrington? Kenna sure as hell hoped not. He was one of the least shockable people she knew.
    Finally, he said, “The trade hardly seems equitable. IPPC effected the seizure of close to three hundred million in assets.”
    Kenna heard the crack of breaking glass before she even realized exactly how angry Harrington’s blasé response had made her. The way he’d devalued her mother’s life, she wouldn’t mind if he showed up with a few second-degree blisters out in his office in London, or Prague, or wherever the hell he was. Too bad it didn’t seem to work that way. She blinked at the shattered phone.
    But she was sorry about Lizzie’s phone.
    John joined the group from the hall, his business on the phone apparently completed.
    Jack’s phone beeped. He glanced down and announced, “International number. I don’t suppose one of you gave him my number?”
    No one bothered to reply, and Jack answered before they could try, anyway.
    “Harrington?” On receiving an affirmative, Jack said, “Gwen’s facing a death sentence if convicted, assuming the information we have is accurate.”
    They heard Harrington release a sigh. “That wasn’t clear. My sincere apologies. I was referring to the indefinite nature of Margot’s offer of help.” Keyboard keys clicked in the background. “Even though I’m sympathetic to your need, there is no possibility that we could release those funds to Margot.”
    Lizzie had been picking through the pieces of faceplate glass, trying to get to the phone itself for the last minute. She chimed in now, with a peppy tone. “But I’m sure there’s something you can do. A delaying strategy? Release a portion of the funds? Something. Right?”
    “Can I have a private word, Lizzie?”
    Three pairs of eyes locked on her. Lizzie shrugged and gestured that she didn’t know what was up, either. “Of course.”
    Lizzie picked up Jack’s phone and flipped the speaker function off. After listening for a few seconds, she pointed to the back door and let herself out into the yard, closing the door firmly behind her.
    “Anyone else think that’s weird?” Kenna asked.
    “Not weird,” John said through thin lips. “Ominous.”
    The conversation stalled awkwardly—because, really, what did one say? Sorry your fiancé works for a spymaster dick who could get her