Sympathetic Magic (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 4) by Christine Pope Page A

to me. I told him I wouldn’t take them unless he let me pay him a fair market price for them. But I knew he’d be going places if he kept up with his painting, even though at the time all he was doing was painting them and then stacking them up in his apartment and studio.”
    “Why would he do that?” Such behavior was mystifying to her. Surely if you were lucky enough to be gifted with such talent, it was your obligation to share it with the world, not hide it away.
    For a second or two Lucas didn’t say anything, but she could see his jaw tense. Then he said, sounding almost curt for him, “Damon.”
    That didn’t really clear things up, but something in his expression told her she shouldn’t push it. That same reticence kept her from making an acid comment that it was all the better, then, that Damon was gone. She had a feeling that sort of remark wouldn’t go over very well at the moment.
    They moved on to wander through the gallery, lingering at the pieces that captured their attention, moving more quickly past the ones that did not. Margot didn’t want to acknowledge the way she and Lucas seemed to be drawn to the same sort of work — neither of them had much use for abstract art, apparently, and they both tended to appreciate most the plein air –style landscapes, particularly the ones that brought out the wild and powerful beauty of the high desert country.
    Since Connor was busy talking to an older couple, possibly some buyers, all Lucas did was wave in his cousin’s direction as they left the gallery. The next stop was a few doors down, and this time he seemed to remember that they hadn’t helped themselves to any of the wine and hors d’oeuvres set out at Red Rock Illuminations.
    “Sorry about that,” Lucas said, handing Margot a plastic cup of white wine. “I guess I got distracted.”
    “It’s fine,” she replied, and really, it was. She’d forgotten, too, although now she found herself a bit thirsty, and so was grateful for the wine. “If we drank at every gallery, we’d be a mess by the end of the evening.”
    “True,” he agreed, and chuckled. His expression sobered then. “I thought after this we could hit the galleries at Tlaquepaque. And — ” He broke off, looking almost embarrassed.
    “And?”
    “Well, I hope you don’t mind, but since we were going to be ending up there around dinnertime anyway, I went ahead and made us reservations at René.”
    So much for this not really being a date. Margot had never eaten there, but she had heard René was one of Sedona’s more high-end restaurants, the sort of place that mere mortals generally reserved for birthdays and anniversaries and other special occasions. And now Lucas wanted to take her there for dinner? Not that the cost would matter to him, but surely he knew it was not the sort of place you went with a woman if you were on a casual outing.
    He was watching her with those dark eyes of his, though, looking almost but not quite nervous. Waiting for her to protest, to say she didn’t think the venue was at all appropriate?
    Well, if that was what he expected, then she’d do the exact opposite. “That sounds wonderful,” she said calmly. “I’ve never been, but I’ve heard it’s very good.”
    At those words, he did relax visibly. “It’s excellent,” he assured her. “Our reservations are for seven, so we might as well take the trolley down there so we can make the rounds of the galleries before dinner.”
    Which was what they did, squeezing onto the open-air vehicle with a mass of tourists, and locals just wanting to get out and about. During the ride from uptown to the shopping center, Margot was all too aware of Lucas’ presence behind her, the way she could feel his body pressed up against hers in the tight confines of the trolley. It was a relief when they stopped and got out. Maybe then the unwelcome warmth that had pooled somewhere in the pit of her stomach would dissipate, and she could rid her mind of