Witches Protection Program by Michael Phillip Cash Page B

Morgan spied the butt of an antique Vaporizer, and her breath caught in her throat.
    “Who are you guys?” she whispered.
    “We’re friends, Morgan,” Alastair told her, his dark eyes boring into hers. “We want to have a chat.”
    Wes reached into his pocket and was shocked when the girl flinched in fear. “Please don’t be alarmed.” He gave Alastair’s hold on her a dirty look. “I’m only giving you my business card.”
    Alastair’s gray eyebrow raised with his smirk. Wes glared at him hotly.
    Morgan took the card, her body tense. Crumbling it, she drew it into her voluminous bag while she snatched her other hand from the older man. Morgan swallowed nervously, searching her purse with her fingers. She felt the slender base of her mother’s wand and gripped it, muttering, “Come, wind. Stir some dust; mask their eyes. Escape, I must.”
    “No!” Alastair cried as a swirling mass of grit and dirt surrounded both men, blinding them. Morgan pulled free and was gone in an instant.
    Wes rubbed the mess from his tearing eyes. “You lost her! What did she do?”
    Alastair coughed, wiping his abused eyes. He scanned the street, knowing she was gone. He glanced up to see his SUV being hooked onto a city tow truck.
    “What the…! I told you to stay with the truck, Wes.” He started racing to his vehicle but stopped as it was pulled hastily away and down the street.
    “Don’t yell at me! I’m not the one who let her go,” he barked back. He was getting tired of Alastair’s air of superiority. Wes leaned over, gasping from both the windstorm and his sprint. “Anyway, I put that stupid badge in the window.”
    “Yeah. Right. The cops don’t recognize us. We fly under the radar.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Just what I said. We fly under the radar. Call Bathsheba and tell her to get the car out of impound.” Alastair hailed a cab. Wes stopped him.
    “Why don’t we go in and look around?” Wes gestured at the tall building.
    Alastair thought for a moment and then told the cabbie he didn’t need him. “You won’t get past security. Bernandette is in the penthouse; you’ll never get up there.”
    “Watch me,” Wes told him as if on a dare. “Wait here. I’ll be back soon.” He walked over to the back of a parcel truck, eyeing a stack of boxes left negligently on the curb. Alastair pointed to the driver, now waiting impatiently by a food truck. Alastair strolled toward the line, placing his bulky body in the driver’s line of sight. Wes nodded, grabbing the pile of boxes. “This ought to be interesting.” He smiled, feeling proactive. He’d show the old guy he wasn’t such a loser.

CHAPTER SIX
    W es walked confidently into the entry, the parcels blocking most of his face. He had written Bernadette Pendragon’s name as the recipient before walking up to the receptionist.
    “Hi,” he told the guard. “These have to be signed for.”
    The guard picked up a pen. Wes moved away. “Not by you. The receiver, um,” he said slowly, looking down as if he were reading it for the first time. “B. Pendragon.”
    The guard looked at the names on the boxes, shrugged, typed something, and handed Wes a sticker with a pass on it. “That’s for the thirty -fourth floor, the mailroom.”
    Wes shook his head. “It says receiver only, she’s in the penthouse, right? My job, pal, is to get it to them.”
    The guard picked up a phone, spoke for a second, then hung up. “Penthouse. Last elevator bank.”
    Wes nodded, then headed for the final elevator.
    He looked out into the quiet, plush office. A beautiful girl with café -au-lait skin was walking into the reception area as he exited the lift.
    “May I help you?” she asked politely.
    “Packages for…” Wes pretended to consult the top box. “Bernadette Pendragon.”
    “Oh, I’ll take that.” She smiled warmly.
    “Wow, big place. Gave me a hard time coming up here.” Wes grinned back.
    Jasmine shrugged, holding out her hands